Mack didn’t give me time to kneel pretty.
His hand fisted in my hair and he fed me his c**k while I was still shaking from the couch, thick head sliding over my tongue, salt and me already on him. I opened. He didn’t slam. He f****d my mouth in shallow strokes first, letting me taste how wet I had made him, the ridge of him catching my lip every time he drew back. Spit spilled. I didn’t wipe it. Reid stood over us and watched it string from my chin to Mack’s c**k.
“Hands behind your back,” Reid said. “If you need out, you tap his thigh twice. If you don’t, you take what he gives you and you look at the chair while you do it.”
I put my hands behind me. I looked at Jonah.
He had gone gray around the mouth. His knuckles were bloodless on his knees. Three years of movie nights sat in that
