4. Who Needs A King When I Can Have A Monster
4
WHO NEEDS A KING WHEN I CAN HAVE A MONSTER
~JESSICA~
“A s you wish.”
The words barely leave my mouth before I’m on him.
My knees hit the alley floor with a wet smack, gravel biting into skin through my leggings, but I don't care. Pain only grounds me. Reminds me this isn’t a dream or another of those fucked-up fantasies where he watches from the shadows, untouchable.
He’s here. Solid. Massive.
And he's already so hard it's sinful.
I take my time with the zipper, dragging it down like I’m unwrapping a gift forged in violence and obsession. My fingers tremble—not from fear, but from restraint. The temptation to just shove everything aside and gorge on him like I’m starving is real, gnawing at my control like a dog with bone.
But I don’t rush.
Viper deserves better than that.
My hidden masked monster demands precision.
To be saved by just his presence at the peak of tension left me feeling more than just utmost relief. The best way to describe it is when girls in romance novels express the level of safety their man delivers just by their presence.
When they know that their man will go feral and protect them from harm’s way in a heartbeat.
I never understood that concept, but with Viper… my masked Alpha hook up that I’m becoming far too addicted to… that’s as close as someone as unstable as me can experience in this life time.
I won’t be getting a pack that can handle me, that’s for sure.
When I finally get his cock free, I exhale a quiet, reverent sigh.
He’s heavy in my hand. Thick. Smooth. The head flushed dark, already leaking for me. A droplet of precum beads at the slit, catching the moonlight like a pearl of sin.
My thumb swipes across it, smearing it along his length as I stroke him once… twice… slow, deliberate.
Above me, his breath catches.
I look up.
His eyes are twin infernos behind the crimson leather of his mask, molten blue drowning in black. They burn like they're trying to brand me—claim me in a way words never could.
That same fucking look he gave me the first time he nearly killed me.
I grip him tighter.
“You’re shaking,” I murmur, brushing my lips along the underside of his cock, not quite kissing, not quite pulling away. “What is it, Viper? Scared of what I’ll do to you?”
His growl is low and dangerous.
A warning and a plea.
Good.
Because I want him right on that fucking edge.
I lick a stripe from base to tip, dragging my tongue slow and firm, letting the weight of him press against it. The taste of his skin, the sharp musk of sweat and sex and danger—it’s intoxicating. A drug I can’t quit.
I flatten my tongue along the head, circling it lazily while my fingers continue their maddening rhythm below.
He twitches.
Fuck, I love that.
I press a kiss to the tip, then open my mouth and swallow him inch by aching inch.
The first slide makes my eyes water. He’s too big, always is, and I’m too greedy to stop. My lips stretch around him, my jaw aching already. I choke a little when he hits the back of my throat, but I don’t pull back.
I breathe through my nose.
Relax my throat.
Take more.
His hand fists in my hair the second I bottom out, his knuckles white through leather gloves. But he doesn't push. Not yet. He's letting me set the pace, pretending he still has control.
He doesn’t.
I pull back until just the tip remains, then suck hard, hollowing my cheeks until I feel the pulse in his cock throb against my tongue.
His breath hitches.
“F-fuck,” he rasps.
That’s right.
I do it again, taking him deep, slow, loving how the veins throb against my tongue, how the head of his cock punches the back of my throat with each bob of my head.
My jaw burns. My throat protests. I welcome it.
Because this?
This is power.
This is worship through submission, domination through pleasure.
This is me, Jessica Vesper Calavera—Omega, assassin, ghost, or his Venom —on my knees, proving I don’t need teeth or a blade to bring a man like Viper to the fucking edge of ruin.
I glance up, eyes watering, saliva dripping from the corners of my mouth.
He meets my gaze, and I can see it—how close he is to snapping.
That tight line of his mouth. The way his nostrils flare. The way his hips jerk forward, just slightly, like he’s fighting himself every damn second.
He wants to fuck my mouth.
So I let him.
I flatten my hands against his thighs in silent permission.
Do it.
His grip tightens in my hair. He growls something that sounds like a warning—but I’m already bracing for it.
He thrusts forward, not all at once, just a testing pump of his hips. I take it.
Another.
Deeper.
Soon he’s fucking my mouth in earnest—slow but deep, deliberate strokes that drag along my tongue like he’s marking me from the inside out. I moan around him, loving the way he shudders above me, how his thighs flex and twitch beneath my hands.
Slurp. Slurp.
The sounds are obscene. Wet. Raw. My spit coats his cock, makes each thrust slicker, filthier. I pull back again, swirling my tongue around the head, then dive down faster this time.
Let it get messy.
Let it drip.
Make my mouth dirty with that veiny thick cock of his that’s all mine.
I want him to remember this.
“Fucking he—” His voice breaks off, raw with desperation. “You want me to come in that mouth, Venom? You want to be filled?”
I hum my answer, letting the vibration reverberate through his cock.
His response is instant.
His hips jerk, a sudden rough thrust that slams him down my throat. I gag—once, sharp—but he doesn’t pull back. He holds me there, cock pulsing, tip lodged deep in my throat as I struggle not to choke.
Tears spill from my eyes.
My nails dig into his thighs.
I hold eye contact the whole time.
He lets out a guttural noise, something between a moan and a snarl, before easing back. I gasp for breath, coughing once, saliva and pre-cum dripping down my chin.
I wipe it away with the back of my hand and smile like a goddamn demon.
“You close already?” I ask, voice wrecked, raw from abuse. “Thought you had better stamina than that.”
He growls, grabbing my jaw in one gloved hand, tilting my face up toward him.
“You’re a fucking menace,” he grits out. “And I’m going to ruin that mouth.”
Promise. Threat. Confession.
All of the above.
He shoves back into my mouth without warning, fucking into me harder this time. Brutal, unrelenting. My knees slide against the damp concrete, my spine arching to keep up with the rhythm he's forcing on me. His balls slap against my chin, skin slick with sweat, the sound echoing off the alley walls like the dirtiest symphony.
I can’t breathe.
I don’t care.
His cock fills my throat, owning it, branding it.
He lets go of my hair just long enough to palm both sides of my head, holding me steady as he uses my mouth like I’m his personal toy. And maybe I am .
But he’s mine too.
Because no one gets this version of him.
No one gets the Viper unmasked by lust.
The broken, panting beast who can’t think straight when I’m choking on his cock.
“Look at me,” he grunts, pulling out just enough so I can inhale through my nose.
I do.
And the look in his eyes?
It’s not just desire.
It’s reverence.
Obsession.
Worship.
Like I’m the altar he’s been pleading at his whole life.
“You’re going to make me—fuck—you’re going to make me fill that mouth right up.”
I moan around him, encouraging, urging him closer. I bob faster, sucking with all the strength I have, tongue swirling in perfect rhythm. He starts to shake.
His thighs tremble.
His abs flex.
And then ? —
He growls my name like a curse and a prayer.
“Venom—”
He comes.
Hot, thick spurts coat my tongue, shooting straight down my throat. I swallow instinctively, milking him for every last drop, refusing to let a single drop escape. My throat convulses around him as he jerks through it, hands clenched at my scalp like he's afraid I’ll disappear.
When he finally pulls back, I let him slide from my lips with an audible pop.
His cock is slick, twitching, still dripping with the aftermath of his release. I lean in, licking a stray drop from the tip just to be a brat. Just to watch his knees nearly give out.
His breath is ragged.
His mask hides half his expression, but it doesn’t hide how undone he is.
I sit back on my heels, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, smirking like the little demon he thinks I am.
“You needed that,” I purr.
He doesn’t speak for a full beat.
Just stares down at me like I’m something holy and unholy all at once.
Questioning if an unmated Omega like me can exist and obey like a good girl.
When he finally does speak, his voice is a whisper —a broken, reverent thing.
“No one’s ever… fuck.”
“Yeah,” I say, slowly rising to my feet, appreciating the hint of truth in his confession that he doesn’t need to finish. “I know.”
We stand close, our bodies barely touching, steam rising from our skin into the cold night air.
He cups my jaw, thumb brushing along the corner of my mouth where a droplet of spit still clings.
“You were born to kill,” he murmurs, voice rough. “But when you're on your knees like that… you could bring kings to ruin.”
I lean in, pressing my lips to the underside of his jaw, just below the edge of his mask.
“I don’t want kings,” I whisper tauntingly, hidden truth in my next words. “I want monsters.”
He groans, low and wrecked.
Then he grabs my wrist, and I know round two is coming.
Only this time, it won’t be my mouth he fills.