Page 63 of The Bound Blood
She slides down my body in one fluid motion, knees bracketing my thighs, blue hair spilling forward like a curtain. Her breath ghosts over the head of my cock—hot, teasing—and I swear every hair on my body stands on end.
“Linds—” My voice cracks, embarrassingly high.
She looks up at me through her lashes, eyes dark and wicked and impossibly tender all at once. “I’ve got you,” she murmurs.
Then her lips part, and she takes me in.
The first touch of her mouth is electric—soft, plush lips sealing around the crown, followed by the wet slide of her tongue flattening against the underside. Heat. Velvet. Suction. It’s too much all at once. My brain whites out. I’ve read clinicaldescriptions of fellatio in stolen anatomy texts, seen grainy diagrams in forbidden corners of the library, but nothing—nothing—prepared me for this reality.
She sinks lower, taking more of me inch by slick inch. The roof of her mouth is smooth and warm; her tongue curls and presses, dragging along the sensitive ridge until my thighs tremble. When she hollows her cheeks and sucks—hard—the pull is obscene, as if she’s drawing my soul out through my cock. A low, wet sound fills the air: the soft gluck of her throat working, the slick slide of saliva coating me as she bobs.
I don’t know what to do with my hands. They hover uselessly for a second before instinct takes over—one fists the edge of the bench so hard my knuckles ache, the other threads into her hair—not pushing, just holding on like she’s the only thing tethering me to the planet.
Her tongue swirls around the head on the upstroke, flicking the slit, tasting me, and I choke on a groan that sounds more animal than human. Every nerve in my body funnels down to where her mouth is working me. Saliva drips down my shaft, warm and slippery, pooling at the base where her fingers stroke what her lips can’t reach.
I can feel the flutter of her throat when she takes me deeper—gagging just a little, the tiny spasm rippling around me—and it’s the most filthy, perfect thing I’ve ever felt. My balls draw up tight, aching. Pressure coils low and fast, embarrassingly fast.
“Lindsay, I’m gonna—” The words tumble out in a broken rush. “Fuck—I can’t—I’m?—”
She doesn’t pull back.
Instead, she hums around me—a low, vibrating sound that shoots straight through my cock—and sucks harder, cheeks hollowing, tongue pressing flat and relentless. Her hand twists at the base in time with her mouth, and that’s it.
I come with a strangled shout that echoes off the stone walls.
Pulse after blinding pulse floods her mouth. She swallows around me milking every shuddering spurt until my vision sparks white at the edges. My hips buck once, twice, helpless, and she takes it all, lips sealed tight, throat working until I’m empty and oversensitive and shaking like I’ve been struck by lightning.
When she finally eases off with a slow, wet pop, a thin string of saliva and cum connects her swollen lips to the glistening head of my cock for one obscene second before it breaks. She licks her lips—slow, deliberate—and looks up at me with eyes that are bright and proud and a little wrecked.
I collapse back against the bench, chest heaving, heart slamming against my ribs like it’s trying to escape. My entire body feels like it’s been rewired. Like every cell is humming with aftershocks.
“I’m so sorry,” I rasp, voice hoarse. “That was—too fast—I didn’t mean?—”
She crawls back up my body, knees bracketing my hips again, settling her slick warmth right over my still-twitching cock. The contact makes me jolt—too much, too soon—but also… already stirring.
“Nolan,” she says softly, cupping my face, thumbs brushing my flushed cheeks. “Don’t apologize for showing me how much you want me.”
“Apparently I want you… a lot,” I manage, half-dazed, half-shocked. “Because I think I’m—uh—almost ready for round two.”
Her grin is slow and devastating. “Is that so?”
“Pretty sure,” I croak, trying for confidence and landing somewhere between proud and mortified. “I don’t know how it works this fast but—clearly my body didn’t think one was enough.”
She bites her bottom lip to hide a smile, but it slips through anyway—soft, warm, and wicked. “Maybe,” she says, fingers brushing my jaw, “it’s not just your body.”
My pulse skips. “I want you,” I say. “I don’t think that part is confusing anymore.”
She leans in slowly, giving me a chance to retreat. As if I could.
“Then show me,” she whispers.
I kiss her—deeper this time. Tasting myself on her tongue only makes me hungrier, makes me bolder. My fingers find the button of her pants, trembling but determined. I pretend they’re my own stupid jeans I’ve undone a thousand times alone in my room. The zipper parts under my thumb with a soft rasp that sounds obscenely loud in the quiet tower.
“Is this okay?” I ask, voice barely above a breath as I nudge the fabric down her hips.
“It’s perfect.”
She shifts her weight, helping me peel the pants and underwear off in one slow slide without ever fully leaving my lap. The moment the last scrap of fabric is gone, her bare heat settles directly over me—slick, scalding, soft folds kissing the length of my cock where it throbs against my stomach. I suck air through my nose, eyes slamming shut. Nothing in the world has ever felt this intimate. This dangerous. This necessary.
