Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
SIMON
I barely remember the ride from the restaurant to his condo.
Maybe it’s being shoved against the door the second we get inside. Perhaps it’s the way my head is spinning.
“I need you naked,” Sebastian says as he rips my shirt off.
Buttons pop as the wet fabric comes apart, forced over my shoulders and down my arms by a man whose set jaw and angry growl have my skin so hot I could start a fire.
“That was one of my nicest dress shirts,” I mumble. Fuck it. I hate wearing formal clothes. Who needs to be dressed, anyway?
Sebastian drops to his knees. Holy fuck, that’s hot. I mean, I was on board with that whole gagging on his cock idea, but I can get on board with this too. I can probably count on one hand the number of times I’ve been with a guy who didn’t want me to be the one doing the pleasing.
“God, yes. Touch me,” I moan as his palm slides over my abs. Chilly air conditioning pebbles my nipples, and he rises to close his teeth over one and then the other. His hands pin mine against the door as he bites down. Let me tell you, he bites down hard.
“Oh, God. Oh fuck.”
I never noticed how erotic the clink of a belt buckle is before. The quiet click of each notch on my zipper is all I can hear, aside from us both breathing like we’re running a race.
“Your cock is gorgeous,” Sebastian breathes when he finally frees me. His hand is warm and fucking huge, wrapping around me with confidence. God, that’s sexy.
Plenty of men have talked a good game. I’ll admit, when I challenged him back there in the car, I didn’t expect much. Fuck, though, I want him to deliver.
“You gonna suck me or just sit there and hold it?”
I don’t know what I’m saying right now. Usually, with a client, it’s about being who I think they want me to be.
My job is to make them think I’ve never been more turned on than I am with them.
They’re in charge so long as they’re not asking me to do anything uncomfortable or dangerous.
It’s about them because making it about them brings in the big tips and makes them return for more.
I’m a fantasy. That’s the job.
Except nothing about this moment is typical.
Technically, it’s a date. The professional kind.
I’ve never actually been on the other kind, but this guy who’s on his knees stroking my cock so slowly I might go insane, he called Brennan and paid to take me to dinner, which makes it a professional date.
Usually, it’s up to us to negotiate any “extras.”
We kind of skipped that step. Something about me being so horny my brain wasn’t working. So horny I’m offering myself up on a platter.
The truth is, for once, I don’t care about getting paid.
The things Sebastian said back in the car stirred up something I hadn’t felt in forever.
Just this once, I want to be the guy who gets laid out and fucked into a coma because someone wants me so badly.
Not because I’m getting paid to be someone’s fake-ass fantasy.
It’s a dangerous thing to want. Taboo, even, in a business where almost anything goes. But nobody in my life has looked at me the way this man is looking at me now, and can’t I have something this one time that’s for me, and only me?
Does it matter that I know he’s using me? Do I care that the way he’s grabbing and biting at me like I’m free samples at the grocery store is nothing more than an outlet for his anger? Not in the way I probably should.
I shiver from the rough grip of his hands on my hips and the scrape of his teeth over my balls and inner thighs. I learned early on that I enjoy pain with my pleasure, but it’s not something I can do with a client. I don’t trust them enough.
You probably shouldn’t trust Sebastian, either. Knowing he hates me, though? Oddly, I trust him. He's been refreshingly direct.
So if this guy can come even close to delivering on the filthy things he promised to do to me, I want it. Every bit. Just this once. Just for me.
The air conditioning pebbles my wet skin. I push back against the door, trying to hold myself up under the intensity of Sebastian’s gaze. “You’re fucking killing me here, dude.”
He brings one hand up to stroke my balls.
The other keeps up its slow slide over my so-hard-I-might-pass-out erection.
Sure, firm touches mixed with soft ones I can barely feel.
Then, a squeeze that’s a little too rough.
A lick over my crown, followed by a bite to my inner thigh.
I buzz over every inch of my body, especially where his skin touches mine.
With the constant changes in technique, I can feel my orgasm rush toward me and then retreat again, like the ocean waves on a choppy day.
My legs give a little. My knees are threatening to walk off the job.
Fuck no. Stand strong. I’m not the weak, skinny teenager I was with Elijah. Like I was the night I ran away from home. Nobody ever gets to see me weak again.
I can take this. I can take whatever he throws at me. I want to.
“Don’t,” he rumbles. “If you fall, I stop, and I’ll make you crawl to me begging before I finish. If I finish at all.”
If I finish at all. There’s a terrifying thought. If he leaves me hanging, I will scream. You wouldn’t believe how few clients care if I get off. Some don’t even notice. This guy’s promised me orgasms until I’m dehydrated, and I intend to get what I came for.
Another small slip, my foot sliding on the ceramic tile beneath me, shoots me full of adrenaline. I press my hand to my chest, trying to calm the frantic flailing of my heart. “I won’t fall,” I murmur. “I won’t slip.”
I don’t know if I’m trying harder to convince myself or him.
“Spread your legs.”
Let it never be said that I don’t know how to follow directions.
Sebastian stands, threading a hand into my hair and pressing an oddly intimate kiss to my throat before licking across the seam of my lips and making me gasp with the force of his kiss.
It’s aggressive and messy. A swirling tornado of teeth biting my lip and scraping my tongue as he steals the breath from my mouth.
I don’t kiss much—barely ever. Clients don’t usually want to, and my only relationship was an awkward experience a lifetime ago. This kiss is nothing like the chaste kisses of my teenage years. Nor the slobbering of old men who want pretend intimacy.
This kiss is one I could drown in and die happy. Before I realize it, I’m clinging desperately to his arms, telling myself it’s only to make sure I don’t fall.
“Wider.”
He kisses me again. I push my feet wider.
His tongue slides over my lip. I open more without really thinking. I think if it weren’t for my quaking thighs, I’d be happy to stay pressed against this door, kissing him forever. He tastes like cinnamon and desire. Like something usually not meant for someone like me.
“More. Please,” I whisper against his lips. All this time, his hand has been idly stroking me. I don’t think I can take much more.
“Spread your legs wider.”
A frustrated growl comes out of my throat. “I’m not a fucking gymnast. If I spread them any wider, my balls will be on the floor.”
Somehow, I do it anyway. I always hated being told what to do. It was always the whip or the worst chores if I failed to comply. So why do Sebastian’s commands get me so fucking hot?
His hand leaves my cock, and he brings two fingers to my mouth. “Suck.”
Those fingers shove a little too hard between my parted lips, fucking them in and out like they’re his dick.
My saliva pools. I gag a little. My eyes water.
I’m doing exactly what he said he’d make me do back in the car, only with his fingers.
Wait. Did he say whether he’d use his cock? I can’t remember now.
“Turn around.”
I turn a little too eagerly.
He pushes my pants to the floor, and I step out of them.
Then he presses my face, cheek first, to the door.
Fingers trail over my back, over the tattoo that helps to camouflage my scars.
Usually, I discourage guys from touching me there, but I’m so dizzy and hot that all I can do is stick out my ass and try to hang on.
And pray he doesn’t ask too many questions.
Before I can get too self-conscious, a slap to my ass steals my breath. “I wanted to fuck you, but this ass is just begging for a spanking.”
“W-wha…” I’ve forgotten how to make words. I can feel my heart pounding against the cool surface of the door.
“Jesus Christ, this ass is perfection,” he says before smacking it again.
“I’m pretty sure Jesus has better things to think about than my ass.”
“Just for that, I’m going to keep going until I turn all this pretty golden skin back here bright red.”
Keep going, he does. Every couple of times his hand strikes my ass, he changes it to a soothing touch, sliding his palm over my heated flesh and what feels like a thumb teasing my cleft.
He switches sides and repeats. It’s always pain followed immediately by pleasure.
It becomes a rolling rhythm where, eventually, I can’t separate one from the other.
At some point I realize I’ve got tears rolling down my cheeks, and I don’t even know why.
His front presses against my back. “Suck me again.” The two fingers are back, pushing between my lips and sliding against my tongue. While the fingers of his right hand are ravaging my mouth, the left wraps around my weeping cock again.
“Thank fuck.” Except my mouth is full, so it doesn’t come out right. Mostly, it’s a drooling mumble. A little embarrassing, but I’ve got a stinging ass and a desperate need to orgasm, so fuck embarrassing.
Those same fingers leave my mouth and probe my hole, pushing their way inside. It’s not gentle. His fingers are insistent and steady, and I suspect the burning pressure is the point. I hope so.
My teeth sink into my lip, but I can’t stop the whines and groans that leave my throat when he brushes against my prostate. “I need more.”
“I’ll decide what you need.” His hand leaves my cock.
Yes, please. “Oh, come on.”
A forceful slap hits my left butt cheek. Then the hand is back on my dick, and if I didn’t already have tears on my cheek, I would now.
“I want to hear ‘please’ when you ask me for something. And you can either call me Sir or Sebastian. Otherwise, I’m going to spank this gorgeous ass instead. I can’t jerk your cock and finger your ass and spank you all at the same time, so choose carefully.”
Fuck. Why, why, why is that hot? I should be pissed that he’s threatening to hold my orgasms hostage unless I call him Sir, except then I hear myself whispering precisely what he wants to hear.
“Yes, Sir.”
“That sounds so good coming out of your mouth. Say it again.” He growls against my ear and then sinks his teeth into that spot where my neck meets my shoulder. I shiver and hope he’ll do it again.
“I’ll say anything you want if you let me come. Sir.” I sink my teeth into my bottom lip. I know I’m being a little shit, and yet I can’t help feeling so pleased.
I’m having an out-of-body experience right now. This might really destroy me. I might not survive. I’m not even sure I mind.
Especially when the hand shuttling over my cock speeds up, and his fingers fuck in and out of me harder, more insistently. Every time his fingertips hit my prostate, I moan louder.
By the time my release spills over his hand, I’m a blubbering mess. My hands slide halfway down the door. There I am, ass out, with my legs barely holding me up.
My knees almost buckle. More than once.
I’m still catching my breath when he pulls me against him. He peppers kisses and bites over my arms, side, shoulders, and neck before he spins me and presses his lips to mine again. Our tongues tangle, and this time, I give as good as I get without even thinking. He’s well and truly fried my brain.
He’s still hard, and neither my pride as a man nor my professional dignity will let that stand. However, I’m unsure how much that second one applies now. Not much, if I’m being honest. Whatever.
He pulls back, and I make the mistake of opening my eyes. A naked desire has replaced the earlier fierceness on his face. Something raw.
“God, you’re perfect,” he breathes.
Holy shit, I’m in serious trouble. Out to sea without a paddle. I’ve had clients who were fine, and some I even kind of liked. But if I knew Sebastian in a different context, I might have difficulty not coming back for seconds. The chemistry between us is something I’ve never had before.
Until his face changes, and I see reality set in. He takes a step back.
“Shit,” he says again, and this one doesn’t sound like the good kind.
The regret in his voice is echoed all over his face.
Fuck. No. Please don’t regret me.
Then it gets worse.
“I made a mistake.”
Just like that, something inside me feels like it’s breaking.