Whispers That Melt: The Sexiest Thing You Can Say

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The Sexiest Thing You Can Say

What if the sexiest thing you could say had nothing to do with words?

Last Saturday, my lover R.S. went dirtbike riding—his first long ride of the year. Forty miles or so. Just him, the trail, and the hum of adrenaline.

I know how he gets after a ride like that.
His energy? Uncontainable.
His body? Taut, pulsing with effort.
His cock? Rock-hard and ready.

The thought of him—dust-covered, sweat-slick, all man—made my thighs ache.
I was already wet before he walked through the door.

And when he did, I had plans.
Plans to use every ounce of that post-ride energy.
I was ready for a ride of my own.

You could call it selfish.
But leaving that kind of opportunity untouched?
Not my style.

We jumped into his F-150.
I didn't care where we were headed.
I just needed him parked. Still. Mine.
I had intentions. Unladylike ones.

He drove us to a secluded, pretty, wooded spot near a quiet pond.
Honestly, I barely noticed the scenery.
All I wanted was the taste of him—his sweat, his skin, his scent.

Lust blurred my vision.
He sat in the driver's seat, relaxed, smoking a joint.
No clue where my mind had wandered.

I licked my lips.
And asked, as ladylike as I could manage,
"May I give you a blowjob?"

He drew a long hit, exhaled slowly.
Smoke curled around his face like a veil.
Unfazed, he said,
"Yes, yet my cock will be cold."

I met his gaze.
Moonlight carved shadows across his cheekbones.
My voice dropped, warm and deliberate:
"That's okay. My mouth is warm and wet."

And then I devoured him.
It was like someone else had taken over my body.
I sucked, stroked, bobbed—shameless, hungry.

My hands roamed his worked-over muscles.
Visions of him on that bike, pushing his limits, filled my head.
His scent—earth, sweat, gasoline—wrapped around me like a second skin.

Drool dripped down his balls onto the dust-covered seat.
His moans mixed with the wet sounds of my mouth.
Steam fogged the windows, blurring the world outside.
Inside, it was heat and breath and want.

That blowjob said everything.
It told him how I wanted to fuck—raunchy, nasty, knees scuffing against seatbelt latches.

And it all started with a coy, innocent line:
"My mouth is warm and wet."

Sometimes, the sexiest thing isn't what you say—
It's what you leave unsaid.

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