My chest was still heaving. "I'm so sorry, Jack. I just couldn't do it. And the phone and—"
"Shh," he whispered. "It doesn't matter. It's fine." His behavior was confusing to me. It drove guys mad if you stopped them right before coming. There was that whole blue balls thing too that they used to guilt you into finishing. I never knew if that was actually true or not.
"Wait, you're fine?" I asked with a dazed sincerity. I struggled not to feel bad.
"You had a proceed with extreme caution look on your face. Not gonna lie. I knew it was a gamble when I started. Seriously, no big deal."
Dammit, Effie, I thought. Had I been that predictable? I suddenly knew what I would do.
I propped myself up and took his cock into my mouth, spiraling and swirling against the head with my tongue. It had only softened slightly since our abrupt end. Within seconds, it was fully hard again.
"Oh God, that's perfect." His eyes closed tight as he entered another realm of pleasure.
The last time I tried this, I panicked and couldn't finish him in my mouth. That wouldn't happen today. I could taste my own juices on his shaft, could smell sex more potently than anything I'd ever smelled in my life.
This was me. I was here, feeling, giving, taking.
I stroked his shaft back and forth with urgency, dancing my tongue from the underside to the top of his tip. His hips began rocking again as he lightly fucked into my mouth, gripping my head with his hands for support.
It was all so raw, so sensual, carnal.
"Effie, I'm gonna come." It was a warning—and a promise. His low, raspy voice informed me of just how serious he was.
I increased my pace, ready for it to happen. He was loving every second of it, drowning in ecstasy. By this point, my own arousal had swelled as well.
"Yes!" he groaned. His cock twitched in my mouth, his seed rushing from his balls to my tongue in quick, salty bursts. The taste wasn't overwhelming—in fact, it was mild, almost sweet. This man would never fail to amaze me...
I swallowed every drop as it came (literally!), my hands gripping his flexed thighs for support. His climax rose and then fell; I kept right with him every step of the way. He was groaning, flexing, tightening, twitching. It was unfiltered—and all for me.
Finally, his movements lessened and words returned to his lips. "Jesus, Effie. That was probably the best blowjob I've ever had."
"Shut up," I said pathetically. "You don't need to lie."
He let out a laugh, one that reeked of exhaustion. "I'm not lying. You're damn good at that, whether you believe me or not." His sentence was punctuated by a loud sigh.
Despite my humility, I was blushing. Whether he was lying or not, it felt good to hear. "Well, thanks, I guess."
"Your turn now." Jack lifted me and pushed me back into the chair. His tongue against my clit, I came twice before we even ate breakfast.
***
When I got back to work on Monday, I felt like I was constantly trying to mask an I'm hiding something look on my face, even if the supposed look wasn't actually present at all. The weekend had been a rollercoaster ride, full of strangely serious ups and downs for such a young relationship. It was exhilarating, but a little scary, to be honest.
Young relationship.
I thought about my exes—Timothy included in this endearing experiment, for some absurd reason—and wondered if they would have done the same for me after such a short amount of time. Hell, I doubted any of them would have followed through the way Jack had, even after years.
I suddenly pictured Timothy going crazy, smashing in the other guy's face—which happened to be his own in my memory—with his fists until it was a bloody pulp and the guy's heart stopped beating. Pretty confusing thought experiment.
And then he'd wind up in jail—I strongly doubt he'd be able to justify it as self-defense—and I'd be alone. Prior to his behavior on Saturday, I never would have associated such imagery with him. Now, it seemed like the norm, his violent imagery replaying in my head like a scratched DVD left to run its course in the player.
Enough.
I wiped that slate clean in my mind as quickly as I could. Focusing too much on Timothy could legitimately give me nightmares. At least he didn't know my address...
Actually, the whole situation made me feel a little bit like moving, something I obviously couldn't afford. It was weird that I was finally digesting these events now that I was at the office. It felt somewhat incongruous at first.
But then, I realized that I had spent the whole weekend with Jack, and time with him was pretty much like a drug trip that made you forget about everything except the good stuff—and I was definitely sober now.
I figuratively slapped myself and insisted that Timothy wouldn't be a problem. The situation had just been too much for him to deal with and he had handled it poorly. He hurt me, but the physical damage wasn't permanent. And at least now I had some real closure with him, closure that was signed, dated, and mailed to those in charge.
My own woes aside, Sam had barely spoken to me all morning, and that was unusual. He also seemed to be peeking at me from inside his office more than usual. I suppose he had asked me about my weekend, commenting that Timothy sounded like a creep after I vaguely told him about Saturday.
Some random guy grabbed him, I had said, my response cursory. As far as I actually knew in that painful moment, it was
