Chapter 14
Gen
I’m not sure what I was expecting Anton to do for this little performance. He told me he likes dominating women, after all. I suppose I was expecting him to force her to her knees and fuck her mouth, but it looks to me more like he’s about to worship her.
He’s so tall that even on his knees he’s pretty much level with her tits. He holds her in place against the pillar with a strong grip on her waist as he kisses his way up her stomach.
Fuuuuck.
Seeing Anton’s sensual mouth on a woman’s bare skin does serious things to me.
Some guy comes up behind me and presses himself against me, sliding an arm around my waist. I’m getting more and more turned on by the second here, and the guy smells great, but, as much as I need his semi-hardness pressed up against my arse right now, there’s no way in hell I’m letting someone get me off while I watch Anton.
That would tell him everything he needs to know: that watching him devour another woman is getting me hopelessly aroused.
I slap the guy’s arm, and he gets the hint and moves away.
I wouldn’t say I’m usually voyeuristic. I don’t particularly get off on watching people having sex. It pains me to admit this is Anton-specific, because what I do get off on is watching the man whose mouth and hands I’ve imagined on myself using them on another woman.
Spelling out for me what I’m missing.
And I know he’s only just getting started.
He continues to move that mouth up her body, over her skin, teasing one taut nipple with lascivious strokes of his tongue before latching on and sucking.
Hard. I can tell by the way his jaw works.
His cheek hollows out. And that lucky bitch bucks against him.
His eyes drift closed as he switches between her nipples, alternating between laving and sucking.
She’s wriggling so much in pleasure that he’s having to hold her in place with his hands.
Her palms stroke down the pillar behind her as she seeks relief, her blonde head flailing from side to side, red lips open.
Her lipstick is still perfect, and that’s when I realise he hasn’t kissed her.
It’s a tiny victory, but I’ll take it.
Then he’s pulling away, turning her roughly and edging backwards on his knees before pulling her hips away from the pillar. I think he says something, because she shuffles further back and bends over, laying her hands and forehead against the pillar. Her breasts hang free and heavy.
Anton leaves her like that for a second, releasing her hips, and when one hand goes to the opposite wrist, I realise what he’s doing.
He’s going to roll his fucking sleeves up before he gets stuck in.
Just as I fantasised.
The woman’s big, shapely, crimson-silk-clad arse is waving in his face, but as he removes a cufflink and rolls one sleeve up, he turns his head and looks straight at me.
I blink.
He smirks and mouths two words.
Watch this.
He makes fast work of the other sleeve, sticks his cufflinks in his pocket with ease, and then he’s tearing her dress down over her hips so it pools in a scarlet puddle at her feet, and she’s naked except for her heels.
With a big hand on each of her arse cheeks, he parts them and licks her once, slowly, front to back. He keeps his face far enough from her pussy to afford me a clear and unwelcome shot of what he’s doing. His tongue seems indecently large and long, his lick decadent and greedy.
Fuck me.
I’m dripping with arousal now. My nipples are rock fucking hard and chafing against the built-in bodice of my dress, my thighs rubbing together.
He sits back on his heels, makes a point of sticking three fingers in the air, and rams them inside her, crooking them.
She jumps like she’s about to shoot off the face of the earth.
His watch glints in the dim light, and those fucking forearms are everything I hoped for—huge and hairy and tanned and taut.
But they’re not the worst part of it. His long fingers disappearing into her cunt aren’t the worst part of it, either.
Nope. The absolute worst part is the look on his face as he slowly and deeply and deliberately finger-fucks her.
Because the thin veneer of respectability has been wiped clean away, leaving the animal he really is.
His face is tense with want, his jaw clenched, and if he turned to face me I wouldn’t be surprised to see his mouth twisted into an actual snarl, because the boys were right.
He is a fucking wolf.
And right now, she’s his sexy Red Riding Hood, once crimson-clad and now naked for him, and I’m nowhere in this scenario.
I’m nothing.
Then he’s leaning in again and tilting his head so he can get around his fingers to her pussy, where I can tell by the way his jaw’s working that he’s really fucking letting her have it.
Fuck my actual life.
Because watching Anton Wolff on his knees, devouring some woman’s pussy, is the hottest, most carnal thing I have ever seen.
The rhythmic slide of his jaw.
The faint shadow of stubble that I’m sure feels seriously great for her.
The fact that his nose and mouth are buried in her completely, but I can still just about make out the dark fan of his eyelashes against one cheek as he works her.
She starts to come. I’m actually impressed she’s lasted this long.
I wouldn’t have lasted thirty seconds in her place.
Anton doubles down, licking and finger-fucking her, forearm muscles flexing, watch face glinting.
Then he’s getting to his feet behind her and looking around for a condom.
He finds one on a poser table right beside him—condoms are everywhere in this place—and unbuckles his belt.
It’s the moment I’ve been dreading.
He pushes down his trousers and his black boxer briefs just enough to free his cock, which springs up from between his shirt tails.
It is fucking gigantic.
Oh my Christ.
I have to physically restrain myself from clapping a hand over my mouth.
Then he fists it.
And he turns his head and looks straight at me.