Her wet mouth, descending my stomach. Leaving little damp kisses on each bump and ridge of muscle as she went. I shuddered under the hot press of her lips, and my cock strained, desperate for that wet heat around it.

I clutched a fistful of the sheets as she tugged the covers down, her eyes sparkling with delight and mischief as she watched my erection bob and jerk.

“Do I need to ask, SJ?” she purred, sliding her delicate fingers up the inside of my thighs. Home’s bones, I was leaking already, just from her hungry eyes on me. “Do I need to say, ‘Please let me suck your big cock’?”

“Please don’t let me wake up,” I moaned, spreading my knees wider, giving her better access. “At least not until this happens.”

She licked her lips, her mouth getting closer to where I was desperate for it. Just shy of her mouth making contact, she grinned up at me.

“You’re not dreaming, big boy.”

“I’m not? Oh … Oh fuck!” I groaned as her tongue—her real-life tongue, not the stuff of my subconscious fantasies—traced the slit of my cock, circled the tip, and then her mouth closed around me, wet and hot and perfect.

“Mouse, you lovely, dirty girl!” I hissed. In response, she took me as deep as she could, her tongue working the ridged underside of me, her cheeks hollowing with perfect suction. Her hand gripped the base, stroking in time with her bobbing mouth.

She moaned, and the sound vibrated all the way into the very core of me. “I’ve dreamed of how well your mouth would take me, but …” My eyes rolled back as her other hand fondled my bollocks, her nails scratching over the sack, and it drew tighter, and heat blossomed deep within, and it was expanding, and she mewled, sucking me deeper, gagging a little, but not stopping, and I was so close, I was almost⁠—

“Oh God, so sorry to interrupt, but … I think there’s an emergency in Hell!” Ezra’s voice barked through the door.

“It can wait!” I snapped.

Jemma released my cock with a wet pop, but her hand still fondled the length of me, holding me right on the precipice of utter pleasure.

“What do you mean?” she called back, her hand stroking through the slipperiness of her saliva. My jaw ached from holding it so tightly shut, my fists clamped in the covers. I was not going to climax while her roommate was shouting at us through the door.

“There’s a black Hell Hound nose sticking through a … what looks like a tear in the space-time continuum out here in the living room, and it’s shouting at me to ‘Get Boss! Get Boss!’ and something about, ‘Yellin’ Hellen’?”

“Shit,” I grated, sitting up and wrapping my hand around Jemma’s, stilling her. “My sister. I’m sorry, Mouse. I know I promised not to run, but …”