Tasting Mr. Maddox
Blake’s chest rose, then fell.
And then he let out the quietest, lowest, most devastating sound—“Fuck, Troy…”
His hand cupped the side of my face as I knelt between his thighs. My fingers were still curled around the waistband of his black trunks, and I could feel him twitch beneath the fabric—thick and already hot with need.
“Are you sure?” he asked again, voice rough but so gentle. “We don’t have to rush.”
I looked up at him, lips parted, breath already shallow. “I want to,” I said again, firmer now. “I want all of you.”
He didn’t say anything else—just nodded once, eyes dark and locked on mine. And then he leaned back against the pillows, his knees falling slightly apart.
He gave himself to me.
I hooked my fingers under the waistband and slowly—so slowly—peeled his underwear down his hips.
He was big. Thick. Hard. His cock curved slightly toward his stomach, flushed and heavy, and the second I freed it, it sprang up against his abs.
My mouth watered.
I didn’t look away. Not once.
I leaned in and kissed the crease of his thigh, then the base of him. I felt him tense, a soft inhale stuttering out of his chest. My lips moved higher, trailing kisses along the side of his shaft, my tongue flicking just beneath the head. He tasted clean, warm, slightly salty from the heat of his skin.
I wrapped my hand around his cock, slow and careful.
God, he was thick.
My fingers didn’t quite meet around the base.
And then I opened my mouth.
I started with a soft kiss to the tip of his cock. A gentle press of lips to the shaft.
Then I slid my tongue over it, circling the head, feeling the way his thighs twitched beneath me. His hips flexed forward, just a little, but he stayed patient—watching me, letting me take my time.
I wrapped my lips around the tip and slowly slid down.
Just an inch. Then another.
“Jesus,” Blake whispered, one hand slipping into my hair, fingers light, trembling. “Troy…”
I moaned softly around him, the sound vibrating in my throat, and that made him exhale—deep and ragged. I sucked him in deeper, pulling more of him into my mouth, my hand stroking the rest in smooth, slow motions.
He was so hard in my mouth. I could feel him get harder by the second.
Heavy on my tongue.
Every time I bobbed down a little further, I felt him pulse.
His hand tightened in my hair—not to control, not to push. Just to feel. To ground himself.
“Babe,” he groaned. “Your lips feel so fucking good.”
I kept going, working him slowly, my jaw stretching to take more. Every few strokes, I came up to swirl my tongue over the tip again, then sank back down with a long, slow breath. I could taste the first drops of his precum now—salty, hot, making my chest ache with want.
And the sounds he made…
Low grunts, soft moans, shaky breaths. Every time I hollowed my cheeks or gave him a slow stroke from base to tip, he swore under his breath and said my name like it was a prayer.
“Troy… fuck… just like that…”
I looked up at him, eyes glassy, lips swollen, saliva glistening on my chin. His abs were tight, his chest rising in uneven breaths, his whole body strung taut like a live wire.
“Do you want me to stop?” I asked, breathless.
He stared down at me, eyes wide, voice caught.
“No. Don’t stop. Please—don’t fucking stop.”
That was all I needed.
I took his cock deeper in my throat. Faster. Still slow enough to savor, but with more rhythm now—more need. I moved my hand in time with my mouth, twisting gently at the base. I sucked him with heat and care and just enough pressure to make him curse again.
His thighs started to tremble.
“I’m close,” he said, voice breaking. “Troy—babe—”
I kept going. I didn’t stop.
I wanted to wreck him.
I wanted to feel him fall apart in my mouth. For me.
I wanted to taste Mr. Maddox.
And then I felt it—the way his hips jerked, the way his hand flexed hard in my hair, the way he gasped and moaned out my name like it hurt to say it—
He came.
Hot, fast, pulsing across my tongue.
I swallowed without thinking. All of it.
And when I finally pulled off, breathing hard, lips wet, eyes still locked on his—I watched him fall back into the pillows, chest heaving, skin flushed.
“Jesus Christ,” he whispered.
I crawled up over him, straddling his hips, kissing the side of his jaw.
He was still catching his breath.
“That was…” he began, then shook his head, smiling like he didn’t even have the words.
I grinned against his neck.
“You taste incredible, Mr. Maddox.”
His laugh was low and broken. “You’re going to kill me.”
But his hands were already on my hips again.
And the night wasn’t over.
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