I am going to suck a dick

Gracia

Ten words echoed in my head like a bad song I couldn’t stop replaying.

I am going to suck a dick in my dream.

I was kneeling on the bed, hands wrapped around this stranger’s waist, face far too close to his hips, my cheek practically brushing against the line of muscle that disappeared under a dangerously low towel.

Normally, there was no way I’d be doing this if this were real. No matter how heartbroken I was. No matter how many drinks I’d had. No matter how stupidly desperate I felt.

I didn’t throw myself at men. I didn’t even beg when Charles stopped touching me because, believe it or not, I was a proud woman. And I definitely didn’t grovel at the feet of complete strangers to have sex with me, no matter how insanely hot they were.

But what if this was a dream? Then it was the one I didn’t know I needed. My body wasn’t crying out for a drink, but for release, begging to be touched, to be ruined, to forget everything else. This was my true coping mechanism, not alcohol. I was finally about to experience the orgasm I’d been denied for far too long. Because, honestly? I had never seen a man like him before. Even drunk, I could tell he was older….so much older than me. Next to him, Charles looked like a high school kid pretending to be a man.

The way he looked at me made something deep inside me clench, like I was prey and he was the predator.

Was this what it felt like to be with an older man? Because if it was...God help me, I didn’t want to wake up.

Something hard nudged the side of my face.

I froze, and a shudder ran down my spine.

Huh. What was that?

I swallowed, even as my mind screamed at me how stupid the question was. Of course I knew what it was, but this felt strange, different.

I leaned back slightly, the world tilting around me, and my gaze dropped. That’s when I really saw it. My eyes widened.

Oh, God.

Something was very, very wrong with this dream… or right, because under the straining towel was the very clear and very intimidating outline of him. It was huge, thick, and hard.

Impossible. No way a real human being was built like that. I mean, the only one I’d ever seen in real life was Charles, and Charles… well, he was not this. Charles was small, fast, and disappointing. He was the two minutes of missionary and a pat on the back kind of man. That must be why that bastard loved dicks so much.

No wonder I’d never come. No wonder I'd felt like something vital was always missing. And now, kneeling in front of this stranger whose body seemed carved from every dark fantasy I didn’t even know I had, I was realizing just how big the difference between two men could be.

I blinked, my hand moving without thought. I ran my fingers lightly over the towel, feeling the hardness underneath.

"So big..." I muttered under my breath, in awe.

The moment my touch landed, his body jerked slightly, and in a blink, he moved. His hands gripped my waist firmly, and his other large hand caught my wrists, pinning them above my head against the bed. My back hit the mattress, breath rushing out of me, and I could feel the hard press of his arousal against my thigh, way too close to where I was already aching.

I gasped, my whole body tensing. His hand slid from my waist up to my throat. He was not squeezing, just resting there, forcing my chin up so our eyes locked.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

This dream was so intense, it should have scared me, but all I could think was, Please don’t wake up yet. I need to have a taste.

We hadn't even done anything, and already I was more turned on than I had ever been in my entire life. I couldn't even remember the last time I felt this way.

I swallowed hard, meeting his piercing hazel eyes. I bit my lip, nervous and needy all at once. His gaze dropped to the movement, darkening even more.

"How old?" he asked, voice deep and rough.

I blinked up at him, dazed. "W-what do you mean?"

His hand tightened just slightly around my throat, and his eyes flashed dangerously.

"How old are you?" he demanded.

I didn’t look away. Something inside me pushed me forward instead. I smiled up at him, slowly, as if I knew this was a bad idea but couldn’t bring myself to care.

"Old enough to be your daughter,” I said softly, tilting my head. "Why?”

I let my thigh brush against the thick bulge under the towel. “Does that turn you on?”

Yeah. I was definitely drunk. But this was just a dream, right? And in dreams, none of it had to make sense.

He raised an eyebrow, as if he was amused by my statement. I felt bolder. “Do you get off on the idea of being in control? Daddy vibes, hmm?” I licked my lips shamelessly. "You want me to call you Daddy?”

That word must’ve hit something in him because I felt his cock jumped beneath the towel, swelling even harder.

Holy shit.

This dream was getting better by the second.

I opened my mouth again, some other foolish thing on the tip of my tongue. But then his hand slid from my throat to my mouth, fingers brushing over my lips.

“I will not repeat myself,” he said. “Answer the question.”

My heart stuttered. He wasn't yelling, yet his tone alone made my skin tingle. My body reacted before my mind could catch up.

Something in me instantly obeyed. "Twenty-three..." I whispered, my voice smaller than I meant it to be.

He leaned back, his hand retreating as he ran his fingers through his damp hair. "Twenty-three," he muttered to himself, saying it indifferently. "I guess I'll go raw this time around, since there are no condoms in the room."