Chapter 21 #2
Humming, he trails his thumb along my lower lip, and that small sound might be the best one I’ve ever heard—knowing that I’ve pleased him. That he wants to be inside my mouth. It melts away the fear and sharpens my focus on him—his attentive gaze and his gentle touch as he keeps stroking my lips.
“Are you gonna be a good girl and swallow when I come inside your mouth?”
“Yes,” I say on a shuddery exhale.
“Every last drop?”
I nod in his grip.
“Good girl.” Trailing his hand along my cheek, he straightens. “As a reward,” he begins, taking his hard length out of his briefs, “I’ll give you a few minutes to get acquainted with my cock before I take over.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, staring at the thick length in front of me, barely knowing what I’m thanking him for, just knowing his warm tone.
He holds his cock out to me, and I tentatively take it between my fingers, feeling the size, the hardness, and the smoothness at the tip.
I lick my lips as I wrap my hand around it and stroke a few times.
I want it in my mouth. And not just any cock.
I glance up at the man who has taken charge of my whole world in the blink of an eye. I want to taste him. Ian.
Tentatively, I lean closer, inhaling the musky but clean scent. I press a soft kiss to the tip, and there’s that deep hum again. It spurs me on. I wrap my lips around the tip, sucking gently, swirling my tongue around it, tasting—licking the slit, licking the full length.
Ian places a hand on my head. His touch is calm and patient, and it grants me the courage to go further.
I take it in my mouth, little by little.
Tasting and testing. Bringing it deep into my mouth.
A twinge of disappointment rolls through me when I take it so deep it nearly triggers my gag reflex and I notice it’s only halfway inside.
I realize I must have groaned in disappointment when Ian says, “Don’t worry. I’ll make it fit.”
I’m about to pull back and ask how, but Ian grips my hair, holding my head still, his cock deep in my mouth.
Breathing hard through my nose, I struggle not to succumb to the twitching sensation at the back of my throat that threatens to send me into a fit of coughing and gagging.
“Relax your throat,” he instructs. “I don’t mind you retching a little. I enjoy the humiliation, but I don’t think you will.”
I groan around his length, trying to pull back, but Ian’s grip is firm.
“Jenna, relax,” he urges when I start sputtering around him. “It’s the only way to control the reflex. Don’t try to swallow, just relax.”
He reaches a hand down to stroke the front of my neck. It brings my awareness to that spot, making me realize which muscles I need to relax.
“Good girl,” he croons when I finally manage and go still. “I’m going to give you a second to swallow, then we’ll try again, and I’ll go a bit deeper.”
Grip still firm on my hair, he pulls out. I take the moment to lift a hand and wipe at the sides of my mouth, swallowing repeatedly.
“Ready?” he asks.
I give a slow nod and part my lips.
The moment he nudges his cock against my mouth, I eagerly open up wide. But there’s no taking him deep the way I want to. Tightening his grip on my hair, he decides the pace, advancing slowly.
“Relax your throat. Let me in, sweetheart.”
I’m not sure what it is about that affectionate word.
Sweetheart. It balances the turmoil inside me, dragging me deeper under his command.
Part of my brain registers that he might be manipulating me, but I can’t be sure, and as he sinks deep into my mouth, filling my senses and narrowing my airways, I don’t care.
All I can focus on is relaxing, taking him deep inside, and being his good girl.
And he rewards me with two blissful words every time I take him a notch deeper.
“Good girl,” he croons, sending waves of heat to my heart and to my pulsing core. “I think you just might end up taking me inside your throat.” He strokes my cheek with his knuckles, then grunts when he pushes a bit deeper. “And it’s only your first time.”
Taking his length becomes my only motive, and I sink into a trance. My brain shuts down, my vision glazes over, and my body melts, opening up to him. And little by little, he sinks into my throat.
I instinctively grab onto his legs, clawing and clutching at his pants, when he blocks my airways completely. But it’s not to fight. It’s sheer overwhelming sensation that needs an outlet.
“Shh,” he soothes. “I’ll let you breathe in a second. I’ve got you.”
His words make me pause. I stop grappling, just holding on. There’s nothing else I can do. Because at that moment, I’m his. His to control and his to own. So when he pushes a bit deeper instead of pulling back, I let him.
“Christ, Jenna, you’re so damn submissive,” he growls, twitching with the pleasure of it all. Slowly, he pulls out, then sinks to his haunches, watching me with feral intent. His hand in my hair forces me to keep my focus on him, vulnerable and exposed.
“I had no idea,” he says, surprise twining with the primal lust written across the hard lines of his face.
“I... Neither did I.”
A smile warms his gaze. Releasing my hair, he slides his hand to the back of my head and leans in, just a breath apart.
I’m so stunned when he presses his lips to mine—slowly and deliberately.
I pant hard as he starts to move, brushing soft kisses over my mouth like he’s feeling out every part of me.
When I finally respond, leaning into his kiss, he tilts his head and deepens the connection.
I part my lips, letting him in, and our tongues meet in a slow, exploratory rhythm.
It’s tender and intimate, yet firm and assertive.
There’s no doubt who’s in charge as he takes his time tasting me, but there’s also no mistaking the care in the way he gently cradles my head.
When he finally breaks the kiss, his smile is gone, the dark look from before back. His jaw tics. “Ask me to make it hurt.”
I stare at him, the hunger in his eyes and the danger rolling off him in thick waves. I should run. But logic and self-preservation hold no meaning to me at this moment. All I know is obedience and an urgent desire that makes my words come out with startling sincerity. “Please make it hurt, Ian.”
“My pleasure.” He gets up in one purposeful motion, grabs my hair, and shoves his cock deep into my mouth. I sputter and gag as he hits the back of my throat and holds me there.
“Relax,” he demands, his tone now hard and unforgiving. It goes straight to my core, lighting a fire of desire even as it pulls me into a submissive trance.
I relax, opening up for him, and he sinks inside my throat, snuffing out my breath.
When he pulls out, it’s so brief that I only manage a shallow inhale before he sinks back in.
Before long, he’s fucking my throat, his tight grip on my hair forcing me to take him.
I can’t keep up. I gasp and gag, sputtering as I struggle to relax and take it.
I focus all my attention on relaxing my gag reflex enough that I don’t retch.
It’s all I can control, and just barely.
Tears leak from my eyes as he repeatedly fills my throat, and spit drips down my chin.
I reach up to wipe it away a few times, but I soon give up to just hold on, needing the purchase as he throws my world into chaos.
“Touch your clit,” he growls. When I don’t immediately react, he raises his voice to a startling command. “Do it!”
I shoot my hand down to rub the sensitive nub. Lightning goes off in my nerve endings, crackling and crashing, sending me straight for the edge.
“You’d better not let my cum spill from your mouth, or I’ll have you lick it off the floor.” His movements become more stuttered, and I know he’s about to come.
I squeeze my eyes shut, preparing to taste him for the first time—to taste anyone for the first time. I hate the idea, but somehow, it also drives my desire higher. Something coils tight within me, making me rub harder, moaning around his cock.
He tightens his grip on my hair, and the pain that erupts in my roots somehow gives me that last nudge over the edge. I sputter and gasp, jerking from the force of the orgasm, screaming around his cock. And at that same moment, he comes.
He releases a deep, rumbling growl, and thick ribbons of cum shoot inside my mouth.
I keep rubbing myself, dragging out the pleasure even as I struggle not to gag at the thick sensation of his cum filling my mouth.
I swallow when he pulls out, but it only clears the cum at the back of my throat.
My stomach contracts, and I suppress a wave of nausea.
I blink against the room before me, staggering on a precipice that might throw me into a panicked fit of disgust.
“Ugh,” I whimper, gulping hard as another wave of nausea stutters in my stomach.
Ian steps behind me. “Swallow,” he demands and covers my mouth with his big hand. “Do it, Jenna.” He sinks to his haunches, surrounding me with his warmth as he holds me tight. It grounds me, lending me the strength to stay afloat and swallow his cum, one gulp at a time.
“That’s it, every last drop,” he praises, sweeping his thumb across my cheek while he keeps the seal over my mouth tight. “Do you like the taste of me?”
I’m inclined to shake my head, but I’m not even sure such a response would be truthful. As I swallow the last ribbon of cum and only the salty taste remains on my tongue, I feel strangely connected to him, like he has left his mark on me, claiming me in a very primal and visceral way.
I don’t answer his question, but when I sink into him, he seems to take it as an answer.
With a chuckle, he presses a kiss to the side of my head. “I thought so. Good girl.” He releases my mouth to stroke the side of my face, giving me some time to process before he finally helps me to my feet. “Now, let’s get some real food in you.”
He takes me by the hand and leads me to the kitchen, where the table is set and a big pot at the center emits a hearty fragrance of rosemary and slow-cooked meat.
“Did you cook?” I ask with surprise.
He pulls a chair out for me. “I did.” When he sees my surprised look, he adds, “I told you I was going to take care of you.” He levels me with a stern look that feels way too fatherly considering the taste of his cum lingering on my tongue. “You’re my responsibility now, Jenna.”
We eat in silence. The stew is delicious, and I enjoy simply savoring the taste and basking in the post-orgasmic bliss.
Once we’re done eating and my head has cleared somewhat, I ask, “Where is Killian?”
“He’s at school, practicing.”
“Does he do that often? On a Sunday?” I fidget with the edge of the tablecloth.
Ian has told me several times, both today and yesterday, that Killian won’t bother me for a while, but the knowledge that he’s around hangs like a latent threat over my head.
I don’t trust Killian to be of the same mind as his father.
“When I said he’s not going to bother you, I meant it, Jenna.”
I cast my eyes down, hating that he sees my doubt, but trust doesn’t come in two days. He must surely understand that. “How do you know?” I ask.
“Because I told him not to.”
My frustration grows, and I clutch my hands around the hem of my skirt as I struggle to reel it in.
I don’t want to risk a punishment, but I also need to know for sure.
“What if he decides he doesn’t want to follow your rules?
” After all, he’s a grown man. This might be Ian’s house, but he can’t control Killian like that.
“Jenna, Killian badly wants you, and he knows I’m not going to let him have you if he crosses the lines. He’ll stay away from you. Until I decide you’re ready.”
I push a shuddery breath through pursed lips. “What will happen when you decide I’m ready?”
“I’ll send you upstairs for him to play with. Once he’s done, you’ll come back down here so I can take care of you.”
I keep my eyes closed while he speaks, trying to hold the hovering panic at bay, but it creeps closer with every word he speaks.
“But only when you’re ready,” he stresses.
“What if I never will be?” I ask in a thin voice.
“Not when you feel ready. When I say you’re ready.”
I part my lips, shaking my head in utter defeat. A few minutes ago, I felt safe. All I wanted to do was sink into Ian’s arms and let him hold me. Now, I just want to crawl into a hole and hide.
“You need to learn to trust that I know what’s best for you.”
Frustration rises in my voice. “You don’t even know me.”
“I know you better than you think. In some ways better than you do yourself.”
“How…”
“Jenna, like I said, you’re very submissive. And very transparent in your way of showing it. I’ll know when the time is right.”
I want to protest, but knowing it’s no use, I stay quiet.
After a minute of tense silence, Ian says, “Tomorrow, I’ll let Killian take part in our piano lesson.
You’ll just play together. Nothing will happen.
Not tomorrow. I simply want you to get used to being around him.
” He gets up and rounds the table to stand behind me.
Gathering my hair, he smooths it behind my neck, then places his hands on my shoulders.
“Can you be a good girl and play with Killian without a fuss tomorrow?”
My eyes fall shut as a wealth of fear and hopelessness coalesces inside me.
But there’s also a twinge of something else.
An undeniable urge to obey. I want to shut it down, trample on it and banish it for good.
But I can’t. It’s stuck deep in my chest, and when Ian squeezes my shoulders tenderly, I’m done for.
“Yes,” I say, hating and craving the way he effortlessly bends me to his will.
“Good girl. Now go change into your pajamas, and then we’ll watch some TV before I tuck you in.”
My belly twists, my muscles constricting, as I go to change.
I’m tempted to stay in the bedroom and accept whatever consequence it will incur.
Going back to Ian and accepting his order seems like a deep cut to my self-respect.
But once I return to the living room and he pulls me into his arms on the couch, the tension slowly drains from my body.
There’s no denying it. Even though I fear Ian and despise the things he intends to subject me to, I also feel safe with him. More than I have anywhere for years.