Chapter 14
Dominic
Asane man would drag him upright, dust off his knees, and send him home with a lecture about self-preservation and the futility of worshipping monsters. But sanity and I parted ways the night I learned how easily a body folds when you carve between the ribs.
“Open your mouth.”
Brendon’s lips part on a breathless hitch, head tipping back farther, throat bared in that perfect curve that has feral possession slamming against the cage inside my chest.
I drag him closer by his hair so I can watch every inch of his surrender. His pupils blow wider, huge and hungry, but he doesn’t flinch; he leans into the sting, knees spreading for balance.
I thought I understood control. I thought I understood power. Then this timid, sass-mouthed TA decided he belonged to me and rewrote every rule.
I slide my thumb along the corner of his mouth and push inside, pressing down on his tongue until the pads of my other fingers cradle his jaw. His eyes flutter, dark lashes shivering against flushed skin, but his gaze stays locked on mine, unblinking, daring me to see how far he will go.
“Fuck, look at you.” The laugh that slips out is half snarl. I ease my fingers along the ridge of his jaw, thumb tracing the damp swell of his lower lip. “My pretty little sinner.”
His breath drifts warm across the back of my hand, quick and shallow, and I know he’s seconds from breaking posture to chase friction. I have to bite back a groan, because the obedience is fucking intoxicating.
I curl my free hand around his throat, thumb pressing into the hollow where pulse meets jaw, and feel his heartbeat slam against my skin—fast, frantic, so fucking eager.
“Keep that mouth open for me. Don’t close it until I say. You wanted to see what happens when you offer yourself up to my bloodlust?” I let a slow, filthy smile curve my mouth. “Congratulations, Little Sin. You’ve got my full fucking attention now.”
His breath stutters, but he holds the position—body loose and ready, mind slipping under, but still tethered to my voice. I can see subspace wrapped around him like a second skin now, and I know if I’m careful, if I keep talking, keep checking, I can take him exactly where he begged me to.
“Good boy,” I murmur once more, because he needs it, and I enjoy how it sounds. “Let Daddy show you how quiet that mind of yours can really get.”
He leans forward to nose against the fabric of my sweats again, inhaling like he needs my scent to breathe, then drags his tongue along my length through cotton. The wet heat of his mouth, even through the barrier, rips a groan from my chest.
“Okay, wait—fuck—this is how it’s gonna go,” I start, white-knuckling the urge to face-fuck him.
“Green, yellow, red. Green means everything’s good—keep going, no problem.
Yellow, I pause and we talk. If you say red, I stop.
The same goes the other way around. Doesn’t matter what’s happening, or how far we are into something: red always wins. ”
“You won’t be ruining the moment,” I add, my voice calm. “It’s about making sure you always have control over what’s happening to you. Got it?”
He nods, eyes blissed out. “Yes, Daddy.”
My hand fists tighter in his hair and I grind forward, feeding him what friction I can while the barrier still exists, but the thin defense lasts maybe ten seconds before I snap.
I release him only long enough to shove sweats and briefs down to mid-thigh, cock springing free, flushed and already weeping.
For half a heartbeat he just stares, mouth slack and pink and trembling. The haze in his eyes tells me he’s drifted into that sweet pocket where every new sensation lands twice as heavy—but shock still cuts through the fog.
“I—I’ve never…” he starts, and right now I know he’s not talking about sucking cock. His breath ghosts over the six stainless-steel bars laddering down the underside. “You didn’t say you were… pierced.”
“I didn’t say a lot of things.” I curl a hand around the back of his neck, thumb stroking his damp hairline while I guide him closer. I growl when he licks the tip, slowly fucking losing my mind. “Don’t tease. Finish what you started, baby.”
The first slide past his lips is shallow, more tease than thrust, just enough for the top two bars to nudge against his tongue.
He moans—raw, startled, awestruck—and the vibration punches straight through me. I tighten my grip in his hair, a silent warning to hold still, then draw back just far enough to see him lick the tip again.
He ducks forward instead, nose sliding against the base of my cock like he’s starving for scent before taste. Fuck me, I wasn’t ready for how filthy it looks: Brendon on his knees, rubbing his face over me like he’s scent-marking.
“Greedy slut,” I bite out, but I don’t stop him. My hand stays tangled in his hair, and I keep him exactly where he wants to be while he drags the bridge of his nose along the length, inhaling like he’s memorizing every detail.
He nuzzles closer, lips brushing the piercings, breath hot against wet skin. “Smell so good,” he whispers, voice already wrecked. “Need it in my throat—need you everywhere.”
The confession detonates behind my ribs. I fist a tighter grip on his hair, tugging until his neck bends the way I like.
“You’re fixated on the wrong part of me, Little Sin. Thought you wanted cock.”
“I do, but you smell like smoke and salt, and your cologne always makes me so hard. It’s… It’s calming,” he moans. “Teach me how to suck your cock properly, Daddy.”
That snaps off every chain inside my chest. I grip his jaw, thumb stroking the corner of his mouth, and my voice drops to a gravel-rough whisper. “Open, then. Let me fuck that pretty mouth.”
He obeys instantly, mouth wide, eyes glazed. I guide him down slowly this time, letting the bars slide over his tongue one by one. Each click of steel against teeth steals another ragged breath from both of us.
When the head nudges the back of his throat, he gags once, shoulders jerking, but he never pulls back. Instead, he nestles his nose into the thatch of hair at my groin and inhales like he can’t get enough.
I hold there—one hand a vise in his hair, the other cupping his jaw—thumbs pressed hard against cheekbones as I feel every ripple of muscle struggling to accommodate me. The sight makes something savage in me purr.
“Well, look at that,” I say, as I watch him swallow my length without even choking. “The preacher’s son has a throat made for cock.”
I can’t stop myself. I grip the back of his head harder and drag him off halfway, saliva stringing between his lips and my cock, then thrust forward in one smooth stroke, reclaiming the depth. He moans around me, high and broken, and the vibration arcs lightning through my spine.
And he still doesn’t fucking gag.
“Where’d you learn to suck cock like this, church boy?” I taunt, my voice a low snarl because what the fuck? “Who do I need to kill?”
He attempts a reply, but the words dissolve into gurgled sounds around the shaft filling his mouth. And the sight of him speechless, drooling, eyes glassy with devotion… Fuck me, the power high is narcotic.
His throat convulses, the muscles tightening around me as I bottom out again, hips flush to his face. He gags, then forces himself to relax. Tears slip from the corners of his eyes, and he blinks them away, never breaking eye contact. Pride rockets through me, dark and vicious.
I feel the tremor in my own thighs, so I ease back enough for him to drag in air while I stroke his cheek with my thumb.
When I thrust back in, his moan vibrates around me. I feel the climb, the pressure coiling low, weeks of restraint sharpening into a single burning need. This time, I set the rhythm—long, measured thrusts, just enough snap at the end to clink the bars against his teeth.
“That’s it, pretty sinner. Take what you begged for.”
He whimpers, eyes glazed, drool slipping from the corner of his mouth down his chin.
He gurgles a plea I can’t decipher, throat working, and I ease halfway out so he can gasp a lungful of air. Strings of saliva cling between the ladder and his swollen lips, silver beads glimmering wet.
He blinks up at me, pupils still blown, tears streaking, mouth hanging open like he’s starving. “Daddy… it hurts so good.”
“I know, baby,” I thumb his lower lip, then feed him back down. “Touch yourself. Show me how pretty you look when you come undone.”
He tries, hand fumbling between his legs, pulling out his cock while I fuck his mouth hard. The sight rips a groan from me—Brendon wrecked, choking around piercings he never expected, rutting helplessly against his own hand.
I watch the way his wrist moves—fast, needy, out of sync with the slow torture I’m feeding his throat. He’s split between rhythm and chaos, and it’s perfect.
It hits me harder than any high I’ve ever chased.
I feel the warning in the tremble of his thighs before he does; in the telltale staccato gasps, the flutter of his lashes. I pull out far enough for air, hand sliding to cradle his jaw. “Hold it.”
He tries, hips jerking against his fist, but he’s seconds from spilling. I tighten my grip.
“Look at me.” His eyes snap up, wild and glassy. “Now you can come.”
He comes with a choked cry, hot stripes landing on his knuckles and the hardwood between us. I shove back in and claim his mouth one final time.
“Gonna fill your throat, Brendon.” My voice cracks. “Gonna paint it so thick you taste me every time you swallow.”
His answer is a frantic hum—begging for it.
He relaxes his throat on instinct, lids fluttering shut in bliss for the first time. The room echoes with wet sounds—slick pulls, choked swallows, my breathing turning ragged as the coil snaps tight.
“Take it—fuck—take it.”
One final thrust and I lock my hips, cock pulsing. I flood him with a groan that nearly buckles my knees, hand locked in his hair as pleasure wrings every muscle taut. He swallows around each pulse, greedier than he’s ever dared to be.
When aftershocks fade, I guide him off slowly. He gasps for air, strands of hair sticking to the sweat on his cheeks. I brush them back, and he turns his face into my palm, nuzzling, inhaling me like I’m oxygen.
I wrap my hand around his wrist before he can wipe his cum away. His fingers tremble when I bring them to my mouth, not breaking eye contact, and I curl my tongue around the first knuckle.
I suck his fingers clean, lips sealing tight until the only thing left is spit-shine and the memory of how hard he came for me. He’s panting again by the time I finish, eyes blown wide, lips parted around a ruined little gasp. When I let his hand go, it drops boneless to his thigh.
“You taste like sin, Professor,” I murmur, my voice rough. He shivers at the nickname, and I feel the answering twitch of interest in my own spent cock. Greedy thing never stays satisfied.
“Was I… Did I do good?” he whispers suddenly.
“Good?” I tuck myself away, pull my sweats back up, then sink to my haunches.
I tug him forward by the back of his neck and kiss him, tasting myself on his tongue and letting the slow drag of lips ground me from the feral edge I’ve been balanced on for days.
He melts, sighing into the kiss. “So fucking good, Little Sin. Color?”
“Green,” he murmurs, then smiles weakly. “Maybe yellow on my knees; they kinda hurt.”
I huff a rough laugh, pressing a brief kiss to the corner of his mouth. We stay tangled on the floor—predator and willing prey—while the monster in my chest purrs, finally fed.
“Up you go,” I say after a beat, and lift him easily, tucking him away and steadying him when he wobbles. His hands clutch my shoulders, and for a second everything feels quiet; the monster is fed, the tension bled out.
His head drops to my chest, breath warm through the cotton. “You with me?” I ask.
A tiny nod. “Mhm.”
I kiss him again and he melts into it, boneless, grateful, and utterly fucked, while I savor the weight of his surrender.
My chest shouldn’t squeeze like this—I shouldn’t feel anything tender, yet his voice threads through places I thought long dead.
But I know what comes next for good boys like him—
The cliff edge.
And that means the drop’s coming.