Page 25 of Timber's Girl
Women usually went down on me or gave me a hand job because they wanted something. An in with the club. Bragging rights with their friends.
No one has ever pleasured me with no expectations of something in return—except Lindy. She’d snuggled into my side the moment she’d drained the last of my release from me.No leading comments. No straddling my hips or face to force reciprocation.
Not that I would have minded.
But Lindy got comfortable, yawned, and looked ready to fall asleep, rather than expecting me to even the score. Which made me that much more motivated to send her off to a good night’s sleep with a mindblowing orgasm.
Lindy’s breath hitches in her chest as I flick her swollen clit with my tongue, then exhales as I suckle the sweet bud. She’s in that soft space between dreams and reality, and I’m happy to keep her floating for as long as possible.
Twisting my head, I nibble on the sensitive inner lips of her pussy before rimming her tight channel with the tip of my tongue, plunging forward a second later. Immediately, her walls flutter around the pliant muscle, and I wish I could give her something thicker to hold on to, but this will have to do for now.
I’m not trying to work her up into a frenzy.
I’m focused on seducing a bone-melting release from her lax body.
“Mmm…”
“That’s my line, Lindy Girl.” I hum in satisfaction, allowing the vibrations to slide along her soaking cunt. “You taste so good. Like you were made just for me.”
She shudders, another gush of arousal spilling onto my tongue, and I lap it up like the sweet treasure it is. I lose track of time, lost in the warm cocoon of her plump thighs around my ears, her curves overflowing my palms on her hips.
There’s just Lindy—breathy sighs, purrs of contentment.
And me—devouring my beautiful woman, ensuring her dreams are soft and nightmare-free like she deserves.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
LINDY
The next day comes too soon. After Gideon spent—minutes, hours?—with his bearded face buried in my pussy, waking up is a major letdown, even if my phone’s clock says it’s technically the afternoon.
I haven’t slept so well in ages.
But the sun peering through the window refuses to let me return to blissful dreams of Gideon, so I roll to my side with a groan.
“Hey, sleepyhead. You’re finally awake.” Gideon readjusts the arm wrapped around my waist.
“Mhmm… Someone put me in an orgasm-induced coma last night,” I joke.
“Sounds intense.” He strokes my wild hair, the curls a tangly mess. “But you’re okay? No regrets?”
“Not one,” I say honestly. My stomach grumbles, voicing its distress after missing breakfast. “Except for skipping a meal, apparently. Want some lunch?”
“Sure, what are you craving? I can whip something up.”
Hopping out of bed, I stretch my arms toward the ceiling, enjoying the way Gideon’s eyes drop appreciatively from myface, breasts, and pussy before moving up again. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this. You relax while I get things going.”
“You cooked for me last time. I don’t expect—”
“Cooking is my love language.” Bending over, I kiss his cheek like he usually does to me then traipse out of the room toward the kitchen after snagging an oversized sleepshirt.
It’s been awhile since I’ve regularly cooked for another person. I forgot how much it meant to me to be able to care for someone in such a simple way.
Something else Dean ruined with his snide remarks.
This chicken is too salty.
You should have let this bake longer.