Blueballs At The Beach House - 6

The ceiling fan turned in circles above the bed. Robbie watched each blade complete its revolution, counting them the way a man counts sheep, except sheep didn't have cousins who'd spent two hours milking their cocks under a blanket in front of their mothers.

His pajama pants were thin. Grey cotton. Nothing else. No shirt because the upstairs bedroom trapped the day's heat and held it like a grudge, the air thick and warm even with the windows cracked. His cock sat at half mast against his thigh, too exhausted to stand fully erect, too traumatized to go soft. His balls throbbed with that deep, grinding ache that had become his permanent companion since Friday morning. A dull, omnipresent protest from somewhere below his stomach, radiating outward through his pelvis and down into his legs. Blueballs. Real, actual, medical grade blueballs. He'd looked it up on his phone once. Epididymal hypertension. The clinical term made it sound manageable. It was not manageable.

The bathroom door opened.

Jessica padded out in a silk camisole the colour of champagne and matching shorts that barely covered her ass. No bra underneath. He could see the shadow of her nipples through the fabric, the way her breasts shifted and swayed with each step. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders, still damp from the shower, darker blonde when wet. Her face was scrubbed clean of the light makeup she'd worn during the day. No mascara. No lip gloss. Freckles more visible across the bridge of her nose and the tops of her cheeks.

She looked different like this. Younger. Softer. The bratty, filthy mouthed siren from downstairs replaced by something more like the girl he'd grown up with. The cousin who'd taught him how to do a cartwheel when he was six. Who'd held his hand at their grandfather's funeral.

Still devastating, though. The camisole draped over her breasts like poured water, the silk catching the lamplight, every contour visible. The shorts rode up when she walked, revealing the crease where her thigh met her ass, the skin there pale and smooth compared to the rest of her tan.

She turned off the bathroom light and crossed to her side of the bed. Their side. The queen bed that two grown adults were expected to share because their mothers had claimed the downstairs rooms and nobody had thought to question the sleeping arrangements. Or everyone had thought to question them and nobody had said anything because they were family and family didn't think about these things.

Robbie thought about these things. Robbie could think about nothing else.

Jessica pulled back the covers. Sat on the edge of the mattress. Reached down and pulled the camisole over her head.

Robbie's breath stopped.

Her breasts fell free from the silk. Heavy, round, natural, the kind of breasts that made men stupid. Her nipples were a dark, dusty pink, slightly puffy, sitting just above centre on each breast. She dropped the camisole on the floor. Then she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her shorts and slid them down her legs.

Naked.

His cousin was naked.

She stood there for a moment, not posing, not performing. Just existing in her body. The lamp on the nightstand cast warm light across her skin. Her stomach was flat with the faintest suggestion of definition. Her hips flared wide from her waist, a dramatic curve that made his mouth go dry. Between her legs, a neat triangle of dark blonde hair, trimmed close but not shaved. He could see the shape of her underneath it. The soft, plump split of her.

She climbed into bed. The mattress dipped. Cool sheets rustled. Her body settled beside his, and then she was right there, inches away, her warmth bleeding across the gap between them.

"Don't get any ideas, cuz."

Her voice was sleepy. Soft. That valley girl cadence dialled down to a murmur.

"I just sleep better naked. This bed is like, super comfortable, and you're warm. It's not sexual. It's practical."

She rolled onto her side, facing him, and pressed her body against his arm. Her breasts flattened against his bicep. Soft, warm, impossibly heavy. The bare skin of her stomach touched his forearm. Her legs shifted and she threw one thigh over both of his, hooking her ankle around his calf.

The coarse tickle of her pubic hair brushed against his hip, just above the waistband of his pajama pants. He could feel the heat radiating from between her legs. A furnace. A small, wet furnace pressed against his hipbone.

His cock went from half mast to full in under two seconds. It pushed up against the inside of his pajama pants, the thin cotton doing nothing to disguise the rigid length of it. The head nudged directly into the underside of her thigh where it lay draped across him.

Jessica shifted. Paused.

"Oh." A beat. "That's not practical. That's your dick." Another beat. "Your dick is poking my thigh. Can you like, make it stop?"

"I can't make it stop."

"Why not."

"It doesn't work like that. It just does what it wants."

"What does it want."

Robbie stared at the ceiling fan. Blade after blade after blade. His cock pulsed against the warm, smooth skin of her inner thigh. Pre cum was already gathering at the tip, he could feel the familiar wet heat of it soaking into his pants.

"You know what it wants."

Silence. Then a giggle. Not the calculated, teasing laugh she'd deployed all day. A real one. Sleepy and warm, muffled against his shoulder.

"Yeah. I know. Poor little guy." She nuzzled into his arm. Her lips grazed his skin when she talked. "So hard. So desperate. All weekend and no cumming. That's gotta suck."

"It does suck."

"Like, a lot?"

"A lot."

"More than anything has ever sucked?"

"More than anything has ever sucked."

She pressed a kiss to his shoulder. Warm lips. Lingering. Her breath fanned across his skin and goosebumps erupted down his arm.

"Good night, cuz. Sweet dreams. Dream about my tits. I know you will."

She settled deeper into the pillow. Her breathing slowed. Her body grew heavier against his side, the tension draining from her muscles as sleep took her. Her breasts rose and fell with each breath, soft and full against his arm. Her thigh stayed draped over his hips. Her pubic mound stayed pressed against his hip. His cock stayed hard, wedged between his stomach and the underside of her leg, pulsing with his heartbeat.

He did not sleep.

Not for a long time.

The ceiling fan turned. The house settled around them, creaking and groaning in the way beach houses do, the wood expanding and contracting with the temperature change. Downstairs, he heard Katherine and Julia's muffled conversation, then silence, then the click of lights turning off. The fridge hummed. Waves crashed somewhere beyond the dunes, a rhythmic shushing sound that should have been soothing.

His cock throbbed.

Jessica murmured something in her sleep. Gibberish. Her hand found his chest and her fingers spread across his sternum, small and warm. Her hips shifted, grinding against him, a slow unconscious roll that pressed the hot swell of her pussy directly against the ridge of his hipbone.

Fuck.

His cock leaked. He could feel the pre cum seeping through the thin cotton, pooling on his stomach, warm and slippery. He clenched every muscle in his groin, trying to will it down. His body refused. His body had given up listening to him approximately twenty four hours ago and now operated on its own agenda, which was to produce as much pre cum as humanly possible and direct every available unit of blood to his cock.

He counted ceiling fan blades. He tried to think about baseball. He didn't know anything about baseball. He tried to think about math. Calculus. Derivatives. The derivative of x squared is two x. The derivative of Jessica's naked body pressed against his was insanity.

Her breathing deepened. She was gone, really gone, deep asleep with the effortless abandon of someone who hadn't spent the last twelve hours being systematically denied orgasm. Her mouth was slightly open. A thin strand of her hair fell across her face and fluttered with each exhale.

He shifted his hips. Tried to angle his cock away from her thigh. The movement pressed it harder into the crease of her hip, the head dragging across the wet spot it had already made on his pajama pants. A streak of pleasure shot up his shaft. He froze. Held his breath.

Don't cum. Don't cum. Don't cum.

The pleasure faded. His cock twitched once, hard, and a fresh pulse of pre cum leaked from the tip.

He let out a long, shaky breath.

The fan turned.

Jessica slept.

Robbie lay there, pinned under his cousin's naked body, his cock weeping against her thigh, and contemplated every decision that had led him to this exact moment in his life. The unlocked bedroom door. The bet. Getting into the car. Letting her model bikinis. Letting her suck his balls. Letting her stroke him through his shorts. Letting her edge him for two hours under a blanket. Every single one a mistake. Every single one something he would do again in a heartbeat because even through the agony, even through the aching, swollen, desperate throb of his blueballed cock, this was still the most alive he had ever felt.

He fell asleep sometime after the moon passed the window. His last conscious thought was the feeling of Jessica's nipple, hard from the cool air, pressing into the soft skin of his inner arm.

He dreamed about her tits.

She was right. She knew he would.

***

Warmth.

That was the first thing. A gentle, enveloping warmth around the head of his cock that didn't make sense. That couldn't be his pajama pants because his pajama pants weren't this warm, weren't this wet, weren't...

Moving.

The warmth was moving. A slow, rhythmic suction, soft lips stretched around his shaft, a tongue pressing flat against the underside of his cock, tracing a lazy path up along the thick vein that ran from base to head. The tongue paused at the ridge just below his cockhead. Circled it. Flicked across the sensitive notch of his frenulum. Moved back down.

His hips bucked. Involuntary. His brain struggling to process the information his nerve endings were screaming at it. His eyes opened. The bedroom was blue grey with early light, the curtains filtering the sunrise into something pale and diffused. The sheets were tented over a shape between his legs. A blonde head. Moving.

His cock was inside Jessica's mouth.

She felt him wake. He didn't know how. Maybe his breathing changed. Maybe his legs tensed. Maybe the fresh surge of blood to his already diamond hard cock was perceptible to whoever had their lips wrapped around it. She pulled off with a wet, obscene pop. Her face emerged from under the sheet, chin glossy, a string of pre cum connecting her lower lip to the tip of his cock before it broke and landed on his thigh.

"Morning, cuz!"

Bright. Cheerful. Obscene.

"Rise and shine! Literally! Your cock is like, very risen." She glanced down at it standing between them, flushed dark red, shiny with her saliva, a bead of pre cum already forming at the slit. "Very shiny!"

Robbie's mouth opened. No sound came out. He was processing several things at once. The fact that his cousin had been sucking his cock while he slept. The fact that it was the best thing he had ever felt in his life. The fact that his balls were drawn up so tight they ached even worse than they had last night. And the fact that his bladder was a lead balloon sitting behind his pubic bone, full to bursting, screaming for release with an urgency that bordered on panic.

He'd needed to piss since before dawn. He'd felt it building, the pressure mounting somewhere in that twilight between sleep and wakefulness, but Jessica's naked body had been wrapped around him and moving would have meant waking her and he couldn't, wouldn't, didn't. So his bladder had filled. And filled. And now it sat there, enormous and insistent, and his cousin had her face three inches from his cock with spit on her chin and somehow both needs were competing for dominance inside his body.

"Jessica. I need to... I really need to pee."

"Hmm?"

"Like, really badly. Right now."

Something changed in her eyes. A shift. A brightening. The green irises caught the early light and for a moment she looked like a cat that had just spotted a bird on a windowsill.

"Oh my god." She sat back on her heels. Her bare breasts swayed with the movement. "That's perfect. Okay, here's the deal, cuz. You have two choices."

"Can I just..."

"Two choices! Choice one." She held up a finger. "You go pee right now. Like, right now right now. Run to the bathroom, empty your little bladder, feel all relieved and whatever. But." She leaned forward. Her breasts hung heavy, swinging slightly, her nipples almost brushing his thighs. "The blowjob ends. This was it. You don't get another one. Not today, not tomorrow. For the rest of the weekend, my mouth goes nowhere near your dick. Done. Over. Finito."

She held up a second finger.

"Choice two. You hold it. You stay right here, in this bed, with your cute hard cock and your poor full bladder, and I keep sucking. And maybe..." She lowered her head. Her tongue darted out and licked the bead of pre cum from his slit. Slowly. Thoroughly. "Maybe I'll let you cum. Maybe. If you're a good boy. If you can hold it. If you can last."

Robbie's cock jumped when her tongue touched it. His bladder clenched. For one horrible moment he thought he was going to piss right there, on her face, on the sheets, and the weekend would implode in the most humiliating way possible.

He breathed.

"How long."

"However long I want." She grinned up at him. Pre cum glistened on her lower lip. "That's kind of the whole point, cuz. I'm in charge. You just lie there and try not to pee on me. Deal?"

He should go pee. He should absolutely, unequivocally, get out of this bed and walk to the bathroom and empty his bladder and accept the loss of future blowjobs and move on with his life. This was the smart choice. The rational choice. The choice any sane human being would make.

"Choice two."

Jessica's grin widened into something radiant and terrible.

"God, you're dumb. I love it."

She ducked back under the sheets. Her mouth found him again. Warm, wet, devastating. Her lips sealed around the head and she sank down, taking three inches, four, her tongue working the underside the entire way. She pulled back slowly, lips dragging, cheeks hollowed, suction so tight he could hear it.

His hands grabbed the sheets. His bladder screamed.

Her technique was different from her hand. Slower. More deliberate. Where her fingers had been ruthless and efficient during the movie, her mouth was exploratory. She spent long stretches just working the head, her tongue swirling around the ridge, dipping into the slit, lapping at the constant flow of pre cum that leaked from him. Then she'd sink lower, taking more of his length, the back of her throat brushing against his cockhead, and pull back before he could push deeper.

She found his frenulum. That little V of skin on the underside where the head met the shaft. Her tongue pressed against it, held there, rubbed in small circles. Pleasure detonated through his cock. His hips jerked up off the mattress. A groan ripped free from behind his clenched teeth.

The orgasm rushed up from his balls.

She pulled off.

Gone. Replaced by cool air and nothing. His cock twitched in the open space between them, flushed an angry red, slick with her spit, the head swollen and purple. Pre cum drooled from the slit in a thin, continuous stream that ran down the shaft and pooled at the base.

"Nnnnot yet, cuz."

Her thumb pressed against the base of his cock, right on the underside where shaft met body. She held it there. Firm. Unwavering. The orgasm hit that pressure like a wave hitting a seawall. Crashed. Broke apart. Retreated.

"Breathe."

He breathed. Ragged. Raw. His bladder clenched and released and clenched again, the fullness inside him oscillating between manageable and catastrophic.

"Good boy."

She went back down. Took him in her mouth again. Slower this time. Gentler. Her lips barely touching him, a whisper of sensation, tongue flat and soft against the underside of his shaft. She built him up like stacking cards. One layer of pleasure on top of another. Patient. Methodical.

"You taste like pre cum," she said, mouth still half around him, words vibrating through his cock. "Like, that's all I can taste. There's so much of it. You're literally feeding me, cuz. I could skip breakfast."

She giggled against his cock. The vibration shot through him. His stomach muscles pulled tight. His bladder sang.

The second edge crept up slower. She recognized it before he did. He felt her mouth change, the pressure easing, her tongue going still, her lips loosening. She held him in her mouth without moving. Just warmth. Just the soft, wet cradle of her mouth around his cock. No stimulation. No movement. Until the edge faded.

Then she started again.

She edged him a third time with just her tongue. Flattened it against the underside of his shaft and dragged it from base to tip in one long, slow lick. When he got close she switched to short, quick flicks against the head that were maddening but insufficient to push him over. His cock leaked pre cum in a steady stream that she lapped up between strokes, making quiet, satisfied sounds against his skin.

The fourth edge came from her hand. She wrapped her fingers around the base of his shaft and squeezed, her mouth working the top half, and the combination of tight grip and warm mouth brought him to the brink in under a minute. She pulled off. Squeezed harder at the base. His cock pulsed against her fist, the head flaring wide, darkening to a deep, bruised purple. Pre cum spurted from the tip in a thick arc that landed on his stomach.

"Oh my god." She stared at the mess on his skin. "That was like, an actual squirt. Not cum though, right? That was just pre cum?"

"Pre cum." His voice was a wreck.

"That's insane. Your cock is literally crying. It's like, weeping. It's having a little breakdown."

The fifth edge. The sixth. She lost her rhythm once, misjudged how close he was, and he felt the orgasm coil in his balls and surge upward and for one white hot second he was right there, right on the lip of it, his cock swelling inside her mouth, his balls tightening against his body.

She pulled off so fast a string of spit connected them.

"Shit. Shit, that was close." She pressed her thumb into the base. Hard. He felt the orgasm fighting against the pressure, trying to force its way through. His whole body went taut. Rigid. His toes curled. His hands twisted the sheets into fists. His jaw clamped shut so hard his teeth ached.

The orgasm retreated.

"Holy fuck," she whispered. "I almost lost you. Your cock was like, pulsing. I could feel it in my mouth. It was trying so hard."

She waited. Longer this time. Thirty seconds. A minute. Let him come back from the edge all the way. His cock didn't soften. It stood there between them, furious and neglected, the colour of a ripe plum, pre cum weeping from the slit like a leaky faucet. The vein on the underside pulsed visibly.

"Your poor bladder," she said, running one finger up the underside of his cock. Just one finger. Light as a feather. "It's so full, isn't it. I can see it from here. Your lower stomach is like, all swollen. That's your bladder. That's all your pee, cuz. Just sitting there. While I suck your dick."

He couldn't speak. He nodded.

"Does it hurt?"

Nod.

"More than your balls?"

He had to think about it. Two different pains. His balls, a deep aching weight in his groin that pulsed and radiated outward. His bladder, a tight, burning fullness pressing down from inside, making his whole lower body feel like an overfilled balloon. The two pains merged somewhere behind his pubic bone and became one massive, all encompassing pressure that was both awful and, in some perverse way, intensifying everything Jessica did to his cock.

"Different," he managed. "Both bad."

"But the blowjob's good, right?"

"The blowjob's good."

"Better than your hand?"

"Jessica."

"Tell me. Better than jerking off in your room watching porn?"

"Yes."

"Like, how much better. Give me a number. Out of ten."

"Can you please put my cock back in your mouth."

She laughed. That real laugh again, bright and surprised and genuine, her eyes crinkling at the corners, her bare shoulders shaking. She looked beautiful. She looked like the kind of girl he'd never in a million years get to touch, let alone receive oral sex from, let alone share a bed with while she was naked and wet and apparently enjoying herself.

"Fine. Since you asked so nicely."

Her mouth closed around him again. She changed her approach. No more lazy exploration. This was focused, intent, almost aggressive. She bobbed her head in a steady rhythm, lips sliding up and down his shaft, tongue pressing against the underside with each downstroke, creating a channel of warm pressure that his cock moved through. Her hand worked the base in time with her mouth. Tight. Firm. Wet with pre cum and saliva.

The seventh edge hit fast. She pulled off, pressed, waited. His bladder surged against the pressure and he gasped, muscles locking down, every fibre in his body fighting on two fronts.

The eighth. She used her tongue on the head, rapid fire flicks against the frenulum, her hand pumping the shaft. Close. Too close. She stopped. Pressed. Held.

Nine. Ten. Eleven.

He lost track.

The edges blurred together, a continuous state of almost, his body hovering at the threshold like a man balanced on a tightrope, leaning forward, leaning back, never falling. His cock leaked pre cum in a constant stream now, so much that Jessica's chin dripped with it, her hand slippery, the sheets underneath him soaked. He could hear it. The wet, obscene sounds of her mouth on his cock, the squelch of pre cum between her fingers, the muffled groans she made when she took him deep.

She pulled off. Went back down. Changed angle. Approached from the side, her tongue tracing the thick vein from root to tip. Took just the head, sucked hard, released. Kissed the shaft. Licked his balls. Sucked one testicle into her mouth, rolled it with her tongue, let it fall from her lips with a wet plop. Took his cock back in. Deep. Deeper than before. Her throat closed around the tip and she gagged, pulled back, saliva running down his shaft, and he almost came from the sound of her choking alone.

"That was new," she said, wiping her chin. Her voice was rough. "Okay. I can't go that deep. But your face when I tried? Oh my god. You looked like you were going to die."

"I am going to die."

"You're not going to die. You're going to not cum. There's a difference."

More edges. His cock had turned a colour he'd never seen it turn before. Deep, congested purple, the head so swollen it looked painful, the slit a dark, angry red, pre cum flowing from it like a wound that wouldn't close. Every touch of Jessica's tongue sent sparks through his groin that ignited against the pressure in his bladder and created a sensation he had no name for. Pain. Pleasure. Desperation. Need. All tangled together. His body didn't know what it wanted anymore. To cum. To piss. To pass out. All three. None of them. Something else. Something there wasn't a word for.

Jessica surfaced again. Her face flushed, lips swollen, chin slick. She straddled his thighs, sitting back on her heels, his cock standing between them like a monument to suffering. She held it at the base with one hand, loosely, her fingers barely circling the shaft. Pre cum ran down over her knuckles.

"How many edges was that, do you think?"

He shook his head. Couldn't count. Couldn't think.

"I think like, twenty? Maybe more? Your poor cock." She ran her thumb up the underside, slowly, from root to tip, through the slick of pre cum and spit. His entire body seized. "It's so hard, cuz. Like, it doesn't even look real. It looks fake. Like a dildo. Except it's leaking everywhere and it's purple and it's attached to my cousin who really, really, really needs to pee."

"Jessica."

"Hmm?"

"Please let me cum."

She tilted her head. Studied him. Her thumb rested on the tip of his cock, pressing lightly into the slit. Pre cum oozed around it.

"I'm thinking about it."

His hips moved. He couldn't stop them. A slow, grinding roll, pushing his cock up through her loose grip. She let him. Didn't tighten her hand. Didn't move it. Just held it there while he fucked up into her fist, his movements jerky and desperate, the friction nowhere near enough.

"Look at you. You're literally fucking my hand. Like a dog humping a leg. That's what you look like right now, cuz. Like a horny dog."

He didn't care. He kept moving. His bladder sloshed with each thrust, the pressure oscillating between bearable and unbearable, and his cock leaked with every movement, pre cum coating Jessica's fingers, running down her wrist, dripping onto his stomach.

"I'm gonna cum," he panted. "Jessica. I'm gonna. Please. Don't stop. Don't..."

She tightened her grip. Just enough. Just slightly more friction. His cock swelled. His balls drew up. The orgasm barrelled toward him like a freight train, unstoppable, inevitable, every nerve ending in his body converging on that one point at the tip of his cock where Jessica's hand gripped him.

She let go.

Nothing. Cold air. His cock standing alone, straining, the head flaring, the muscles at the base contracting uselessly, searching for something to clench around and finding nothing. His hips thrust up into empty space. Once. Twice. Three times. Chasing it. The orgasm crested and crumbled. Didn't break. Didn't crash over him. Just dissolved. Evaporated. Left him hollow and shaking and still hard and still needing to piss and still not cumming.

She smiled.

"Changed my mind." Sweet. Casual. Devastating. "No cumming."

And she pressed her palm flat against his lower abdomen. Directly on his bladder. Pushed down.

The pressure was instant, enormous, a wave of urgency that tore through every other sensation in his body and reduced his existence to one screaming imperative.

He threw himself sideways. Off the bed. His feet hit the floor and he stumbled, his cock bobbing in front of him, still hard, leaving a trail of pre cum on his thigh as he ran. The bathroom door. The handle. His hands were shaking so badly he fumbled it, slipped, grabbed again. Turned. Pushed.

He made it to the toilet with nothing to spare. His cock was still half erect, which made aiming a nightmare. He pointed it downward with both hands, the head slippery with pre cum, and the stream started before he was fully positioned. Piss hit the rim of the toilet, the water, the rim again. He adjusted. The relief was so intense his vision whited out. His knees buckled. He grabbed the towel rail with one hand and held his cock with the other and pissed for what felt like an eternity, the stream hard and steady and seemingly endless, his bladder emptying in a rush that left him lightheaded and trembling.

From the bedroom, Jessica's laughter. Clear and ringing and delighted with itself.

"Oh my god, I can hear you peeing from here! That's the longest pee in history! Cuz! You sound like a racehorse!"

He closed his eyes. Braced his forehead against the cool tile above the toilet. The stream continued. His cock was softening now, finally, the combined relief of the empty bladder and the absence of Jessica's mouth allowing it to deflate for the first time in what felt like years.

"Hurry up, cuz!"

Her voice echoed off the bathroom tiles, bouncing around inside his skull.

"We've got a beach day today and I have SO many plans for that cute little pre cum fountain of yours!"

The stream tapered. Stopped. He shook off. Flushed. His legs were unsteady. His balls still ached. His cock hung between his legs, soft now, sticky with dried pre cum and saliva. His lower abdomen was tender where she'd pressed it. His jaw was sore from clenching. His abs were sore from tensing. His hands were sore from gripping the sheets.

He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. Red rimmed eyes. Flushed face. A thin crust of dried pre cum on his stomach. His lips were cracked from breathing through his mouth.

Day two. He was halfway through day two. He still had all of today. All of tonight. All of tomorrow. That was roughly thirty six more hours of Jessica. Thirty six more hours of edges and teasing and that bright, bubbly voice telling him how pathetic he was whilst his cock wept against her fingers and tongue and thighs.

He was going to lose this bet.

He'd known it since the car ride. Known it since she'd put her hand on his thigh and traced the outline of his cock through his shorts. But knowing it and accepting it were different things, and standing in this bathroom, wrung out and shaking, his cock still twitching with the ghost of twenty denied orgasms, he accepted it.

He was going to lose. And some part of him, some dark, shameful, deeply buried part that lived in the same place as his most depraved fantasies, didn't want to win.

He splashed water on his face. Dried off. Tried to make his legs work.

Back in the bedroom, Jessica sat cross legged on the bed, still naked, scrolling through her phone. She looked up when he came in. Her eyes dropped to his cock, soft and hanging between his legs, and her lips curled.

"Aww. It's all sleepy now. Don't worry. It'll wake up. I'll make sure of it."

She hopped off the bed. Stretched. Her breasts lifted with the motion, round and full, the nipples tightening in the cool morning air. She walked past him toward the bathroom, close enough that her breast brushed his arm, close enough that he smelled her skin, warm and slightly salty, and something else underneath it, something musky and intimate.

She paused in the doorway. Looked over her shoulder.

"Hey, cuz?"

"What."

"You lasted like, thirty minutes with my mouth on your dick. That's actually impressive. For you, I mean. Like, for a boy who cums in four minutes jerking off? Thirty minutes with an actual blowjob? That's growth."

"Thanks."

"Don't thank me yet." She winked. "The day hasn't started."