Diablo's Throne MMA Books 1-3 by HJ Bellus

Author:HJ Bellus [Bellus, HJ]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Crave Publishing, LLC
Published: 2018-11-13T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

Jag

“Jesus woman!” I leap back.

There’s a crashing sound, then Sunni pops her naked body in the doorway. “What?”

“Woman, this!” I point to the hot demon on the counter.

“What?” She strides in, confident in her naked form, her hair still damp from our wild shower. After I blew my load inside of her, I had to taste her, which led her to sinking to her knees as if I was her altar and sucking me off. The sight of her licking my cum off her lips will always be my favorite.

“Dick and a hot curling iron equals fried flesh.” I grab my junk, cringing at the thought.

“Jag, stop.”

“I’m serious. That’s the shit that makes up nightmares.” I wave a hand in the air, allowing one nut to fall free and quickly protect the loyal soldier. “I don’t want my pecker resembling fried chicken.”

Sunni bursts out in laughter as she clutches her midsection. The little vixen steps in front of me. I relax with her as my shield but don’t let go of my dick and balls. She grabs her blow dryer and finishes drying her hair. Once she’s finished, she hands the dryer back to me, knowing damn well my inner diva needs to look dashing tonight.

Thoughts of dick frying leave as my naked woman leans over the counter and begins applying makeup. She never wears much. Just the perfect amount. Fuck, I’m a damn pussy, because there’s not one thing I could pick at besides her reluctance to open up to me.

After my hair is dry, I flip off the switch and lean over Sunni, tossing the hair dryer in the sink. She turns to me, wiping her palms together.

“Here.” She raises her hands to my hair. “Let me.”

I remain silent, watching her hands work magic in the mirror with her perfect naked plump ass staring right back at me. Fuck me. Her hands are magic. I knew this from the way she’s worked me over, but it’s more than that. It’s as if her hands were made to style hair. It’s as natural as it comes.

“You like?” She steps back, tilting her head and admiring her work.

I waggle my eyebrows and look from each side, giving my hair a stern review. “I like it, but it’s the face that makes.”

Sunni slaps my chest. “Get out of here, so I don’t fry your weenie!”

I dart from the bathroom, cupping my junk and squealing until I bounce on the end of the bed.

“You are an idiot!” Sunni gets out between giggles.

“A naked idiot you love. Get it right, woman.” I cross my ankles on the bed and prop up my head. I watch as she runs her hands through her long locks and seamlessly runs the hot iron through it. Everything hits me.

“You’re a hair stylist.” It comes out as a question and answer.

Sunni freezes. Her chest rises sharply then falls. It takes her long moments until she cranes her head to look at me. The space between the bathroom and the opening of our room expands into endless miles.

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