CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
AXEL
We don’t have much time before I need to leave, and my mind keeps trying to pull me away. To remind me that there are countless issues I need to attend to.
But nothing matters with Zara at my feet. Ardent, pliable, and more submissive than I anticipated. Every inch of her is stunning—so far past pretty. I can’t quite find a word that’s adequate.
She straddles the pillow without argument, and her pussy is so wet and swollen and responsive that the second her clit brushes over the seam, an unsteady breath puffs from her.
“Take me out,” I order. It’s hoarse and low, and I wonder if she can hear how close she has me to snapping.
I’m never this untethered. I’m fucking this all up.
She unfastens my belt, but before she lowers my zipper, I grip her wrist.
“I should have given you a safe word. I … we should’ve discussed limits and …” I latch on to the green gaze that has held so much realness tonight, and I catch a flicker of hurt. “Are you sure you want this?”
“I’m on my knees and salivating for you, so that should be your answer. I very much want to be here for you.” Her tongue darts out to wet her pouty lips, as if to emphasize her point. “Safe word or not, I don’t do things if I don’t want to.”
She glances out to the city as if her current situation is slamming into her. As if she fears that statement will be proven false soon enough.
I don’t address that because there isn’t time and there’s too much muddy reality to wade through.
Sliding a knuckle beneath her chin, I lift her radiant face to me.
“That was the perfect response. Having you here like this—willing, needy, confident—is everything. I’ve never craved anything as much as I want your mouth on me right now. ”
Her whole demeaner brightens from my confession.
“If you need to stop, tap my thigh three times. Like a tap-out in a martial arts match.” I see the agreement in her eyes, but it’s not enough. “That’s your only way out, so use your words right now.”
Her chest heaves, and her hips roll over the leather pillow. “I’ll tap your thigh three times if I need to stop.”
“Good girl. But don’t grind that clit until I’m slamming into the back of your throat and I give you permission.” Without waiting for her verbal compliance, I issue my next instruction. “Keep going.”
She finishes with my zipper and rolls down my boxer briefs. My cock springs free—eager and angry for attention—curtained by my shirttails.
Without hesitation, she wraps her heavenly fingers around my shaft, pumping once before she arches a sassy brow at me with a sexy smirk that has my dick jerking in her small palm. “Pierced? That’s … unexpected.”
It was for me, too, but the story will have to come at another time.
“I’ve never—”
“It’s a king’s crown,” I cut her off, in case she’s about to mention other cocks, which I cannot handle.
Vertical curved barbells, pierced through the coronal ridge, adorn the entire circumference of the head, like a platinum crown. On my dick.
“Fitting,” she sings, and if I’m not imagining things, she’s nearly drooling.
Jesus.
“May I?” she asks with a saccharine warble.
That’s all for my benefit, and I don’t need it.
The allure of her strength outweighs my appetite to dominate, but it feels like a gift, like a seed of trust that I’m so desperate to watch flourish.
I want her to lay her fierceness at my feet, with her hunger for me, eager to please.
Because then I’ll be free to worship her in all the ways I imagine.
This woman is lethal.
I gather her tousled mahogany mane and coil it twice around my hand, tugging on it to offer her scalp a prickling tingle that I think she’ll appreciate. “Yes. Use your mouth now.”
The instant her tongue laves the precum leaking from the head and trickling down my shaft, we share a collective moan.
She plays for a beat—swirling the barbells, teasing the slit, sucking and retreating—and I allow it.
But my restraint has been tested too much tonight, and every swipe is pure agony.
So, I shove myself inside the wet warmth of her mouth, and she opens for me.
Using my thumb, I massage the hinge of her jaw to loosen her a bit. “Wider for me, Zar. Relax.”
That enables me to press further, and while I can’t fit my entire length in her mouth, her tonsils tickle my tip, and she swallows. Like a damn fantasy. I mutter a string of curses, and my balls draw up with a heavy ache.
“There you go,” I encourage, retreating to let her catch her breath for a beat, and then without any other warning, I ram in and out of her divine mouth.
She takes it with the same elegance she carries in a conference meeting or sipping cocktails.
Her chin is held high with her determination to hollow her cheeks in victory.
One hand kneads my balls, her index finger dusting my taint, while the other clutches my hip.
Desire paints her face, but she’s fully devoted to sucking me off, her attention fixated on me. And only me.
Before I tell her to seek her own satisfaction, I repeat what she couldn’t comprehend a little while ago, each section of my confession punched out with my thrusts. “No woman … has ever been … in here before. Only you, Zara.”
It’s dangerous to tell her that because offering her more than this night is reckless.
There are things I need to set in motion.
But I’m sure she’s heard rumors about me.
I felt it weighing on her when she was nestled on my lap and when I was tasting her—that decadent sweetness still coats my tongue.
Dying of thirst and starvation is a real possibility because I don’t want her flavor to ever leave my mouth.
And I can’t bear for her to believe she isn’t special.
To not grasp that she’s worth it. Whether I can keep her or not, she’ll be with me forever.
A tear tracks down her cheek, and I’m not sure if it’s from my admission or the fact that I’m being anything but gentle.
I gather it on my thumb, depositing yet another piece of her on my tongue. “Even your tears are fearless, my little Thorn.”
She purrs, peering at me, utterly transfixed as tremors rack through her thighs. She’d be begging me if she could speak. It nearly has me withdrawing just so I can hear her zealous entreaties, but her mouth feels too good.
“Move, baby,” I order, holding her head so she can’t divert her attention or seek relief for her throat. “That mouthwatering pink cunt is probably aching and swollen. And so fucking wet, like you were before.”
So goddamn wet.
Her hips rock, and the vibrations of her unleashed whimpers encircle my dick, jolts of electricity zipping up my spine.
“That’s my girl,” I praise before I sprinkle in the degradation she clearly feeds off of.
“Such a greedy slut for me.” Fisting her silky hair tighter, I pump into her more vigorously.
“You had my fingers and tongue in that delicious pussy. Now my cock is in your throat, but you’re rubbing yourself raw on that pillow, fucking the leather and fantasizing about me filling you up with my cum. ”
Another groan wraps around my length as her eyes flutter. Humiliation is her undoing. Maybe a breeding kink too. She’s fascinating. I want to learn her, mold myself into the man she’s always dreamed of, and etch myself on her until she can’t even fathom someone else touching her.
We find our rhythm, and she rides that pillow with abandon.
The more worked up she gets, the frothier her mouth becomes.
The more aggressive her squeezes on my balls grow, the more her glorious tits bounce.
And her noises—her fucking noises—turn that wet and wild mouth into shuddering waves of pleasure.
I can’t fucking see straight or think. My orgasm builds at the base of my spine, low in my abdomen, and heavy in my limbs. I won’t succumb to it until she’s ready though.
She’s almost there. Her cheeks are tear-streaked. Pupils blown. Nipples taut. I’ve never witnessed anything more enthralling. She is the quintessential representation of danger in beauty, the suffering that can only arrive if you’ve held something spectacular in your hands. And it spears you.
My perfect Thorn.
The humiliation keeps spurring her on, fueling her greed. She’s recklessly teasing her clit, stealing every twinge she can capture. Desperate and voracious.
And I want her like this all the time. Owning whatever shame lurks inside her and twisting it—the regrets, the torment, the fear of never being liberated—until it elevates her to embrace all she was meant to be.
Perilous, striking, steadfast, and insatiable.
And fucking mine.
“We’re gonna come together, Zara.” When her eyes flash with a plea, I about lose my damn mind. I cradle her chin, keeping her head at the angle I want it. “Hold my cum in your mouth. I expect to see it on your tongue before you swallow. You can let go now.”
I allot her about thirty seconds to accelerate to her peak as I thrust into her phenomenal mouth, her throat quaking around my tip defensively, which only seems to rile her up more.
And once she’s tipping, writhing, grinding, and sucking with everything she is, my climax strikes me like a clap of thunder, jarring and violent.
All my muscles contract, seizing with a pervasive spasm as I plunge into her and spill onto her tongue.
My heart is thrashing against my sternum, my lungs empty, and her feline eyes are glued to me with an awe that penetrates as deeply as the lingering tingle in my balls.
I drag my knuckles down her cheek, allowing myself a second to soak her in. “So goddamn beautiful.”
Reluctantly, I pull out and cup her chin. “Show me.”
She sticks out her tongue to reveal a white river of my cum, and I swear to fuck, it takes everything in me not to let my knees buckle.