Page 51 of Marked By Tank
I take him slowly at first, clumsy and learning, one hand braced on his hip while the other keeps stroking what I cannot fit. He is big. Hot. Heavy on my tongue. The taste of him is darker than skin, saltier, male in a way that makes my stomach twist and my thighs press together.
His hand fists hard in my hair.
“Jesus, angel,” he grinds out. “Where the fuck did you learn that?”
A shaky little laugh slips out of me around him and makes his whole body jump.
That does dangerous things to my confidence.
I do it again. Slower. Deeper. Learning from the way he swears, from the way his stomach tightens, from the way he jerks when I use my hand with my mouth and get the rhythm close to right.
He throws his head back.
“Fuck.” The word is ripped out of him. “Julie...”
Hearing my name like that makes me wetter than I already am.
I keep going.
His breathing turns rough and uneven. One hand in my hair. The other braced on the mattress so hard the tendons stand out in his forearm.
“Look at me.”
The command lands low and hot.
I lift my head.
His eyes are on me, blown dark, face hard and wrecked and barely held together.
“That pretty mouth on me again and I’m not lasting.”
The words hit me like a slap of heat.
I take his cock back into my mouth just to watch him lose another inch of composure.
That does it.
He swears and catches me under the arms, hauling me up his body in one rough, desperate movement until my mouth crashes into his.
I taste myself and him, and the filth of that alone nearly makes me moan.
He kisses me hard enough to steal my breath.
“Little tease,” he mutters against my mouth. “You trying to kill me now?”
I shake my head, dazed and smiling a little despite myself.
His eyes catch that smile and go hotter.
“You want me again?”
“Yes.”
“Words, angel.”
“Yes. I want you again.”
He rolls us before the last word is fully out of my mouth, settling over me with one knee between mine, one hand catching my wrists and pinning them gently above my head.
