Chapter 20
Aston
“Let me,” I purr, batting my lashes.
Gathering Vale’s loosely curled fist in my hands, I hold his cold, dark gaze hostage as I lift it to my waiting mouth.
With this head tilted curiously, he looks more predator than man, watching me like a wolf would a rabbit, his demeanor exuding a bored, impassive sort of confidence.
One that tells me I’m only able to do this because he allows it.
He knows I don’t stand a chance against him.
I know I don’t stand a chance against him.
The thought has me smirking against his sticky skin.
“Mmm,” I moan, lapping and sucking at his skin. The bitter tang of his blood splashes against the back of my throat as I gulp.
The greedy beast in me begs for more, and who am I to deny him?
Vale’s eyes flare, his jaw twitching with restraint. “That’s right,” he utters tightly as I continue lapping at his skin. “Clean up your mess.”
I smirk knowingly at him, before dropping a pointed look to the prominent tent in his towel, where his erection strains against its terry cloth prison. Begging to be freed. Begging to be worshiped.
Lucky for him, I’m already on my knees.
And this sinful bloody offering has got me famished for some hole-y redemption.
Mouth. Butt. Belly button—I’m not picky.
Aston Saint James is here to serve.
Pressing painfully against the zipper, my own dick salutes in solidarity.
“You’re sick, you know.”
“Mmm. And yet, you love it,” I murmur, my eyes fluttering shut as I drag my lips across his sticky, damp flesh.
More hungry, satisfied sounds escape me as I reverently suckle at the knob of each knuckle.
I lick and kiss my way up his wrist. His veiny forearm.
Tracing the blood to its source with barely restrained desperation.
When I sense movement, my eyes fly open just in time to watch as the towel loosens from around his waist, to drop, pooling around his feet.
Fuck yeah, now we’re talking.
His heavy, flushed cock juts out mere inches from my face, the rosy tip glistening with the pre-cum weeping from his slit. My mouth waters with the need to taste it. To smear my lips with it, just like his blood. The messier the better. I want to be splattered in all things Vale.
Dragging my teeth through his blood, I reach out, gripping his cock at the base. He tenses, his abs visibly clenching. His hips give a small thrust, as if he can’t help himself.
Fingers shove through my hair, wrenching my head back far enough to hurt.
“Did I say you can fucking touch me?” he growls.
A whooshing floods my ears faster than I can take my next breath. It’s as if his words are hands, shoving me over the ledge of a cliff where a black, bottomless abyss awaits. His face, the locker room ceiling…they shrink as they grow farther and farther away. As I fall, and fall, and—
Something tugs my hair. Hard. And I gasp, rocketed back to steady ground. “I asked you a question,” he barks.
I flinch, my entire body trembling. “Wh-what?” Licking my lips, I rear back slightly at the unexpected taste of iron, only to remember and latch on with a feral sort of desperation.
There’s another sharp yank on my hair. “Look at me.”
So, I do.
His eyes narrow, their attention far too sharp and invasive for my current liking. But whatever magic held him before, now holds me, and I can’t tear myself away.
“When you’re on your knees for me, your attention is mine,” he says slowly, dangerously, his voice deeper than it was a moment ago. “You got that?”
My brow wrinkles with confusion, but I find myself nodding jerkily. In doing so, my fingers, the ones still encircling his dick, tighten reflexively. With a scoff, he physically pries them off, shoving my arm away.
“W-wait. P-please,” I find myself stuttering out, my voice raw as I scoot my knees together, straightening my spine. I forcibly bat my lashes at him, steeling my hands together. “I’ve been so good. I—”
He sneers. “You’ve never been good.”
I still.
Blink a couple times.
My fingers curl into bone-white claws locking together, my vision darkening once more.
And I’m suddenly acutely aware of the blade spun open a few feet away from me, my body coiling as it readies to lunge for it.
When, suddenly, I’m yanked to a stand by the hair, feet tripping beneath me as I stumble forward with the strength he uses to swing me toward the bench.
Shoved onto my back, caged in by thick, powerful thighs straddling my chest, I find myself staring wide-eyed up at the gorgeously dark haired god glaring down at me under a halo of light.
Miles upon miles of golden skin still glistening from his shower loom over me—muscles bulging and rippling in all the right spots, just begging for my fingers to squeeze. My teeth to bite. My tongue to map out.
If the withering glare he aims down at me when I make to clutch his waist is anything to go by, that won’t be happening. At least not today. His next words confirm as much. “Don’t even think about it. This is for me. Not for you. Understood?”
This, as in…
I’m about to ask, but there’s something in his hard, expectant stare that has me biting my tongue. Instead, jaw working, cheeks blazing hot, I give him a stiff nod in agreement.
Satisfied, he grabs my wrists and wrestles my arms between his thighs to pin them to my sides. Effectively restraining me. My mouth dries, vision sharpening.
“That’s better,” he says gruffly, grasping his cock at the root.
The sight stirs hunger low in my belly, sending waves of heat to my groin.
As if sensing it—or perhaps to confirm that I’m still on board with what’s happening before he goes any further—Vale reaches back with his free hand to grip me through my khakis.
Eliciting a sharp audible intake of air from my lungs.
I’m rock fucking hard, and with the added pressure—brief that it ends up being—I can feel the cool, sticky dampness of the shifting fabric.
Is there a wet spot? I wonder. By the way Vale rubs his fingers in a circle over where my tip is, and the deep pleased rumble from his chest, when he tosses a glance over his shoulder, I’m guessing yes, yes there is.
Before he removes his hand, he decides to torture me one last time by roughly dragging the heel of his palm down toward my swollen balls.
I gasp thrusting my hips up, before whining pitifully, “Vale,” when his hand’s suddenly gone.
Leaning over me, he uses those same fingers to grip me by the hair again instead.
“Such a needy little slut you are.” Fisting my tousled hair in his fist, he uses the other hand to stroke himself, jerking it toward my face.
As much as my cock throbs—as much as I mourn the loss of pressure, of friction, of attention…
This works too.
This totally works.
Crouching over me just enough to bring the head of his cock to my chin, he scoops up the mess left from lapping at his injured arm, before dragging it to my mouth.
“Open.”
I instantly do as he commands, sticking my tongue out as far as it will go.
Above me, Vale’s eyes are hooded, the intensity with which he bores his attention down on me, almost too much to bear. It’s anger and lust. Outrage and hunger. Horror and desperation. A maelstrom of emotion that what we’re doing shouldn’t warrant.
But fuck if I’m in any position whatsoever to make sense of it, even if I wanted to.
And I don’t.
All I want is to taste. To feel. To…
Start over.
My vision shakes around the edges, darkening so that once again it’s as if I’m looking down a long tunnel.
And at the end of it, it’s Vale’s rigid cock, fisted tightly by fingers I know could snap my neck if they wanted to.
All due to the tight muscle attached to them, the ones I follow up his body, from his veiny forearms to bulging biceps to his firm pecs, his prominent Adam’s apple, his strong jaw and perfectly chiseled face.
A face that is currently pulled taut with the same tension I feel in my chest. My throat. My bottomed out gut.
I’ve still got my mouth propped open, tongue out and waiting like a dog’s. I can feel myself shaking with the need to say his name. With the need to move. But I’m frozen, completely at his mercy, cursed to wait for however long it takes for this trance we’re both trapped in to release us.
His jaw ticks visibly, neck tendons jumping. Then, finally, finally, he shakes off whatever’s got him hesitating—whatever put that menacing glint in his gaze—and he lowers himself, guiding his thick, rigid cock over my tongue.
My mouth closes around it instinctively, cheeks hollowing as I suck him deep. His fingers release my hair to give my cheek a rough tap. “I didn’t tell you to do that. Open.”
Fuck.
Blinking rapidly, I do as he says, my chin trembling.
His eyes narrow on the nervous-looking movement, and he looks pissed.
Not that I am nervous, for the record. I just want to make that very, very clear.
Vale bares his teeth down at me, nostrils flaring. “More.”
I stretch my mouth as wide as it can go, until my vision blurs and my jaw cramps.
With no warning, he shoves deep into my mouth, slamming into the back of my throat.
My eyes bug, my body jolting with my gag as tears rush forth to spill down my cheeks.
Saliva pools around his flesh, slipping from the stretched corners of my lips.
If my jaw could clamp down it would. Lucky for him, my mouth’s too stuffed for me to accidentally—or intentionally—bite his dick off.
Now, that would be a travesty.
Biting his bottom lip, he grips the side of my head, holding it still when my body revolts, practically convulsing with my wet, stifled coughs as I thrash against the bench.
“You can take it. I know you can.” If he’s trying to sound encouraging, he fails. He sounds bored. Indifferent.
A hot tear races down my temple, toward my hairline, and he uses his thumb to smudge it, rubbing into his skin.
“Breathe through your nose,” he commands softly.