Chapter 141: ...Inviting Him In(1)(R18+)
Fiona’s tongue was the first to move, slow and deliberate, tracing delicate, swirling patterns around the swollen head of his cock. Slick warmth spread across his tip as her saliva clung like a thread between her mouth and his flesh, the sensation sending a jolt straight through him. She licked him again—longer this time—her tongue curling around the sensitive ridge before retreating with a soft, wet sound.
Both of her hands gripped his shaft, fingers wrapping tightly around the thick base. She held him steady as her lips parted, sucking gently on just the head, her mouth a warm, wet haven. She took her time, working him with slow, torturous care, letting her tongue dance and flick over the slit, tasting the first hint of his arousal.
Then, without a word or pause, she sank deeper.
The heat of her mouth enveloped him inch by inch, lips sliding down his shaft as her hand began to stroke the part she couldn’t yet take. Her head moved in rhythm, slow and steady, the suction deep and greedy, like she couldn’t get enough of him. Her tongue flattened, then curled again, caressing the underside of his cock as her throat welcomed him farther.
A low groan rumbled from his chest.
She moaned softly too, the sound vibrating around him, sending shivers through his body. Her spit coated him, glistening with each movement of her lips, and her hand never stopped stroking—up and down, matching the pace of her mouth as she built an unbearable pressure in his core. Her head bobbed with more confidence now, deeper, wetter, throat flexing as she swallowed him again and again.
And she just kept going—her mouth working him deeper, her throat tightening with each inch she took. A soft gag escaped her lips as his cock filled her, thick and pulsing, stretching the limits of what she could take. Her eyes watered slightly, but she didn’t stop. Instead, she pushed herself forward, swallowing more of him, determined to take everything he gave her.
Steve groaned low and deep, his head tilted back, eyes shut in raw bliss. His hand slid into her hair, gripping tight—not cruelly, but firmly, anchoring himself in the intensity of the moment. She was soaked now—her mouth, her chin, the base of his cock—all slick with her spit as she continued to stroke him with slow, wet glides.
But she was waiting—she always did.
Then Steve began to move.
With his hand still buried in her hair, he rocked his hips forward, gradually building momentum. He thrust into her mouth, not roughly, but with purpose—deeper, faster, filling her again and again with the thickness of his cock. The slow rhythm she had set was gone. Now, it was his. Strong, steady, relentless.