She looks back down at my cock, her gaze inquisitive, like she’s plotting out a novel. Her fist only covers its bottom half. I can see the gears in her head turning, considering the best way to coordinate her efforts. I almost want to laugh; I've never seen anyone stare at me so thoughtfully, or approach a blowjob with so much planning. But that might embarrass her.

“Don’t worry about trying to fit all of it in your mouth,” I add. I’m about to tell her that I’ll teach her how to deep-throat me another time, but then I remember there won’t be another time. Before I’m able to dwell on that, Gracie runs her fist up and down my cock, reminding me to continue. “I want you to take me in your mouth—be careful of your teeth—and move your head up and down. When you get comfortable with that, try wiggling your tongue and sucking, too.”

After another moment of assessment, Gracie goes for it. A long, low groan escapes me as she slides her mouth down over my cock. It’s so warm, so soft, and I curse under my breath. Letting my hand rest on top of her head, I stroke her silky dark hair, and admire the way it shines almost gold where it catches the light.

It takes her a minute to figure out the rhythm, but soon, she's bobbing her head up and down after her hand like a champ. I wonder if she's been watching any pornos as research. Fuck, that's a hot mental image. Maybe I should pick out a good “educational” movie for us to watch next time. No, wait—there won't be a next time. Goddammit. Why can't I make that fact stick?

“D-don't try to show off by taking too much,” I say, already starting to get a little unsteady. She's been a quick study so far, and this lesson is no exception. “No sense in gagging yourself.”

Gracie makes a little indignant hmph noise that's way too cute for someone with a mouth full of dick. I feel her tongue slide over my flesh; she's impatient to prove herself, move on to the next step. And oh, fuck, she remembers that sensitive spot under the head...

The sounds of her wet slurps and my heavy breathing fill the room. Her cheeks hollow with suction. In a few minutes my balls start tightening up against my body, warm pleasure swirling through my veins. “I'm going to come soon,” I warn her.

But instead of slowing down or stopping, she just hums loudly—where the hell did she learn that trick? My cock throbs at the vibration and I spurt into her mouth with a ragged groan. Her eyes widen, but she keeps sucking me off until I gasp, “Enough, baby.” She immediately pulls off with a wet pop.

As I come down from my high, I can't help chuckling at the stricken look on her face. She swallows with visible effort and reaches for the nightstand to knock back a drink of water.

“That's what jizz tastes like?” she exclaims, mouth drawn down and nose wrinkled. “So...ugh.”

Gracie fucking Oliver just drank down my come. Damn. “You're allowed to spit it out, you know. Or stop before I come.” I pet her hair. “Did you like doing it at least?”

She considers it and then gives me a shy smile. “Yeah. I liked making you feel good. Knowing that I made you lose control turned me on.”

Fuck...if she keeps talking like that, it won't take long before I'm hard again.

I help her up and back onto the bed. We lay on our sides and I pull her close, molding her body against mine, tasting myself in her kiss. I reach down—Jesus, she's soaking wet—and she gasps as my fingers slide over her swollen bud. I rub gently, enough to bring her closer to the edge but not nearly enough to push her over. I tease her clit until she's panting and rocking her hips into my hand, each breath edged with an urgent, keening note, and my cock is ready for action again.

I sit up, roll on a condom, and kneel between her legs. She wraps them around my waist, welcoming me. I slide in and her mouth opens in a soft moan, almost a hum of satisfaction. I'm suddenly very aware how big I am, and how small she looks under me. I'm almost a foot taller than her. She's so finely made, like a work of art. I know she's far from fragile. But though she's a spitfire sometimes, she's still soft and quiet deep down, and it shows when she's truly happy.

I draw my hips back and push in again, savoring the sight of that happiness spreading over her face. I vowed a long time ago that I would always protect Gracie. Make sure that life never hardened her all the way.

The very first children's book I'd left under her pillow was a fiftieth-anniversary edition of Ferdinand the Bull. When its stark red-and-black cover had caught my eye at the bookstore, I remembered the story I'd read in elementary school, which in turn reminded me of Gracie. Peaceful resistance—being true to herself, never getting mean or sour, but also never changing just for other people's sake. Even if that meant she felt out of place.

That afternoon, she ran down the stairs, her eyes lit up and cheeks glowing. Her family was getting ready to leave the house, their mom taking Hayden to some sports ceremony and their dad taking Beth to choir practice, leaving Gracie home alone again—I think she hated being alone, and she was left often. That’s what drove me to do something special in the first place, something just for her. Anyway, she walked straight over to me and wrapped her fingers around my thumb, squeezing a gentle thank you.

Our careful dance continued from that moment on. Every few times I came over, she'd walk through the kitchen and briefly grab my thumb as she passed by, our hands concealed by the counter. It was innocent, but we both knew it was still borderline inappropriate. Hayden wouldn’t have liked it. So, without ever explicitly agreeing on secrecy, we did it where no one could see. Our own little moment, stolen here and there.