Chapter GRIFFIN #6
“Fuck, don’t stop—don’t you fucking stop—“ The groan tears through my throat as I feel the orgasm rise so fast it makes me dizzy. My whole body arches, desperate. “Alexei… !” He holds me tight, keeps me in his mouth, and the suction increases at the exact moment.
I cum hard, with long, uncontrollable spasms, into his mouth. The pleasure burns my entire body. It’s stronger, deeper than usual; the accumulation of all his torture exploding all at once.
“Fuck—“ my voice fails, broken, moans mixed with nervous laughter.
He continues, sucking slowly between each spasm to prolong, to extract more, to extend the delicious hell until the last tremor.
When there’s finally nothing left, I fall back onto the mattress, sweaty, fucked.
I can barely breathe when he decides to pull away.
Slowly, his mouth opens and releases me.
A thin stream of saliva and cum shines between us, connecting his mouth to my dick.
The sight is so fucking pornographic it almost gets me hard again.
Alexei runs his tongue over the corner of his mouth, but doesn’t clean it all.
He’s in no hurry to hide the mess; on the contrary, he lets me see.
His red lips, his dirty chin, the cum running down that Russian prince face that should never be doing this.
I’m caught by the contrast: royalty fucked with my mess.
I reach out, run my thumb over the trail running down his chin, spreading it even more. It feels damp against my skin, warm. I laugh, hoarsely, still breathless.
“Fuck…” my voice falters. “That perfect little prince face dripping with my cum… I could get used to this.”
Alexei allows the touch, lets me run my thumb over his mouth as if I were the one in control.
“It seems you respond better to possession than to gentleness,” he says, approaching me. I welcome him happily.
I pull him to me, kissing him deeply. I taste my own flavor on his tongue, and it feels profane to stain the expensive tobacco that was already there like this.
I feel his body tense against my leg. He’s hard as hell. The sight of his composure cracking, of his desire so obvious, gives me a surge of power that’s as good as an orgasm.
“Let me touch you now, boss,” I say against his mouth. “Let me make you come.”
I kiss him again, my hand sliding down his belly, feeling the muscles contract under my touch.
“But I only have one hand to work with,” I say, with a shitty smile against his mouth. “I’ll have to charge double.”
I hear a laugh. A hoarse, genuine, surprised sound that vibrates through his chest to mine. His eyes shine with an amusement I didn’t know he possessed.
“I’ll consider it an investment,” he says, hoarsely.
I slide my hand down to undo his expensive belt, the button, the zipper. His hand meets mine and he helps me, replacing the work my right hand would do.
I free him from the fabric, and he’s big, hard. I didn’t look at him properly last time, in such a hurry to just keep going. He’s fucking delicious.
When I embrace him, the first thing Alexei does is give me an order.
“Slowly,” he whispers, with the same authority as always. “And look at me.”
I obey. My eyes stay fixed on his while my hand starts a slow, firm rhythm.
“Use your thumb,” he instructs. “Like this.” His free hand covers mine for an instant, adjusting the grip, the angle, before retreating.
I follow his instructions, fascinated. He’s teaching me how to touch him. And, fuck, I want to be the best student he’s ever had.
My hand moves in a rhythm that isn’t mine, but feels right. It’s his rhythm. Slow, firm. I feel the muscles of his thigh contract under my knee. His breathing is now shorter, heavier.
“God, you feel so big… is this how you like it, boss?” I whisper.
A guttural sound escapes his throat. “Go on.”
I obey, my thumb making slow circles, exactly as he showed me. The head of his cock is wet, and I spread the liquid, watching it shine in the dim light of the room. He is fucking beautiful.
“I’ll do whatever the hell you tell me,” I whisper.
His jaw clenches hard. He closes his eyes, and a low, fucked-up grunt vibrates from his chest. He likes to hear me being submissive.
He opens his eyes. His free hand rises and cups my chin with a firmness that makes me hold my breath.
“That mouth of yours…” he says. Serious, completely unyielding.
I give a half-smile, a little mischievous. I don’t stop touching him. “Do I go on?”
My thumb continues circling the head, spreading the liquid that is already beginning to drip.
“Do as I teach you,” he orders.
“Yes, boss…” I sigh, my mouth glued to his, as I continue the rhythm he dictated.
His hand on my chin tightens, forcing me to maintain eye contact. I see the change in him. The mask of teacher, of controller, is cracking.
“Faster,” he growls.
I smile against his mouth. “Finally,” I whisper, and obey.
The rhythm quickens, my hand sliding over him, the wet sound filling the silence of the room. His body contracts beneath mine, his abdominal muscles tightens. The hand that held my chin slides to the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair, pulling hard.
“Fuck, Alex...” I moan, because seeing him unravel under my touch is a fucking aphrodisiac.
His eyes close tightly, his jaw clenches, and a low, guttural sound rips from his throat. I feel his hot, thick spurt pulse against my hand, once, twice, three times.
I don’t stop. I continue the movement, even after the last spasm, just to feel the tremors that run through his body.
When it finally stops, he kisses me.
It’s a slow, tired kiss, and his mouth is soft against mine. It’s a real fucking kiss.
But it doesn’t last long.
He pulls away and, in the blink of an eye, the mask returns. He sits up, adjusting his shirt, his zipper, his belt. In seconds, he is impeccable again, the chaos I caused methodically erased.
The sight of him, so quickly returning to being the untouchable Alexei Malakov, leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
He’s getting ready to leave.
“Hey, Alex,” I say.
He stops adjusting his shirt sleeve and looks at me.
“Are we okay?” The question sounds stupid, vulnerable. I hate it.
He studies me. “We are,” he says.
“Right,” I say, sitting up in bed. “So… can I leave this room now, or is the house arrest still on?”
He hesitates.
“I’ll make sure it’s safe first,” he says. “My brother is still moving around.”
“I can take care of myself. I get paid to punch people.”
I ignore all the injuries I have now. So does he.
He stands. Walks to the door.
He’s really leaving.
“Hey, boss,” I call out again, and he stops with his hand on the doorknob.
He turns with his eyebrows slightly arched.
“Aren’t you even going to give me a goodbye kiss?”
A slow, almost imperceptible smile pulls at the corner of Alexei’s mouth. He crosses the room back, stops in front of me, leans down, and kisses me. It’s quick and tastes like a promise.
Then, he pulls away, turns his back, and leaves the room without looking back.