Left Field (New Hope #4)

Chapter Twenty-One

Lucy

I've witnessed many men don a three-piece suit, but none do it as well as Blake.

Weak morning light spills through my bedroom windows, bathing Blake's skin in a warm glow. He leans against my crooked dresser, his long legs crossed at the ankle. Dark hair falls over his brow as he fastens his cufflinks. His biceps tighten with the slight movement, and the white cotton of his dress shirt stretches across his broad chest. Watching him put on clothes just makes me want to peel them off, like unwrapping a present.

"Keep looking at me like that," he threatens, "and we won't be leaving the apartment today."

Blake has work and I have... work. It's hardly six, but Henrietta has been blowing up my phone for two hours. She wants to know why Golfer Gabe left her a lengthy voicemail, complaining about me ending our time early. He also mentioned a 'psychopath that wouldn't leave me alone with the escort.' Naturally, I'm dreading the conversation with my boss.

I'd much rather lick Blake's cock. I haven't done it yet. A blow job is usually the first thing clients ask me to do for them. Some of them don't even ask—they just shove my face toward their crotch. Blake isn't a client, but he's still a man. We've known each other for two weeks, yet he's never once hinted at wanting to receive oral.

That makes me more eager to deliver.

"Lucy..." Blake warns as I cross the bedroom, my eyes on the impressive bulge in his pants. Despite his denial, it's growing by the second. "We don't have time."

I sink to my knees before him. "I can be fast."

He tilts his head to the ceiling, but uncrosses his legs. "This is my only suit."

Late last night, Blake had one of his drivers bring him clothing so he wouldn't have to go home before work. It has to be the first time someone has had a twelve-thousand-dollar suit delivered to the Philadelphia Badlands.

"I can be neat," I promise, sliding his belt through the loop, the metal snicking as I unfasten it.

Blake glares down at me, but his pupils are dilated with lust. "I will make a mess."

"Good," I husk, slipping his erection through the fly of his briefs. I give the tip a playful kiss. "Do it in my mouth."

His cock throbs in my firm grip, bobbing in anticipation. I lick the underside of his head, trailing my tongue along the thick vein. He's hot, heavy, and silken. Just like it always is with him, I can't get enough. I curl my tongue into a cup, letting spit gather, then slide my homemade lube over him. My hand catches the excess, pumping the three inches of shaft I can't fit in my mouth. 

"Ohhh, fuck," Blake groans, his hips bucking. "We're going to wake your sister."

I pull off with an audible slurp. "Do you want me to stop?"

He shakes his head exaggeratedly. "God, no."

I smother my prideful grin, continuing to work him. I'm enjoying myself, so much that my panties are getting wet with arousal, but I ignore my own need. I'm content with providing him pleasure. 

With his dick brushing the back of my throat, I look up at him through a watery gaze. He's peering down at me, his eyes hooded, his lips parted. His chest rises and falls with ragged breath. His hands grip the edge of my dresser, his knuckles white. I twirl my tongue, hollow my cheeks, and suck him. His eyes roll, his head falls back, and his thighs twitch. I reach around, grabbing two handfuls of his ass and digging my nails into the solid muscle.

"J-Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," he rasps, stumbling over the curse. "Don't swallow."

I focus my attention on his engorged head, sucking it while my hand rejoins the base. My fingers meet my lips, ensuring not a single inch of him goes untouched. Blake comes with a rumbling groan, his hot musk coating the inside of my cheeks. He tastes sweet and salty and manly. There's so much semen, it's a struggle to keep it from sliding down my throat, but I manage.