Chapter 7 #2
“Hands and knees, Galina,” he growls quietly.
“And…and then?”
“Let’s see if you can be a good girl for me and follow that direction first.”
Jesus.
The pure, illicit heat that ripples through my core is electrifying. Addictive.
So addictive, in fact, that before I know what I’m doing, before I can knock some sense into myself and stall…
I drop to my knees.
My palms press to the floor.
“Crawl to me.”
Another bolt of raw heat explodes through my system. My face throbs as my thighs instinctively squeeze together.
“Let’s not pretend we haven’t done this part before, Galina.”
My face throbs even hotter as I remember crawling to him the other night.
Sitting on his lap.
Shamelessly grinding my pussy against his bulging erection…
I shiver.
Then I start to crawl, feeling the old hardwood under my knees and palms as I advance to him. My pulse beats quicker and heavier the closer I get.
It’s his scent I get first—woodsy with hints of bergamot and spice. The intoxicatingly masculine smell invades my nostrils just before I see his boots. I tremble as I come to a stop in front of him, still on my hands and knees.
Shaking.
Scared.
And yet morbidly excited.
Eager.
“Sit up on your knees.”
The rasp of the modulated voice gives his commands a sinister edge.
And fuck me, I eat it up.
My breathing is ragged as I rise up and sit back on my heels. I tremble when his big hand cups my jaw, and I bite my lip as he lifts my gaze to his—looming over me, looking down into my very soul through the blank eyeholes of his mask.
He lets go of my chin.
His hands move to his belt.
Holy fuck.
A scared, uncertain, weak part of me wants to run.
To lurch to my feet, shove him away, and bolt out the door before sprinting as fast as I can to safety.
To my friends.
To the authorities.
To my fathers.
But that part is in the minority.
The silent, nervously excited majority keeps me right where I am: on my knees, heart thudding, skin rippling, nipples tightening.
Pussy throbbing.
He undoes his belt. Then he pops the button of his black jeans. He slowly tugs the zipper down, the metallic bump-bump sound as it ticks past each tooth making my pulse skitter and jump.
Heat spreads between my tightly clenched thighs as he slides his thumbs into the elastic of his black boxers and starts to peel them and his pants down over his grooved hips.
I see abs. A dark line of neatly trimmed hair leading lower.
And then…
What the actual fuck.
It’s just the base. But holy shit.
It’s as thick as my wrist.
Veined. Swollen. Throbbing.
My jaw drops as he slowly slides his boxers lower, exposing inch after thick, pulsing inch of his cock.
It just. Keeps. Going.
Until suddenly, he slips the waistband over his bulging crown, and his entire cock springs free, right in front of my face.
Sweet.
Mother.
Of.
God.
“What?”
I immediately realize I said it out loud, and my face turns scarlet. But I mean… seriously?
My friends have teased me for years about my obsessive fondness for “fictional men with red flags and horse dicks”. I’m not insane. I know these fictional men with their fictional issues and toxic behaviors, and their fictional massive dicks are, well, fictional.
But “fiction” just walked out of the pages of one of my books, put me on my knees in front of him, and showed me the biggest, fattest cock on the planet.
And I am soaking wet.
I stare The Ghost Prince’s massive, heavy, rock-hard cock as it pulses right in front of my face.
I keep staring, unsure what to do or say as he lowers his hands to my hair.
He undoes the neat red bun on the top of my head, letting my hair tumble down past my shoulders. I feel a pulse of achy need inside me when he gathers my hair into twin fists.
“Open that pretty mouth, little villain,” the voice growls possessively.
Commandingly.
Fuck, is it hot.
So hot that before I can question it…
I open my mouth.
“POV,” The Ghost Prince murmurs. “When he puts you on your knees and uses your mouth like his good girl.”
Pure, unadulterated lust explodes in my core. My eyes drag up over his grooved abs and hips to his muscled chest, and into the blankness of his dark mask as he looks down at me, my hair in his fists.
Suddenly, whatever blurry line there was between fantasy and reality shatters.
“Are you going to be a good girl for me, Galina?”
I don’t even know how to begin to answer that, so I don’t say a word. I just look up at him and open my mouth.
Wide.
A groan rumbles from his modulator. His huge cock pulses and twitches in front of my face, and my pulse skips when I see a drop of white precum form at the tip.
His hands tighten in my hair as he eases his hips forward, angling the fat head of his dick toward my mouth.
I open even wider as pure need twists through me.
I’m shocked at how silky soft the swollen, hard head is as it slips over my lips, smearing that bead of precum over them. He pushes, opening my jaw to its limit as his head glides into my mouth.
“Mmmm,” he groans. The raw, masculine sound sends a thrill through me.