35. Hendrix #2
Oh, I’m way too stubborn and turned on to back down now.
“I meant it.”
A depraved look darkens Saint’s features as he brings his thumb to my lips, prying me open so wide my jaw aches.
He keeps me spread like this, inserting a finger and pressing down on my tongue.
My throat clenches, and my stomach lurches with need to regurgitate.
Not a graceful sound at all, but it’s got Saint’s teeth biting hard on his lip.
“Mouth,” he utters, and that’s the only warning I get before his cock drives inside in one full thrust.
No ease, or remorse.
Just primal instinct to dominate.
“Fuuuuucking hell,” Saint grunts, already sliding steadily back and forth.
Tears sting from an even more intense gag reflex, so I relax my jaw in an attempt to adjust. Then, when the feeling passes, I reach for his base to obtain a bit of control.
I barely make a fist around him before I’m hit with a denial.
“Nuh-uh. Keep those hands to yourself.”
Tiny zaps burst from deep in my core, turning my mind into a fuzzy mess as Saint clutches a fist full of my hair. He pulls back, then drives into my mouth again, filling me to the hilt.
A belligerent sound rises from the back of my throat, but Saint ignores it.
“Play with your tits as I fuck your mouth,” he grits, moving again but slow and purposeful.
Doing what’s asked, I squeeze my breasts, massaging and trying not to wince from how sensitive my nipples are. I go on this way with Saint watching until they’re round against my palms.
“Are your nipples hard for me, Jimi?”
My eyes roll and flutter.
“Show me.”
I drop my arms, revealing the two sharp peaks sticking out of my thin bra and shirt.
Saint fists my hair tighter, and this time my wince is avoidable.
“Now pinch them.”
Using both thumbs and forefingers I squeeze my nipples, moaning from the rousing pain that’s hitting from every direction.
“Harder.”
Damn it, damn it. His demands are hell on my insides.
My fingers squeeze tighter, and the feeling it provokes shoots through my nerve endings in all the best ways.
“Holy fucking shit,” Saint mutters, his thrusts too quick for my mouth to handle.
Gagging tears blur my vision as his strokes become brutal and degrading. But, once again, my nerve endings are cannoned.
“Mhmmm. I love watching you choke on my cock, Jimi.” Saint ignores my struggle. “So compliant for once.”
On instinct I try to wrap my hand around him again, but Saint cuts me off, snatching my wrist. “If you’re making me suffer, then I’m taking you how I want you. That’s the deal.”
By now, I’ve given Saint blowjobs an embarrassing amount of times, and overall have become accustomed to his size and preferences when I do so. During sex, he’s moody, switching between a tender, rough, and even a bit submissive lover.
But when I’m on my knees for him?
He’s nothing less than a feral beast.
Saint halts his movements again. “Take a nice, long breath for me, baby, because you won’t be sucking in anything but my cock until I’m finished spilling down your throat.”
I take Saint up on his offer, preparing myself with a deep inhale and exhale through my nose, then meet his gaze head on.
“Green…” His jaw ticks. “The color of the road to my undoing.”
And blue is mine.
Just like that, Saint is back to fucking my mouth with angry slams of his hips, making my throat burn, pussy clench, and roots sting from his hands in my hair. In other words…the level of wrong but right that signals I may need to call a freaking shrink.
May can wait.
Because what I definitely need to do now is hold on to his hips for dear life…and I think Saint knows it too because he finally allows it.
“One small mercy, baby. That’s all you get.”
Such a bullshit artist.
He let me catch my breath too.
To prove my point, I watch him as I bring a hand between us slowly to gauge his reaction. Saint’s eyes narrow, then roll when I squeeze my fingers around his base.
Gotcha…sucker.
We start moving in sync together, still fast and hard, but with a little bit of Saint’s hips rolling. I focus on all the things he loves: cupping his balls, relaxing my throat, curling my tongue against his cock. The only pleasure I’m being granted is the thighs I rub together to manage the ache.
The first pulse of a vein beats against my tongue, and I grin as Saint’s movements become erratic, switching from rolling back to driving straight into my mouth with a punishing force.
My teeth tear at my inner lips, and mascara burns my vision, sliding down my cheeks and mixing with the blood in my saliva.
So delicious I know I’m truly fucked in the head.
Every crevice of my mouth screams in pain, begs for the end of Saint’s brutal attempt to get his agreements worth.
Wet sloppy sounds, curses, moans lead every push and pull, until finally I’m granted reprieve in the form of warm cum shooting down my throat. Saint’s frozen inside me, but I make sure my hand around his cock doesn’t let up.
“Fuck, Jimi! Yes!” he groans as I swallow, his voice loud enough for the entire damn floor to hear. Then, when he’s done, he looks down at me panting through the hottest spent grin.
“Like I said.” Saint huffs. “A wet…fucking…dream.”
Releasing his dick with a pop, I hit him with a grin of my own, then run the back of my hand over my lips. “Well, I hope I made it worth your while,” I joke, rubbing at my neck next.
“Did I hurt you?” Saint asks, satisfaction gone and in its place, surfacing guilt as he helps me to my feet.
“No, crazy pants, I’m okay.”
Saint gives me a look that makes it obvious he doesn’t believe me.
“Hey.” I press his clenching cheek with my palm. “I wanted, and enjoyed, every second of it.” With a wiggle of my eyebrows, I try to liven his mood. “In fact, I say we ditch the club and go for round two.”
I’m not sure what this obsession is with Saint thinking he’s always hurting me, but I’m adding it to the list of conversations we need to have.
Soon. Not now.
I need whatever hypersexual stage this is to last a bit longer.
With a huffed chuckle, Saint reaches for a couple napkins on the table. Handing one to me, he says, “As much as I want to keep having my way with you…it’s gonna have to wait until we finish celebrating with the boys.”
I shouldn’t be disappointed to have to leave, not with how good I look sans the ruined hair and makeup.
But I’ve got my obsessions too.
“Fine, fucking fine.” I screw up my nose. “But if people start getting Annalie smiles, you have only your cock to blame.”
We arrived at LACE more than an hour late, given it took me over half of one to get my face and hair back in order. Saint watched me fix myself the entire time, grumbling curses over my outfit, even though he knew I won our game fair and painfully square.
When we walked into the club, it was with Saint behind me, his arms hugging my chest, practically dragging me up the steps to the private VIP area. He kept a murderous eye on every guy who dared to look at us, most of them with concern on whether or not I was being abducted.
Carlo followed behind, keeping his distance like Saint not-so-nicely demanded, even now as he guards the door to our private room.
“Bottoms up, bitches!” Sampson, the Royals’ running back, shouts as half the team raise their glasses, throwing back the umpteenth shot of tequila.
Saint has yet to join them, deciding through residual grumbling on the way here, that he will keep mostly sober to avoid a murder charge. I argued at first, because I wanted him to enjoy the night, but only took it far enough for him to snarl at me.
From the couch, still in Saint’s death grip as he rambles on with Levi about the game, I reach for a bottle of vodka on the table and am about to twist it open when it gets pulled from me.
“What the freak!” I yell, trying to snatch the bottle from Saint, who’s yet to miss a beat in his conversation.
This. Fucking. Guy. We’ve been here over a half hour and I’m yet to have a lick of anything.
He gives the bottle to Levi, who gives it to one of the boys next to him. The train goes on this way until the alcohol reaches the end of the couch.
Then, a White Claw gets shoved into my hand.
“Our stash only, Jimi,” Saint demands, popping the can open and tossing the metal cap onto the table.
With an agitated grind of my jaw, I tell him, “Now you sound like Carlo.”
“Probably the only thing I agree with the asshole on.”
“You really think your teammates will try and poison you?”
He leans back on the couch, spreading his arms wide over the back of it, finally releasing me from his possessive hold. “I trust no Royal except The Heathens.”
“You’ve drank with, and from, these idiots a million times.”
This has Saint’s bravado faltering just a second. “Times are different now.”
With how these families are, I highly doubt that.
The room we’re in is halfway to soundproof, which is why a tipsy Leviathan hears enough to chime in. “Your boy’s right, Hen, our fathers stay pissing bitches off.”
“Yeah, well.” I fall back on the couch, taking a sip of the bitch-cohol. “You know what they say about the damn apple and the tree.”
“Yeah,” Levi scoffs. “That it’s all the ladies fault.”
Groaning, I slam the can on the table and shoot to my feet. “I’m going to dance.”
Saint and Levi shoot to theirs even faster, one blocking my left and his sidekick rounding the table to block my right. Both with their arms crossed over impressive chests.
“I’m not staying on this couch all night.
” I look fiercely between them. “Either I dance here.” I pause, jutting my chin to the glass window overseeing the dance floor.
“Or down there. So either you buffoons get a grip on your alpha man bullshit, or I’m getting my groove on with one of the stripper poles. ”
On cue, they both look about ten feet over, where two poles and a red light are taking up the corner, then back at me with adamant expressions.