Penis Reduction Seduction
Copyright© 2025 by Kacey Loveington
Chapter 8
Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 8 - Married Doctor helps the kid next door with his big problem. Dr. Zoe Monroe was trained to help. But when the issue turns out to be size, not sickness, she finds herself caught between clinical curiosity and a hunger she can’t quite suppress. — A slow, teasing descent into temptation, boundaries, and the kind of longing no textbook could ever prepare her for.
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Heterosexual Fiction Cheating Cuckold Slut Wife Interracial Black Male White Female Oral Sex Doctor/Nurse Size
The soft clink of cutlery being laid out echoed through the quiet kitchen, still dim with early morning light. Zoe moved like a woman rehearsing a ritual — smooth, efficient, calm on the outside, though her insides fluttered with something far more urgent. She had already set the table, cracked the eggs, and plated a few extra slices of Barry’s favourite bacon, but her eyes kept drifting to the clock above the stove. Her robe hugged her curves, tied loosely at the waist, and beneath it she wore only a pale slip of a nightdress — something meant to look accidental. Something that said comfort, but invited notice.
When the doorbell rang, sharp and punctual, she didn’t jump. Her body had been expecting it. The sound felt like an answer to a craving she hadn’t yet dared voice aloud.
She padded barefoot across the tile, cool beneath her feet, and opened the back door to find Nate standing there — hoodie zipped halfway, joggers loose on his hips, hair damp from a shower that clung to his skin in a way that made him look freshly unwrapped. He was holding a duffel bag, his mouth set in an easy smile, and something in his eyes — sharp, playful, hungry — made Zoe’s breath catch before she even realised it.
“You’re early,” she said, though her smile said thank God.
“You told me to be,” he replied, stepping inside. “Didn’t want to miss my ... treatment window.”
Zoe let the door fall shut behind him with a gentle click, the sound intimate in the quiet house. She led him into the kitchen, the morning air laced with the scent of coffee, toast, and something far more charged. Her bare legs brushed against the edge of her robe as she moved, and she caught the way his eyes dipped, just briefly, to the flash of thigh revealed in motion.
As she turned back toward the stove, she reached for the coffee pot and poured a fresh mug, handing it to him without a word. He accepted it with a soft thanks, but neither of them sipped. The kitchen held a stillness that wasn’t awkward — it was electric.
“So,” she said finally, her voice quieter now, a bit softer than it needed to be. “I got that message back from Dr. JJ last night.”
Nate raised a brow, mug still in hand. “Yeah?”
She turned, leaning back against the counter, crossing her arms loosely under her chest — which only served to press her breasts upward in a way she didn’t bother to correct.
“He says we’re more or less done. But ... there was one suggestion. A final sample. Between 2 and 4 a.m.” She paused, gauging his reaction, watching his eyes as they lingered on her mouth, her neckline, the hem of her robe. “Apparently that’s when hormone production fluctuates. Circadian rhythms, deep rest cycles...”
“Uh huh,” Nate said, smiling into his coffee. “That sounds ... extremely clinical.”
Zoe laughed, but the sound was low, intimate. “It’s bullshit. I mean — it’s valid technically, but I’ve seen your samples, Nate. They don’t change. You’re ... obscenely consistent.”
He didn’t respond, not with words, but his grin deepened and his eyes flashed with a kind of challenge that made her shift subtly against the counter. She felt her thighs draw together without meaning to.
“I was thinking,” she continued, keeping her tone casual, “if you’re willing ... it might make sense for you to stay here tonight. So we can do the collection without interruption.”
Before Nate could respond, there was a loud thump from the stairs above them — followed by the familiar sounds of Barry in a morning rush: shuffling feet, a belt being fastened, the hurried slap of shoes hitting wood. Moments later, he appeared in the doorway, shirt only half-tucked, phone in hand, and a toothbrush still clutched between his teeth.
“Shit, I’m so late,” Barry muttered, glancing at the clock and the untouched breakfast on the table. “Don’t wait for me. I’ve got back-to-back consults starting at eight. I’ll grab something at the hospital.”
Zoe turned toward him smoothly, as if nothing at all were out of the ordinary.
“Hey,” she said gently, “I was thinking ... since Nate needs one more overnight diagnostic collection, maybe he should stay here tonight. That way I can monitor everything properly.”
Barry, distracted, nodded vaguely as he spat the toothbrush into the sink behind him. “Yeah, sure, great — makes sense. That work for you, man?”
Nate nodded. “Absolutely. Happy to help science.”
Barry smirked and grabbed his bag, already halfway to the door. “You’re a good sport. Zoe’s tough, huh? I know what it’s like being under her care.”
He kissed Zoe quickly on the cheek, gave Nate a casual nod, and disappeared out the door without another word.
The moment the door latched shut, silence settled between them again — not awkward, but charged.
Zoe turned slowly to face Nate, her eyes gleaming with amusement and something darker.
“Well,” Zoe said, her voice light, almost playful, “now that he’s taken care of ... why don’t you sit down and enjoy the breakfast he didn’t have time for?”
She gestured to the plate — Barry’s plate — perfectly arranged with steaming eggs, crisp bacon, and neatly buttered toast. Her tone was casual, but her eyes told a different story. There was a charge behind them now, something heavy with intention.
“And while you eat,” she added, stepping closer, fingers already sliding toward the tie of her robe, “I’ll take care of your ‘Big Problem’.” She teased.
Nate took his seat at the kitchen table, the chair creaking faintly beneath his weight. His skin still glowed from the shower, his broad shoulders pink with heat, his frame so much larger than the chair could reasonably hold — so much more present than the man who was supposed to be sitting there. Zoe moved with quiet purpose, setting the plate down in front of him — Barry’s plate. His food. His seat. But it was her mouth that was about to feed Nate something far more indulgent.
She didn’t speak. She didn’t have to. She just stood behind him for a breath, watching the way his muscles shifted beneath the fabric of his T-shirt as he reached for his fork. He filled the space like he belonged there. And maybe he did. Because when she sank to her knees beside him, it wasn’t with uncertainty. It was with intent.
This wasn’t tentative. There was no trembling in her hands, no flutter of doubt. Just a slow, grounded hunger in her movements — practiced now. Owned. She reached for the waistband of his joggers, tugging them down in one steady pull. His cock sprang free — thick, flushed, leaking — and Zoe’s breath caught, her lips parting in a soft, involuntary gasp. He was just so ready. Still hard from earlier. Or maybe just hard for her.
She wrapped her fingers around the base, marvelling again at his sheer size. Her hand couldn’t quite close around him, and the stretch only made her pulse harder. She leaned in, exhaling softly across the tip, her breath warming the already glistening crown. Then she kissed it. Once. Then again. Her tongue circled the ridge in slow, reverent strokes — like she was reacquainting herself with something sacred. He tasted like salt and heat and something heady and male.
Her moan was quiet but unmistakable as she took him into her mouth — just the head at first, swirling, teasing, dragging her tongue along every sensitive ridge. She stroked what she couldn’t yet fit, her other hand braced on his thigh for balance. Nate’s body tensed. His fork clinked softly against the plate as he tried, absurdly, to eat — to pretend he wasn’t being unraveled at the kitchen table while her husband’s breakfast went cold beside him.
Zoe didn’t ease up.
She slid deeper, her throat relaxing inch by inch as she coaxed more of him inside. Her jaw stretched wide, lips wrapped tight, wet and eager as she tried to take him all. Her eyes began to sting, her breath coming in short, muffled bursts through her nose. But she didn’t stop. Not until she had to — not until the pressure in her lungs forced her back with a wet gasp, strands of saliva catching on her lip as she pulled off with a soft choke.
“Fuck...” she whispered, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, the edge of her lips still glistening. Her eyes sparkled as she looked up at him, wide and wild, not with innocence — but hunger. “Your cock is so fucking huge, Nate...”
He smirked, his chest rising, but there was tension in his body now — the kind that came from restraint, from barely holding on. Zoe grinned back at him, breathless, almost laughing with disbelief at her own arousal. But the flush in her cheeks, the tremble in her thighs, betrayed just how serious she was.
“I love the challenge of it,” she whispered, almost reverent now. “I want to take all of you.”
And then she did.
Her body leaned in with purpose, not hesitation. The spit she’d left along his shaft glistened in the kitchen light, making it easier, wetter, filthier. She let her lips stretch wide, slow and steady, sliding down his length inch by inch. The head bumped the back of her throat — her breath hitched — but she pushed through, swallowing him deeper, her muscles tightening as he filled her entirely. Her nose pressed close to the base, her throat flexing, pulsing around the thick crown. Her eyes fluttered shut. Her cunt clenched hard.
This wasn’t just a blowjob. This wasn’t just pleasure.
It was a conquest.
It was worship.
She moaned around him — deep and guttural — and the sound reverberated through her throat, sending a violent shiver up Nate’s spine. His cock twitched in response, jerking against the back of her throat. She felt the weight of his hand settle in her hair — not to force, but to anchor, like he needed the connection just to stay grounded.
“Fuck, Zoe...” he groaned, his voice fractured and thick. His hand tightened.
She began to move — bobbing now, slowly at first, her lips sliding over him in long, wet strokes. Both hands twisted at the base, working in tandem with her mouth, milking him with devotion. Saliva spilled freely now, soaking him, dribbling down her chin as her hunger took over. She pulled off only once, just long enough to kiss the side of his shaft — gentle, almost sweet — before she whispered against his skin.
“You deserve this. You deserve to be fed. And to be drained.”
And then she took him again — deeper. Faster. Harder.
Her rhythm quickened, throat tightening and releasing in perfect sync with her hands. Her cheeks hollowed, her tongue moved with merciless precision along the underside, swirling just beneath the ridge where he was most sensitive. She let herself fall into it completely — eyes closed, breath stolen, throat open, mouth flooded. Her head bobbed now with urgency, filth and finesse combining in a rhythm that was impossible to endure.
Nate’s breathing broke. His other hand gripped the edge of the table now, knuckles white, hips twitching forward against her face. He was shaking — thighs tight, abs flexed, his cock throbbing impossibly hard against her lips.
She didn’t let up.
Instead, she went deeper. She sucked harder. She let her throat hum, a low, filthy vibration that rolled through him like a fuse being lit at the base of his spine. It wasn’t a moan. It was a command.
“Mmmhhhmm...”
Nate choked out a breath, eyes rolling back, his voice shattered.
“Ohhh—fuck, Zoe ... I’m gonna—”
But he didn’t finish the sentence.
He didn’t have to.
Zoe pressed her face down farther, burying him deep, her throat stretching open, swallowing inch after inch until he was lodged tight inside her. Her fingers gripped the base of his cock like she was holding onto a wild, thrashing thing — like she needed to anchor it, or herself, or both. Her jaw ached. Her eyes watered. And still, she didn’t let up.
Nate let out a sound then — not a word, not a moan, but a growl, deep and primal, torn straight from his chest. It was the sound of a man unraveling. A man being ruined. His entire body jerked once, hard, and then he came.
Hot, pulsing jets surged into her mouth — thick and relentless, one after another. She moaned around him as he spilled, her throat flexing, swallowing each salty wave like it was sacred. He poured into her, flooding her tongue, coating every inch of her mouth with the weight of him. And she took it. All of it. Her lips sealed tight, her throat fluttering around him while her hands coaxed out every last drop, stroking, milking, worshipping.
He grunted again — louder this time, more animal, more broken — his fingers tightening in her hair as his hips jerked uncontrollably. The final spasms wracked through his core, and then he slumped back into the chair with a shuddering gasp, trembling, boneless.
“Fucking hell...”
But Zoe didn’t pull back. Not yet. She held him gently in her mouth, letting him soften there, her lips still locked around the head as she savoured the taste of what lingered. Only when the twitching stopped did she begin to retreat — slow, deliberate — letting him slip free with a wet, obscene pop that echoed in the stillness of the kitchen like punctuation.
She sat back on her heels, exhaling through parted lips, the air thick with heat and salt and silence. Her chin gleamed. Her lips glistened. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, then brought her tongue to her lip, tasting what little remained, slow and unbothered.
“Your breakfast good?” she asked softly, voice husky, her throat stretched and satisfied.
Nate could only nod. Wide-eyed. Speechless. His chest still rising in shallow, uneven breaths as if he hadn’t caught up to his own orgasm yet.
Zoe smiled — calm, composed, in complete control — and stood with feline grace, her body humming, her thighs still pulsing with unsatisfied ache. But that ache was hers to carry. For now.
“I’ll pour you some coffee,” she said, glancing back over her shoulder with a knowing smirk as she tied her robe again, casual as ever. “You’re gonna need your strength tonight.”
The late afternoon sun dipped low across the backyard, throwing long golden lines through the windows and across the polished hardwood floors. From the kitchen, Zoe stood at the sink pretending to rinse vegetables, but her eyes were locked on the scene just beyond the glass. Nate was shirtless — again — glistening with sweat as he pushed through a punishing round of bodyweight training. Pull-ups on the wooden beam, deep squats, push-ups so tight and slow they bordered on obscene. His muscles flexed and flowed with every movement, that dark sheen of exertion catching the light, casting his form in sharp, almost cinematic shadow.
She wasn’t blinking. Not once.
Her thighs pressed together lightly beneath the hem of her dress, the soft fabric clinging to her skin from humidity — and arousal. She watched the way Nate moved like he had something to prove. Like he knew she was watching.
Because he did.
The front door creaked open. Barry’s voice called out casually, “Back in a sec, just grabbing the last bag.”
Zoe composed herself instantly — slid the tomato under the knife and began slicing with practiced ease. Her husband entered the kitchen moments later, looking flushed from the heat, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened.
“Smells amazing in here,” he said, setting down a bag of wine and dessert. “What’s Nate doing out there? He’s like a damn Navy SEAL.”
Zoe glanced out the window, just as Nate dropped from the pull-up beam and wiped his face with his shirt — revealing the full cut of his abdomen in a single, dripping sweep.
Barry let out a short, impressed laugh. “Damn. Kid’s a tank.”
She smiled faintly, voice neutral. “He’s dedicated.”
Barry leaned against the counter, watching a little longer than he probably realised. “If he’s staying the night, might as well invite him to dinner. Want me to grab him?”
Zoe nodded slowly. “That’d be lovely.”
By the time Barry stepped out into the yard, Nate was finishing another brutal set of push-ups, sweat rolling down his back in long, clean lines. He pushed off the ground and stood, wiping his brow with the hem of his shirt, revealing a stomach that looked carved from stone. Barry paused mid-step, brows rising slightly.
“Jesus,” he said with a chuckle, adjusting the grocery bag in his arms. “You training for something or just trying to make the rest of us look bad?”
Nate grinned, breathing steady despite the exertion. “Just keeping the engine running.”
Barry gave a low, appreciative nod. “Well ... it’s working. Zoe and I were just saying — if you’re staying the night for this, uh, medical thing, might as well come by for dinner too. Make a night of it. She’s already cooked up some kind of...” he trailed off, squinting. “Something with roasted potatoes, I think. She was slicing up tomatoes when I got in. It smelled like a damn magazine ad in there.”
Nate smiled politely, towel slung over his shoulder. “Sounds amazing. Thanks, Barry.”
“And after dinner we’re putting on the game,” Barry added, turning toward the house. “Hope you don’t mind watching the Cowboys.”
Nate smirked. “Cowboys suck, but I don’t mind watching them get a beating.”
Barry laughed. “Good man. Grab a shower, come by whenever. You’re more than welcome.”
“Appreciate it,” Nate said. “I’ll just swing home, clean up and grab a few things. Be over in twenty.”
Barry gave him a nod before disappearing back into the house.
Nate stood in the fading light for a moment, eyes on the back door Zoe had stepped through minutes earlier. He was already hard again — just from the memory of her mouth.
Dinner unfolded with a practiced elegance that made the tension beneath it feel all the more dangerous. Barry sat comfortably at the head of the table, wine glass in hand, spinning an animated tale about a printer disaster at the hospital. He gestured with his fork, oblivious to the slow-blooming storm building beneath his own roof. Nate laughed when expected, nodded in all the right places, but his attention wasn’t on the story. Not really.
It kept drifting — always drifting — back to her.
Zoe was radiant tonight. Effortless and lethal. She wore a soft blush-toned dress, sleeveless and low in the front, the fabric hugging her hips like it had been tailored with wicked intent. She made no effort to conceal the shape of her breasts beneath it. There was no bra. The cling of the material made that abundantly clear the moment your eyes dropped. Her hair was half-pinned, strands tumbling loose around her collarbone in gentle waves that made her look delicate — almost innocent — if not for the fire flickering in her gaze.
Nate couldn’t decide what was more unbearable: the sight of her like this at the table, casual and composed, or the image in his mind of her in that same dress, peeled back over her hips, draped across silk sheets with her thighs parted and her voice in a whisper.
He shifted in his seat, the pressure in his pants mounting with every brush of her voice, every accidental glance. She played it perfectly — calm, sweet, a model of hostess grace. She refilled Barry’s wine with a soft smile, cut into her steak with delicate precision, and leaned forward just a bit too far to pass the butter. It wasn’t a mistake. Not remotely. The slow, unhurried dip of her torso gave Nate a clear, deliberate view down the front of her dress. The soft inner curve of her breasts, the shadow between them, the faint hint of warmth where fabric clung to skin.
She didn’t look at him then.
But when she sat back, when she lifted her wine to her lips, she did. She met his gaze and held it — steady, smouldering, and filled with dark promise. A single look. Enough to make his entire body tense.
Barry was still talking. Still gesturing. “So now I’ve got to pick up Benson’s slack again,” he groaned, completely unaware of the electricity pulsing between the other two bodies at the table. “The guy disappears every time things start piling up. Guess who gets called in last minute to fix it? Me.”
Zoe tilted her head slightly, her fingers swirling the wine in her glass with slow, lazy grace. Her voice came soft and smooth — razor-edged silk.
“Some people,” she said, her eyes flicking to Barry for only a second before locking back on Nate with surgical precision, “are just better at handling the larger... meatier ... projects.”
She let it hang there, each word slow, sweet, and coated in implication. Her mouth curved into a smile that was nothing short of wicked. Catlike. I know exactly what you’re thinking, that smile said. And I want you thinking it.
Nate’s fork hovered in the air, forgotten. His throat moved as he swallowed hard. His fingers tightened around the stem of his wine glass, the muscles in his forearm twitching.
Barry laughed, oblivious. “Exactly! Finally someone gets it.”
But Zoe didn’t look away. Not yet. Not until Nate looked like he might lose composure altogether.
And then her foot moved under the table.
Slow. Precise. Intentional.
She brushed his ankle. Then traced higher. The subtle glide of her toes up the inside of his calf, then his thigh. The contact was soft but undeniable — and when she pressed in against him, firm and sure, she felt him tense.
Nate didn’t flinch. But his jaw flexed hard. His knuckles whitened. His breathing shallowed by just a hair.
Zoe just took another bite of steak. Chewed slowly. Swallowed. And smiled.
When the meal wrapped, Barry stood and began collecting dishes. Zoe reached for the last scoop of potatoes, lifting the spoon, but Barry gestured casually.
“I might grab those—”
“No,” she said gently, but firmly. “Nate should have them.”
Barry blinked. “I thought you said—”
“He’s earned it,” Zoe said, eyes on Nate now, soft and sweet and utterly in control. “Big, strong guy like that needs his fuel. Don’t you think?”
Nate didn’t respond. He didn’t have to.
Barry chuckled. “Fair enough. You’re our guest of honour, man.”
“Thanks,” Nate said, his voice low, throat dry.
Zoe served the potatoes slowly, spooning them onto Nate’s plate with care, her fingers brushing his hand for just a second too long.
Barry stood at the sink, half-focused, rinsing plates in the dull rhythm of post-dinner cleanup. A wine glass balanced in one hand while the other tapped at his phone, flicking through reports and updates ahead of the game. His attention was already drifting toward kickoff.
Behind him, Zoe appeared — her voice calm, smooth, perfectly casual.
“Nate and I are going to head upstairs,” she said lightly, like it was nothing, like it was routine. “Just need to run a quick test before the game starts.”
Barry didn’t even glance over his shoulder. “Game kicks off in twenty,” he said, sliding a plate into the rack. “Don’t miss kickoff, Doc.”
Zoe smirked, brushing past him, her fingers ghosting over the edge of the counter, the click of her heels soft but unmistakable. “I’ll have him finished in fifteen.”
Barry chuckled absently, still focused on his screen. “I’ll time you.” He joked, not really even sure what he would have been timing.
She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. She was already climbing the stairs, her hips swaying with deliberate grace, Nate trailing behind her like a shadow pulled forward by heat. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. The silence between them was electric — thick with everything unspoken but deeply understood.
She didn’t look back.
But her smile said everything.
She knew exactly what she was doing. Knew exactly what she wanted.
Inside the guest room, the air felt warmer — more charged. Zoe stepped in with the same control she’d worn all night: steady eyes, graceful posture, voice soft as silk. The door clicked closed behind her, sealing them in. Beneath it all, the muffled clatter of dishes and distant sports commentary floated up from the kitchen below — so far removed from the tension thickening in the space between her and Nate.
He stood near the bed, shirt already gone, his chest flushed and rising with restrained breath, his cock thickening visibly through the soft fabric of his joggers. He was ready. Hungry. Waiting.
Zoe approached slowly, lips parted in a soft smile, fingers already sliding the thin strap of her dress off one shoulder. “We don’t have long,” she murmured. “But I wanted to give you something before the game starts.”
But before she could reach for him — before she could decide how to begin — he stepped forward and caught her at the waist. Not to undress her. Not to tease.
To stop her.
He pulled her in firmly, his voice low, rough with restraint.
“No,” he said. “It’s your turn, Doc.”
Zoe blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
His hands were already guiding her backward, slow but insistent, until the backs of her thighs hit the edge of the bed.
“You’ve been taking care of me,” he said. “Feeding me. Milking me. Letting me use your mouth. Your hands. Those perfect fucking tits!” His gaze pinned her in place, dark and unwavering. “But now it’s your turn. And I want to taste you.”
Her breath stilled. A slow, quiet tension uncoiled in her chest — not fear, not hesitation ... but the sheer weight of being seen. Of being wanted that much.
She opened her mouth to speak — to protest, to deflect, to pretend this wasn’t something she’d craved since the beginning — but the words vanished when his hands slid up her thighs, firm and sure. He pushed her dress higher, revealing skin, heat, want.
“No panties?” he asked, grinning as his fingers brushed bare flesh.
“Didn’t think I’d need them,” she whispered, breath catching.
“Good,” he said, and then he dropped to his knees.
Right in front of her.
Like she was something to be worshipped.
She lay back, her dress bunched high around her waist, one leg hooked over his shoulder, the other bent, trembling slightly, her heel digging into the edge of the mattress for balance she was already losing. Nate moved in slow, reverent. His hands gripped her thighs, firm and claiming, thumbs spreading her just enough to bare the slick, flushed heat of her sex.
He stared for a beat, drinking her in — the shine of her arousal, the twitch of her clit, the way her folds opened for him without hesitation. Then he exhaled, soft and warm, and her entire body flinched, a shiver shooting straight through her core.
And then he licked her.
His first stroke was slow. Wide. Hot. A thick, deliberate drag from base to tip that ended in a featherlight flick against her swollen clit, and Zoe’s hips jolted. Her gasp cracked the air before she could stop it, sharp and surprised, her hand flying to her mouth too late.
He didn’t stop.
He devoured.
His tongue flattened and moved with unhurried precision, exploring her with patient hunger — the kind that said he wasn’t in a rush. He licked like he had something to prove. Like he wanted to memorise her. Every flick, every suck, every lap was focused, methodical. She tasted of heat and surrender, of something soft and soaked and feral. His grip on her thighs tightened as she began to move — subtle at first, then desperate — her hips rolling into his mouth, riding his tongue like it was the only anchor she had left.
Zoe clapped a hand over her mouth as another moan broke free, catching it in the crook of her elbow. She couldn’t be loud. Barry was downstairs. But her body didn’t give a damn about discretion. Her breath came fast and shallow, her belly tightening with every pass of his tongue, her clit aching with the effort of staying quiet. Nate kissed her like he was trying to crawl inside her. Like he wanted to stay there.
“Oh my god,” she choked behind her hand, eyes squeezed shut. “Nate—fuck, don’t stop—”
He didn’t.
Instead, he changed pace — and ruined her.
He focused on her clit, circling and flicking with maddening precision, then plunging his tongue inside her tight, fluttering entrance before sliding back up again. Over and over. Wet and filthy and perfect. Zoe’s hand fisted in his hair, grinding his face harder into her cunt, needing more, giving up the pretence of control. Her other hand clutched the sheets, her thighs quaking on either side of his head.
She came like something being ripped open.
No warning. No grace. Just a sudden, helpless buck of her hips, a strangled cry bitten off behind her own hand as her orgasm slammed into her like a truck. Her body seized, legs locking tight around his head, back arching clean off the bed. Her cunt pulsed around nothing, twitching, soaking, and Nate didn’t stop — not for one second. He licked through it, into it, his mouth greedy and relentless, until she was gasping wordless sounds, begging without breath.
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