“What are you doing?”
He shrugs. “It’s uncomfortable.”
I crane my head around my seat to peer behind us. No cops are in sight. “You’re going to get us both arrested.”
“Relax.” He places his other hand on the wheel and focuses on the road ahead. “I’ll put him away when he goes down.”
“And when will that be?”
He shrugs again. “Who knows.”
I remove my sunglasses and fold them before tucking them into a pocket in the side of the door. When I reach my hand over and edge my fingers along his cock, both his body and his erection jumps.
“Aww,” he chuckles. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Shut up,” I bark and grip the width of his cock, squeezing it while glancing nervously at the highway around us. There aren’t many cars on the road, but all it takes is one bored officer in an unmarked car to spell disaster.
I relish the weight of him in my hand, smack my lips and lower my head into his lap. I plant short kisses along the shaft, and swirl my tongue around the head. His palm travels to my head as he tangles his fingers in my hair.
“Fuck…”
I look up to him to find him looking down at me, when his eyes should be focused on the road. “Eyes on the road,” I scowl.
“Fine,” he groans and readjusts his hold on the wheel.
I wonder what it says about me that I only started liking popsicles after I first began sucking cock. There’s a reason why many men would prefer to be blown than to engage in intercourse—it requires no work from them. It’s women who do all the work. Maybe that’s why so many of my sex complain about oral sex.
I don’t, because it’s not work to me. I have an oral fixation and I have no shame. My hand pushes into his underwear and curls underneath his balls. I give them a hard squeeze as I wrap my lips around his head.
There is nothing sexier than hearing a man moan, and knowing you’re the reason for his verbal pleasure. It’s a win for all parties involved. He’s reminded that he needs me, and I’m also reminded that he needs me.
He applies pressure to the top of my head, and I oblige him. Further down his shaft I go, relishing the silky smooth skin of his impossibly hard shaft. They have dick-shaped lollipops, but I’m still waiting on dick-flavored candy. I’d be broke every time I walked into Food Lion.
“God,” he moans. “I want to watch.”
That’s too fucking bad. I raise my mouth from his spit-covered dick. “Eyes on the road.” I wrap my fingers around him and begin long, slow strokes. When I reach the top of his head, I swipe a finger against his wet slit before barreling back down to the bottom of the shaft.
His breathing intensifies with every stroke. His stomach chokes on contractions and his foot pressed against the gas becomes irregular. A quick glance at the speedometer and I realize we are traveling at speeds between fifty-five and seventy, and they’re never steady.
“I want to suck your cock, Mr. Moon,” I say with a pout of my lips. “But I’m afraid you’re going to kill us.”
“Yeah?” He shifts his head to me, ignoring the road. His eyes are a dark shade of wild His cock spasms in my hand. “You’re going to kill me if you don’t.” His hand crawls behind my head and he pulls me back to his cock.
No objection here.
I swallow the entirety of his hardness in one go, pressing my lips against the base of his pelvis. His legs snap inward and he hollers in ecstatic glee, “Wow!”
A little trick I learned along the way: I push a finger up against the crux of his ass and balls. His foot presses hard against the pedal and we speed up.
I continue to make love to his cock, but focus my lips on the top half while my hand begins to stroke the bottom half. I’m all over him.
My tongue flicks precum from his cockhead.
My hand pumps the base of his cock.
My finger slips into his ass.
Oops.
“The fuck?”
I speed up my stroking, and twist my head around his cockhead. My finger pushes deeper into his ass until I’m knuckle deep.
“Fuck…” he moans. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckity fuckin’ fuck.” His ass rises from the seat as he sprays thick, warm cum against the back of my throat. I squeeze every last drop out of him and think to myself, why isn’t there cum-flavored candy. A dick-shaped lollipop that squirts creamy white spunk once you lick it to the center would make somebody a millionaire.
His fingers curl through my hair as his body comes down from the euphoric high. “You do that again, and I might have to marry you.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself.” I pull his shorts back over his penis and wipe my lips clean. “Or do. Whichever.”
17
My sneakers tap against the tile floors of the lobby as I wait impatiently for Jensen to finish filling out the damn paperwork for our room. The Pink Motel is a shady operation of a motel parked on the beautiful shores of Carolina Beach.
The town of Carolina Beach exists within the confines of the greater Wilmington area. It’s one of two major beaches in the area, and is the poorer, but more alive version of Wrightsville beach further down the way.
I pictured Jensen as more of a Wrightsville beach kind of guy—the people there are more affluent. Wilmington, oftentimes referred to as Wilmywood by film executives and locals, is one of the largest film production hubs outside of the bigger cities. Dawson’s Creek, One Tree Hill, Under The Dome, I know What You Did Last Summer and the pilot episode of Revenge were all filmed here.
Currently, there are a band of newly-adult hooligans making fools of themselves across town and on the air. The Rules of Innocence is filmed here, and if I can find the time to sneak away from Jensen for an hour or two, I might hunt down a producer of said show and demand money.
Jensen pushes his sunglasses to the top of his head and leans across the wooden counter. “How long is this going to take?” he asks the middle-aged attendant.
“Just a few more minutes, Mr. Moon.” She turns and fetches a sheet of paper from the printer behind her. She pushes the paper toward us, and hands Jensen a pen. “Is this your wife?” she asks with a naïve smile.
“No.” I shake my head and shift my elbow onto the tall counter. “He’s my teacher.”
Her eyes roll to Jensen, and she swallows an uncomfortable lump in her throat. “Oh…”
“Don’t listen to her,” Jensen snarls and gives me a death stare. “She likes to make jokes.”
“He thinks what we’re doing is wrong.” I smile at the attendant and stroke his back with my hand. I’m ornery and I’m bored. “I’m going to be eighteen soon.”
“Knock it off,” he scoffs at me and signs the dotted line on the bottom of the sheet. “She’s joking, I promise.”
“Uh huh.” She’s not having it, and will probably be on the phone with the appropriate authorities before we’ve even made it to our room.
“I’m kidding,” I assure her and reach to grab my clutch out of my purse. I pop it open and slide my license to her. “See? Not seventeen.”
“I told you.” Jensen shakes a finger at me. “She’s trouble.”
“Aren’t they always?” She grins and slides us two keycards. “You’ll be in room 212. It’s the last room on the second floor.”
“Are you proud of yourself?” Jensen asks as we push through the double-doors of the lobby and out into the warm, afternoon air. He carries his bag in one hand, and my bag in the other. A perfect gentlemen.
“In general, or just right now? You’re going to have to be more specific.”
We turn left and reach a flight of iron stairs. “Do you want to get caught?”
“Calm down, Moon. We’re not doing anything illegal.”
“That’s questionable. “ He drops the bags on the first landing and backs me into an open corner. To the front of me is a peeved Jensen. Behind me is a railing he could push me over. He licks his lips and speaks quietly. “The laws are fuzzy about this kind of thing. It might not be illegal to fuck you in the back of my car, but the school sure the fuck would take issue with it. I just handed you an ‘A’ for a class from a previous semester that you didn’t earn.”