Wave after wave I swallowed, and still he kept coming. I choked and he pulled out, fisting himself. With angry strokes, he milked the last of his orgasm, panting as he kept spurting, dousing me in white sticky droplets all over my breasts. The picture of Q towering over me, his face furious and red while eyes blazed with his release, was a sight to behold. I wanted to capture the moment, sear it on my brain, remember the ink of his tattoo, the musky taste of him in my mouth, and the knowledge I drove him to break.
