The Sinful Seven Series
Sipping a glass of wine while watching the sun dip below the horizon, might be considered gratifying to most people. It would be a perfect end to their chaotic day. Unfortunately, I’m as far from normal as normal gets. Since, a woman’s mouth wrapped around my dick at the end of the day is by far the most breathtaking sight to behold. I don’t care if her lips are painted, red, pink, blue or fucking green. Just so long as she’s on her knees, hands on her thighs, while I fuck her mouth. With her half-hooded eyes gazing up at me. Blue? Brown? Who the fuck cares what color they are? I just so happen to be the God she’s worshiping at this very moment. And as soon as I explode down the back of her throat, she’s history. So for me, this is by far the most gratifying climax at the end of the day. Did you hear that? Climax? I just made a play on words.
“Yeah, baby. That’s it. Deep throat my cock. There ya go. Just like that.” Fuck, she’s good! My Uncle Bill would say she could suck the chrome clear off a bumper. And he’d be absolutely right. “Are you ready to taste the nectar of the God’s, baby?” Did I just phrase that in the form of a question? Because clearly, she can’t talk with her mouth full. Especially, when my hands are fisted in her hair, holding her in place. Bambi or Barbara or whatever the hell her name is, can’t speak even if her life depended on it.
When my breath hitches, my balls tighten and my spine tingles. I know I’m about ready to blow. So with one last thrust into her warm and eager mouth, I erupt. “Fuck!” Why do words seem to fail me at a time like this? Clearly, it doesn’t matter because Bambi’s mouth is full and I’m too busy moaning and groaning to give a shit.
As soon as she’s licked me clean, I carefully tuck the beast back into my jeans. Where he’ll be safe from her groping hands. “Mm, you taste so good Lucas. Now it’s my turn.”
Whoa! This wasn’t part of the deal. Her text simply stated that she wanted to give me a blow job. Nothing more. Nothing less. So as far as I’m concerned she can go home to Bob. Her Battery Operated Boyfriend. “Sorry, but no can do. Your text message didn’t say anything about me reciprocating.”
“You’re joking, right? C’mon Lucas. I cancelled my date with Brian so I could come here tonight. So don’t mess with me.”
“Hey, you texted me Bambi…”
“My name is Brianna, asshole!”
Oops, my bad. At least I had the letter right. A great idea suddenly hits me as she storms towards the door. “Hey, maybe if you brush your teeth and then call Brian, you can still go on that date.” I duck just in time as my sophomore year football trophy goes whizzing by my head. Fuck! That would have left a mark.
“Go fuck yourself, Lucas!” If only I could, I wouldn’t be in this predicament…
Note to self: Move all objects which could cause serious bodily harm away from the door. And make sure to delete B’s number. God, I shudder to think what could possibly happen if I accidentally texted her one night while I was shitfaced. Besides, I have more contacts in my little phone than AT&T has listed in their yellow pages.
I am Lucas pipes Knight. The lead vocalist for Sinful Seven. So, I can easily have any women at any time. Sex is at my fingertips 24/7. All I have to do is hover over a number and her pussy’s mine for the taking.
Am I addicted to sex? Hell yeah! Who wouldn’t be if they were in my shoes? How many guys do you all know who can make a girl cum just by singing? Enough said…
All kidding aside, I have to get my head in the game. Since I promised the guys I’d have a few more songs written by the time practice rolls around on Monday night. So, I need to start focusing with the right head. Instead of the one in my jeans who likes to get me in all kinds of trouble. Otherwise, I’ll be letting them down. And if I do, I could be the one on the outside looking in. Not gonna be a happening thing.
Grabbing my guitar, notebook and pen, I try writing lyrics to the amazing music I’ve created. After staring at the same blank page for over an hour, I got nothing. Nada! What the fuck is wrong with me? Why can I create a fucking awesome piece of music without one fucking word? This is bullshit! All I can think of is the way my cock feels when it’s pounding inside of a tight wet pussy. And how my balls tingle right before I’m about to explode. Fuck! Apparently that blow job just wasn’t enough. Now, I won’t be able to concentrate on anything until I get laid. So, I throw everything onto the couch, grab my phone and head out the door. I’m going to “Distraction’s,” it’s a local bar down the street. Maybe after I’ve had a few drinks and fucked a few girls, I’ll be able to put words to the awesome songs I wrote. One can only hope.
The music’s blaring as I push through the door. While bodies of all shapes and sizes grind and dry hump one another on the makeshift dancefloor. Tits and ass suddenly assault my senses and they all look ripe for the picking. I’m right where I belong. Instantly, my cock stiffens. Although, I’d like to gouge out my eardrums right about now because my ears are bleeding. This music sucks! But I didn’t come here to critique. I came here to fuck. And I already have my sights on a brunet in the far corner.
I’m gonna tap that ass.
I don’t ask, I just take. Her hand that is as I pull her into the men’s room. “What the hell Lucas! In case you didn’t notice, I was dancing.”
“Oh baby, I have a different kinda dance that you’re just gonna love. Now bend over and let me show ya.”
Lust has no feelings. It doesn’t need a conversation. So I wrap it up, bend her over and get lost inside of myself. Until my cock explodes, my mind clears and the words roll off my tongue with ease.
Now we’re back at home and we’re both too wound up to sleep. What’s a girl to do?
“There are only a few more hours before dawn, you wanna grab a bottle of champagne and go up on the roof?” Ah, I do believe my rock god is a romantic. He might not send me flowers or buy me chocolates, but it’s the little things like this that make me fall in love with him more and more every day.
“I’d love to. I’ll grab a blanket while you get the bubbly. I’ll meet you up there.” I sneak in a quick kiss before walking over to the bed to grab the comforter, toss off my shoes which are killing me, and then climb the stairs to the rooftop. It’s a bit chilly, so I wrap the blanket around me and wait for my man.
As soon as he notices me all bundled up, he asks, “You want me to get you a jacket?”
“No, silly. I have you to keep me warm.” Ah, that beautiful smile does crazy things to my insides.
“Yeah, I hope you know I’ll always keep you safe and warm, Abby.” After sitting down next to me, he hands me a paper cup. He shrugs and starts laughing. “Sorry, I don’t have any fancy champagne flutes or anything, but now that I have a steady paycheck, I’ll get some for next time.”
Abandoning the warmth of the blanket, I crawl over to him and straddle his lap. Cupping his face, I stare into those sultry eyes. “I don’t need fancy glasses or expensive clothes. I don’t even need a fancy car or a posh place to live. All I need is you, the stars, and coffee.” There’s that smile again. “I love you, Lucas. Not your money, not your fame, and certainly not your bad taste in movies. Just you.”
The bubbly’s soon forgotten when he lays me down on the blanket and slowly peels off every layer of my clothing. Which isn’t much, but it’s a slow burn nonetheless. A few minutes ago I was freezing, now I’m on fire as his gaze rakes over every inch of me. I notice the different look in his eyes now compared to earlier in our relationship. Now it’s about the love and not about the lust. Although the two go hand in hand, this is lasting, not fleeting. Lucas doesn’t realize it, but he’s come a long way and I’m so damn proud of him.
When he hovers over me for a kiss, I use this time wisely and strip him of his clothing. All he needs to do is shimmy out of his jeans and we’ll be skin on skin. And he does and we are.
My legs part, inviting him in, and he accepts the invitation with open arms by thrusting inside of me. I gasp, he moans, and our bodies move to the rhythm of our heartbeats. Lucas Pipes Knight makes love to me under a blanket of stars on a rooftop in Manhattan.
It’s not fancy. It’s perfection.