Page 117 of Brutal Vows

Wide-eyed, she whispers, “My fingers can’t even touch.”

“Be quiet now.”

Wrapping my hand around hers, I squeeze, then draw her hand up the length of me to just under the crown. I squeeze again there and murmur, “Lick the slit on top.”

She laps at it eagerly like a kitten with a bowl of cream. It feels fucking incredible, but we’re only getting started. I don’t want to come all over her face and ruin the mood.

My voice husky, I say, “Take your time. Suck on it a little, just the crown, then lick again.”

When her lips slide over the engorged head of my dick, a low moan breaks from my chest. She sucks, and my eyes slide shut. Her hot, wet tongue swirls over the slit on top, and I shudder.

“Good?”

“Perfect.”

I guide her hand down the shaft again, flexing up against the pressure as she continues to suck and lick the crown.

I’m starting to sweat. My breathing is erratic. The hand I’ve got curled over hers shakes slightly, and the muscles in my thighs and stomach are tensed.

I whisper, “Try to take a little more in your mouth, sweetheart. Go slow.”

The entire head of my cock is enveloped in wet heat. It feels so fucking good, I groan again. She licks and sucks and swirls her tongue around and around as I lie on my back, unraveling.

“You’re so hard,” she whispers, her lips moving against my skin.

She starts to stroke me slightly faster, responding to the pressure of my hand and the flex of my hips. When she leans forward and bobs her head, I warn, “Not too much or you’ll—”

She makes a retching sound. My dick pops out of her mouth.

“Gag.”

Pausing to catch her breath, she says hoarsely, “Boy, they never mention that in my books.”

“You’ll have to send a strongly worded letter to the author.”

“Damn straight,” she mutters. She exhales, tosses her hair over her shoulder, and leans forward again.

God bless a determined woman.

She starts to suck and lick again, setting a comfortable pace. Comfortable for her, anyway. I’m digging my heels into the mattress and grinding my teeth, trying to maintain a semblance of composure. The last thing I want is to lose control and start fucking her mouth like an animal, though that’s exactly what my body is demanding I do.

My cock throbs against her tongue. My balls ache. There’s a white-hot whorl of pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in my pelvis, and it’s all I can do not to clamp my hands on either side of her head and surge up into her perfect wet mouth over and over again until I explode.

I have to be a gentleman.

It’s our wedding night, after all.

Her hand and my shaft are slick from her mouth, so every stroke is now deliciously slippery. She’s squeezing harder as she strokes me, and it’s driving me fucking wild.

Through clenched teeth, I say, “I’m getting close. I’ll warn you right before.”

“Why?”

“So I don’t come straight down your throat.”

“Why would that be bad? I want to taste you.”

My groan is broken. If I walk out of this room alive, it will be a miracle.