Page 95 of Married in Michigan

He takes a lot longer, this time, and I’m okay with that. I take my time, hands and mouth slow and soft around his thick manhood, tasting his essence, feeling him throb and hearing him gasp. He reaches down, takes my hands in his, and we tangle fingers, and it’s only my mouth now, taking him and sucking and licking and feeling him tense and throb until he’s gasping helplessly.

I taste his release on my tongue, and he whispers my name raggedly through it, using every ounce of his restraint to hold still and let me take him to the end of his ecstasy.

When he’s finished, I let him fall free of my mouth, and he’s dangling limp, and his breathing is harsh, and the water has gone cool, I smile up at him.

“Jesus, Makayla,” he gasps. I stand up, and he turns off the water.

He wraps me in a towel, and takes another for himself, and then leads me to the bedroom and I lie down, the towel around my body.

“What was that for?” he asks, sitting on the bed beside me.

I shrug. “I wanted to.”

“Why?

I blush. “I saw you. In the bed at your mom’s hotel. You were naked, and I was going to clean the room. You weren’t entirely covered by the sheets, and…” I bite my lip. “And you were having a morning erection.”

He grins. “Iknewyou’d seen something.”

“Oh, I saw something all right.” I groan. “It’s haunted me ever since.”

“Haunted you? Why?”

“Because the first thing I thought when I saw that monster cock of yours was how much fun it would be to blow a man hung like you.” I can’t help the grin. “I squashed the thought real fucking fast, but I thought it.”

“And?” He smirks at me. “Is it everything you’d hoped it would be?”

“All that I’d hoped it would be, and more.”

He leans over me, kisses me. “Now, I feed you.”

The next hour or so, we chat and snack, lounging in his bed, naked but for towels—our bed, I realize.

I’m sleepy, and Paxton brings me up against his side, snuggles me close, my head on his chest. I’m still horny, still ready for more, for him, but my body has other ideas.

“I still want you,” I murmur.

He laughs. “I’m not going anywhere.”

I force my eyes open to meet his. “Neither am I.”

I wiggle my towel off, toss it aside, and he does the same, and then he settles the thick comforter on us, and I rest my head on his chest and our fingers are tangled and I hear his heart beating under my ear, and it’s all almost too much.

“Makayla, I—”

I reach up, touch his mouth. “Shush. Not yet.”

He laughs past my fingers. “No?”

I shake my head sleepily. “No.” I twist my face to kiss his skin where shoulder and chest meet. “Too sleepy. Too emotional. Too worn out.” I gaze blearily up at him. “I’m not ready for that, yet.”

He nods. “Okay. But it’s true.”

I nod. “I know.” I kiss his chest again. “For me, too.”

He sighs. “I like having you in my bed.”

“Good. I’m moving in with you in the morning.”