Cheer Squad Slumber Parties #01

Syren watched Hayden sag into the chair. His books spread across the table, the essay half-finished. She rubbed his shoulders, then let her hand drift lower, catching the waistband of his sweats. "You’re wound tight," she murmured. She sank to her knees between his legs. Her nails skimmed the cotton before she dragged it down. He was already hard, heavy against his thigh. She leaned in, brushed her lips once over the head, tongue flicking the salt there. A single wet stripe, slow, then she took him deeper. Her mouth worked in steady rhythm, lips tight, tongue pressed flat along the underside. Hayden’s hand found her hair, not pulling, just holding. She angled her head, let him slip a little farther each stroke until her nose brushed skin. She swallowed once, felt him jerk, heard the raw sound that slipped from his chest. When she finally pulled off, spit trailed from lip to crown. She wiped it with her thumb, spread it over him, then stood. In one motion she climbed into his lap, shoved the shorts aside, and sank onto him. Heat. Fullness. She braced her palms on the back of the chair and rode him hard, hips rolling, the wood creaking in protest. Hayden’s head tipped back. She dragged her teeth across his throat, whispered against the pulse, “Grade me.”