Rug Burns

By

Cory Cyr

Rug Burns Copyright © 2015 CORY CYR

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Published by: Cory Cyr

Cover design by: 2015 © Wicked by Design

Front Cover Photograph: courtesy of Shutterstock®

Back Cover Model: Derek Poole

Back Cover/Photography: © CJC Photography

Edited by: Cassie McCown

Formatting: Sharon Kay of Amber Leaf Publishing

Copyright 2015 by Cory Cyr

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

TABLE OF CONTENTS  

Contents:

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Acknowledgements

About the Author

DEDICATION  

To my BFF Dianne (Weezie) yes, that’s actually her nickname. Thank you for many years of friendship. We have endured some major shit. But regardless of the ups or downs we have always survived. Just remember: if you were thirty-five, hot, gorgeous, and rich—oh and a man . . . I’d marry you! Here’s hoping for many more years to come.

PROLOGUE

I Love Cock.

Those three little words.

Individually, they are insignificant. The man hearing those words doesn’t have to be a rocket scientist to comprehend them. So simple and non-threatening, yet those three words are powerful. The woman that expresses it, maintains it, and controls it. I am a goddess when I have you at my mercy. I may be the one down on my knees, but I control you tip to root. You’ll do anything I want just for that moment of pleasure when you’re in my mouth. And in that single instance, I own you.

I have seen grown men beg, whimper, and try to take command. But I hold the authority. Sucking your cock is my domain. You may be on top when you fuck me, but make no mistake when I go down on you. I am the master. It’s crazy that men will do anything just for a blowjob. You’ve whispered promises, made bargains, and murmured words you thought I wanted to hear.

Don’t confuse me with other women. I’m not them. I enjoy taking a cock in my mouth more than actual sex. I love giving oral. Call it whatever you want: hummer, blowjob, cock sucking, hoover, fellatio, slurpin’ the gherkin, skin flute, or puff chore. The truth is I enjoy being on my knees because, mentally, I know I have the ability to bring you to yours.

When I swallow, it’s because I love it. My lower body begins to prickle and a slow burn courses through my belly. You’re not the only one who comes. I take pride in the fact that I can make you sob like a little boy or growl like a caged animal. Blowing a man is an art form, a skill—one I have spent years perfecting. And if it’s the right cock, it constitutes pleasure for both of us. My mouth is as talented as Picasso and as rare as the Allnatt Diamond.

I know many women who abhor the act of cock sucking because of swallowing. They have no idea how much absolute mastery they have. Women could rule the fucking world if they did it on their knees. I relish that moment when a man’s length swells in my mouth and his body begins to go taut with impending release. My cheeks hallow out as I suck every drop from him. Is it flavored like ice cream? Hell no. I’ve had tangy, spicy, bitter, and tart. Most of the time, the actual taste is irrelevant—it’s mind over matter. I’m sure that’s why God invented breath mints. But every once in a while, you get one and it’s like nectar of the gods.

Every man is uniquely different. Some get possessive and demanding. Most are cautious. After all, I do have their dick in my mouth. You have the hair pullers, the chokers, and the ones I call the mercenaries (those totally out for themselves)—I guess I should call them greedy choking mercenaries. Some melt in my mouth with arousing passion and some are too stunned to do much of anything (I call them jawbreakers—way too much work, not enough return).

I make no apologies because I enjoy saying those three salacious words—as well as the act. I’ve been termed a slut and a whore, but the fact is I haven’t fucked many men. My roster regarding intercourse is rather pitiful. I don’t know how many men I’ve blown. I try to remember only the best and the worst. The ones in between are irrelevant. We all have to be superior at one thing. Well, fellatio, that’s my one thing. I’m lucky because I enjoy the one activity I’ve perfected. If they gave out an award for puff chores… I’d win the Nobel.

I’ve always had specific rules. Rule one is I never give a second blowjob—ever. One per person (No, I don’t charge. I’m already wealthy). Blowing the same man twice is like a rollercoaster. No matter how many times you ride it, it will never be as thrilling as the first time. Rule two is no second dates. Of course, rules were meant to be broken.

The thorn in my side: Keenan Stone.

I’d had a lady boner for him since the first time I’d seen him in a fashion magazine. I mean extremely tall, blond, and British—and eleven years younger than moi. The man possessed all the qualities I desired when actively seeking cock. When I finally got an opportunity to meet him, I had aspirations—big ones. I also prayed he had a big one too, because I planned to slurp that gherkin’. Then I met him. Motherfucker. Prick. He wasn’t only gorgeous and hopefully endowed like a porn star, but he was sweet. Sweet or nice equals dangerous.

Of course, along with Mr. I’m-not-only-hot-as-hell-but-a-nice-guy, my bestie Haven had to royally fuck up my night at the gala, the event where I was to be introduced to Mr. Stone and optimistic to greet his bottom half. But because of Latch McKay, aka man whore, Keenan’s best friend, my plans got waylaid. Too many drugs and too much booze turned Haven’s boy toy Latch into Mr. Hyde. He’d done unforgivable things to her that night. It took him years to redeem himself in my eyes. Keenan Stone had been the white knight. Of course. He’d exacted revenge on Latch in Haven’s honor. My hero. Argh!

Apparently, Keenan didn’t follow in Latch’s footsteps. They were polar opposites. He was a kind and decent man. Two traits I found appalling in men I wanted to blow. He made my life miserable—a living hell. And for the first time, someone was succeeding in bulldozing his way into my heart.

I hated the fact he wouldn’t succumb to my advances. He respected me too much. Bastard. There was no fucking or sucking. Who knew there was a man alive who could say no to a blowjob? But there he was, touting a body that was clearly meant to be naked and enjoyed. Every time he looked at me, I wanted to weep. Jerk. He had the bluest eyes and the softest voice. Have you ever been refused in a British accent? I have. And for the first time in my life, I was brought to my knees… and it wasn’t for a blowjob.