Win Win

Sawyer came to Mick for one last lesson, but the message was written in her mouth. She went straight to her knees and took him in slow, letting her throat open and close around him. Each slide grew deeper, her breath steady, until her nose touched his stomach. He held her hair and pushed again, and she took it, eyes wet, spit running down her chin. She pulled off only to breathe, then went back for more, working him with her tongue and throat until the rhythm turned heavy. Mick flipped her onto her hands and knees. He pushed inside in one long stroke and stayed there, filling her. His hips met her ass with slow, hard slaps. Each thrust drove her forward; she pushed back harder. He grabbed her hips and set a steady pace, skin meeting skin, the sound thick in the quiet room. Sawyer kept her back arched, letting him use the angle until her arms shook. When he pulled out she turned fast and took him back into her mouth, finishing him with the same steady throat until he spilled hot across her tongue. She swallowed and kept him there until the last pulse faded.