I was halfway through washing the dishes when Jennifer walked into the kitchen wearing nothing but a smirk and a thin gold chain around her neck. The suds dripped off my hands and onto the floor because I just froze, staring at her tits, the way they moved as she leaned against the doorframe.
“You’re gonna break a plate,” she said.
“Fuck the plates.”
She laughed, that low throaty sound that always made my dick twitch, and crooked a finger at me. “Come here, Pete.”
I dried my hands on my jeans, not giving a shit about the wet marks, and crossed the kitchen in three steps. Up close she smelled like coconut oil and something muskier underneath, something that made my mouth water. Her nipples were already hard, dark pink and pointing right at me like an accusation.
“You’re overdressed,” she murmured, her fingers working the button of my jeans. She didn’t ask. She never asked. That was the thing about Jennifer—she took what she wanted, and right now she wanted me naked in the middle of the kitchen with the afternoon sun slanting through the blinds and striping her bare skin with light.
My jeans hit the floor, then my boxers, and my cock sprang up between us, already slick at the tip. She glanced down and smiled, that slow, filthy smile that made my knees weak.
“Someone’s eager.”
“You’re standing there naked,” I said, my voice rougher than I intended. “What the hell do you expect?”
She didn’t answer with words. She just sank down to her knees on the kitchen tile, right there between the refrigerator and the half-open dishwasher, and wrapped her hand around the base of my shaft. Her palm was warm, a little rough from the rock climbing she did on weekends, and the friction made me hiss through my teeth.
“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” she said, her breath ghosting over the head of my cock. “Sitting in that fucking meeting, pretending to care about quarterly projections, and all I could think about was your dick in my mouth.”
Jesus. The words alone nearly made me come.
She licked me first, just the tip, her tongue tracing the ridge before dipping into the slit to taste the bead of pre-cum there. I grabbed the edge of the counter behind me, my knuckles going white against the granite. She hummed, a satisfied little vibration that traveled straight up my spine, and then she took me deeper.
Jennifer didn’t tease—not much, anyway. She knew what she was doing. Her lips stretched around my girth, slick and tight, and her tongue worked the underside as she slid down until I hit the back of her throat. She gagged once, a wet choking sound that made my hips jerk forward involuntarily, but she just grabbed my ass with both hands and pulled me closer, taking me deeper.
“Fuck, Jen. Your mouth.”
She looked up at me, her eyes watering, mascara starting to smudge, and the sight of her on her knees with my cock buried in her throat was almost too much. Her gold chain swung forward, the pendant tapping against my balls, and I reached down to gather her hair in my fist. Not pulling, just holding, feeling the movement of her head as she started to bob.
The kitchen filled with wet, obscene sounds—her mouth working me, the little gasps she took through her nose when she came up for air, the groan that tore out of my chest when she cupped my balls and rolled them gently in her palm. A string of saliva connected her bottom lip to my shaft when she pulled back to lick the length of me, base to tip, before sucking one of my balls into her mouth.
“You taste so fucking good,” she muttered against my skin, her voice thick and hungry.
I was close. The pressure built low in my gut, that coiling heat that made my thighs tense and my breath come in short, ragged bursts. She must have sensed it because she doubled down, taking me all the way into her throat again and swallowing around me, the muscles contracting in a rhythm that short-circuited my brain.
“Jen, I’m gonna—”
She pulled back just enough to say, “Do it. In my mouth. I want it.”
Her lips sealed around the head, her tongue pressing hard against that sensitive spot just beneath, and her hand pumped the shaft in quick, twisting strokes. I watched her, watched the way her cheeks hollowed and her eyes stayed locked on mine, and that was it. The orgasm ripped through me, white-hot and blinding, and I came in thick pulses across her tongue. She took it all, swallowing in greedy gulps, her throat working as she milked every last drop out of me.
When I was finally spent, she sat back on her heels and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, grinning up at me like she’d just won something.
“Quarterly projections,” she said, her voice hoarse. “Never gonna think about them the same way again.”
I pulled her to her feet and kissed her, tasting myself on her tongue, and then I walked her backward toward the bedroom because I wasn’t done with her yet.
“Your turn,” I said against her mouth.
She laughed again, that same low sound, but this time it was breathless. “I was counting on it.”