He was still speaking when you closed the distance and tugged at his waistband.
Clark stuttered, his hand closing gently over your wrist.
“Sweetheart,” he murmured, ever so patiently. “I’m trying to talk to you.”
But your gaze stayed fixed downward, lips parted, breath blowing warm against him.
His cock twitched.
Clark exhaled through his nose, his fingers tightening around your wrist. “This isn’t funny. It’s the second time you’ve bashed my car this month.”
A bead of spit dripped from your mouth, sliding down his shaft. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, his free hand bracing against the counter behind him.
“You don’t get to do something like that and then try to… bribe me.” His voice shook, already faltering. His hand stayed over yours, though his pants were still open.
You let another bead of spit fall, leaving a wet trail on his hardening girth. You watched it curve around him before dripping off.
He watched it with you, a soft mewl leaving his lips.
When you glanced up at him, wide-eyed and pouty, your trembling lip only made his jaw tighten harder.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I’ll stop now.”
“No,” he blurted, too quickly, before steadying himself. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he added, softer, “It’s okay. I… like your bribe.”
He stepped out of his house slippers and guided you down onto them with one big hand, pulling himself free with the other. The weight of him bobbed in front of your face, flushed and heavy, and his fingers curled into your hair, holding you still.
“Open,” he instructed, firm now, though his voice still carried that soft drawl.
Your jaw dropped, tongue flicking over his tip. His groan rumbled deep in his chest, his hips jerking toward you.
You paused, leaving him wet with spit. “What about your car?” you asked innocently.
He tugged your top down with his free hand, baring your breasts as his cock slid back against your lips.
“Forget the car,” he said, husky now, patience fraying. “Just… keep going.”
