Comfort

She presses into him while the weight of the news still sits in his chest. Her hands slide down, sure and slow, until her fingers close around his cock. He breathes out like the floor just moved. Mila drops to her knees, takes him in her mouth, and the room tilts. Tongue flat, lips tight, she works him deeper until her nose brushes the dark thatch of hair at his base. Mick’s hand finds the back of her head. He guides, not forces, and she follows every nudge, throat opening, spit running, eyes wet. She pulls off for air, strings of saliva shining on her chin, then sinks again. Each wet sound fills the quiet. She holds him there until her lungs burn, then does it again, faster. He watches the sway of her breasts, the curve of her back, the wet shine on his shaft disappearing and reappearing between her lips. When he pulls free, it’s only to mark her face, hot ropes landing across her cheek and lower lip. She keeps her mouth open, catches the last of it on her tongue, then swallows. Nothing left to say.