White Meat: A BWWM Romance by Tyla Walker

Author:Tyla Walker [Walker, Tyla]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ebook Carousel
Published: 2020-12-03T00:00:00+00:00

Seventeen

Hank

Hell, there’s only like six roads in all of Burnet, but with Cindy’s hand in the lap of my Wranglers, we might as well be on the moon. I am blind with passion. I’m lost with lust.

“Left on Elm, right on Azalea. Watch your speed coming to the light. Deputy Boone likes to hide in the alley behind the 7-11,” Cindy’s whispers into my ear while she runs her tongue up the length of my neck. She pulls my earlobe into her mouth and nibbles with enough pressure to make rock hard member strain against the confines of my denim. I am white-knuckling the steering wheel, trying to keep my truck on the road as Cindy works at my belt buckle.

Left on Elm, right on Azaleooooh my God. She unsnaps the button, drags the zipper down and paws at the bulge in my boxer briefs like a panther toying with its catch.

“Oh my! What have we here?” Cindy is tugging at the waistband of my Jockeys. With a delighted gasp, she frees my turgid member from the confines of its cotton prison. “Time to return the favor from the other night,” she purrs, lowering her beautiful head into my waiting lap. “Eyes on the road mister.”

As she takes the head of my cock into her wet and willing mouth, my vision starts to tunnel. Sure enough, there’s Deputy Boone in his cruiser, lying in wait for any late night lead foots. If you only knew, I think to myself as I tip my hat politely in his direction. Cindy has an airlock on my rocket, working her full lips up and down the length of my shaft. It takes every ounce of focus that I possess to keep the car on the road and not explode into her exceptionally talented mouth.

As she delicately works her wet tongue around my throbbing head, I take one hand from the steering wheel and snake it under her shirt, finding the soft, supple mounds of her incredible breasts. I lightly tug her brown, erect nipple and she lets out an involuntary moan, muffled by a mouthful of manhood. Thank Christ for bench seats.

“Are we there yet?” she growls, coming up for air.

“Close,” I shudder. “So very, very close.” She strokes the length of my shaft with her confident, warm grip, stopping to circle the saliva-slicked head with her thumb.

“Good,” she says mischievously, snapping the waistband of my underwear back into place. “Most accidents happen within a half mile of the home. I wouldn’t want you to blow a head gasket before we really see what she can do.” Cindy winks devilishly as she runs her hand along the dashboard of my truck.

“Oh, you are gonna GET it,” I say, putting some weight into the accelerator.

“Promise?” Cindy licks her upper lip and runs her fingers down the caramel canyon of her spellbinding chest.

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