She took him deeper, inch by agonizing inch, her mouth working him with a rhythm that was slow and torturous and perfect. The carriage creaked around them, the wheels grinding over stones, the horses snorting in the night air.
All of it should have drowned out the wet sounds of her sucking, but Jake heard every single one, amplified by the darkness and the danger and the sheer impossibility of the moment.
Gran Rosalinda's head bobbed in his lap, her silver hair catching the moonlight that streamed through the window. Her hand cupped his balls, squeezing gently, rolling them in her palm as she took him to the back of her throat and held him there. Jake's breath came in short, sharp gasps. He bit his lower lip hard enough to taste copper.
She pulled back, a string of saliva connecting her lips to the tip of his cock, and looked up at him with eyes that were dark and wet and utterly unrepentant.
"Fuck me," she said, the words barely a whisper.
"Fuck me like the man you've become."
