Suck Session Over Book Session

Selina had the decency to pretend she wanted books—right up until her hand stayed on Celtic Iron’s belt. Both palms flat now, one tugging leather, the other sneaking inside to wrap eager fingers around a dick big enough to swear it saw its own shadow. She tilted her chin like she was greeting royalty, then let her tongue take a slow, sloppy lap at the head, grinning around the taste. She wasn’t gentle; she gagged once, then slid lower until her lips ringed the base and her jaw ticked with the effort. Spit ran shiny down his skin every time she pulled back and snapped her mouth back down, little pops of suction getting louder with each bob. Celtic’s hips rocked, meeting her halfway; her throat answered with a wet, willing gulp each thrust. She hummed—low, bright, nearly a laugh—vibrations traveling straight through his cock and pulling a shudder up his spine. Pre-cum coated her tongue; she smacked her lips like it was candy and dove again. The clock above her caught the shine on her lower lip but the rest of the room stayed silent except for the greedy little noises she made. Every swallow flexed her cheek, every pull hollowed the other, all of it shameless and giddy. One hand dropped to cup his balls, the other kept stroking what wouldn’t fit, and Celtic swore under his breath like he’d misplaced something important. She didn’t slow. If anything the pace sharpened, her mouth hotter, wetter, faster, because literature can wait—and she knows exactly what she came for.