Chapter 29
Cal
“To do aught good never will be our task, but ever to do ill our sole delight.”
—Milton, Paradise Lost
Fantasising about someone is a poor man’s game, but you never quite realise it until they’re right there in front of you.
Warm flesh and hot blood.
Wet cunt and willing mouth.
Golden limbs and chocolate eyes.
Hair to pull and tits to suck and skin to inhale.
This is Aida. Not the Aida of my shower fantasies, but the living, breathing woman who lets me massage every inch of her glorious body and hold her down and eat her out. Who comes like a champ on my tongue and then slides to her knees and begs me to fuck her mouth.
Begs me to show her I want her.
Obviously, I’m in over my head. This woman uses her brains and charm to manipulate the most powerful men on the planet. And by manipulate I mean that she makes them do or say or react exactly what or how she wants, even if they don’t realise it.
I realise it. I know exactly what she’s doing. But when she plays her trump card and insinuates that I’m doing her a favour, that I’m building her confidence?
So help me God, I’m too weak a man to call her out on her bullshit.
Because I want her scarlet, sinful fucking mouth sealed around my cock like I want nothing else on God’s green earth, and a naked, sated, slippery Aida, the most alluring of supplicants, on her knees in front of me is a force so powerful I’ll give her anything she wants.
‘Take it out, sweetheart,’ I grunt. I’m sweating with the effort it’s costing me not to shoot my load.
Not to push her onto all fours and slide home.
My entire consciousness has narrowed to a singular focus, the way it does in any situation that requires extreme physical willpower.
The next step on a marathon. The next downward push of the pedal on an uphill bike ride.
Dirty-lite.
Dirty-lite.
I repeat my ridiculous, condescending, made-up phrase like a mantra. This should be my singular focus. My reminder of my duty of care to Aida. I think I acquitted myself pretty perfectly just now, given the constant pulse of my raging hard-on. I don’t want to fuck it up now.
She thinks she wants me to fuck her mouth.
She has no fucking clue.
But ensuring today goes perfectly for her is the most important thing. It’s definitely more important—and more valid—than my right to fuck every hole in her body, hard as I like.
Unfortunately for her, I’m a man pushed to the brink of desire, and I’ll do anything to come.
She smiles at my order like I’ve pleased her, her hands moving to my flies.
As soon as she has them undone, my cock surges forward, still encased in the black jersey of my boxer briefs.
She glances up at me briefly through her eyelashes, as if checking I’m still on board, before pushing my trousers down and wrangling the elastic waistband of my underwear over my aching, weeping cock.
‘Fuck,’ she murmurs as soon as she sees it. It’s a reaction I get a lot, and the awe never stops being gratifying. I don’t respond—mainly because I’m channelling all my executive function into fending off my inner caveman—but the trembling in my legs grows a little more intense.
She gets my underwear down properly and wraps a slim hand around me, her other hand going to cup my balls, and the feel of it, the warm, slick, pressure of her skin against mine is enough to draw a shuddery exhale from me, because Lord above.
‘Jesus Christ, Cal,’ she mutters. ‘You’ve got a lot more dick here than I know what to do with.’ But even as she says it, she’s running the pad of her thumb experimentally over my weeping slit, smearing my precum around my crown and down to my frenulum.
I close my eyes and let out a low, anguished hiss as I reach for her face. It’s taking all my self control not to clamp a palm on either side of her head and slam my dick into her mouth.
Again: this is about her. Not me.
‘God, you’re so hard,’ she says in awe, running her hand up my impossibly stiff shaft, and then she’s licking my crown like an ice cream, that mouth of hers so soft and wet and perfect.
I drag my thumbs along her jaw, my fingers under her ears, cradling her head with the painfully jerky, careful movements of a man walking through landmines. Because, in this moment, all bets are off. I have zero confidence in my ability to acquit myself well here. One false move, and I’m finished.
‘Fuck, that feels good, baby,’ I tell her shakily. ‘I’ve dreamt of your mouth on my cock—fuuuck.’ My anguished curse comes as a result of her taking me in deep, so a good amount of my length is sheathed in wet, silky heaven. ‘Look at you,’ I rasp. ‘Fuck, yeah.’
I stand there, pleasure swirling viscerally through me, around me, as she lavishes her perfect licks and sucks upon my cock, her teasing fingers feathering over my sac. It’s sublime and hellish; it’s too much and nowhere near enough.
She gives a low moan of pleasure and then pops her mouth off my cock. ‘Fuck my mouth.’
‘Er, no, sweetheart.’ I laugh nervously, unsure of my ability to maintain my current Herculean levels of self-control. I tighten my grip on her neck, my fingers tangling in her glossy hair. ‘You’re doing so fucking well,’ I say through gritted teeth. ‘It’s perfect.’
She in turn tightens her grip on my shaft and glares up at me, her dark eyes glittering. ‘Cal. I mean it. Show me. I want you to show me how you are with those women at the club.’
Nope.
Nope.
Nope.
That kind of behaviour has absolutely no part to play in this little scene.
The side of myself I let loose in The Playroom has no business showing his ugly face when I’m in instructor mode.
Mentor mode. I’m here to teach Aida the art of pleasure, the pleasure that’s evaded her for too long.
I’m categorically not here to untether the beast within.
‘No,’ I gabble. ‘That’s not—this is amazing. This is great. It’s so—shit.’
This last part is in response to Aida licking a rough line all the way down the vein on the underside of my cock.
‘I want you to show me,’ she says against my balls before licking back up again. ‘Come on, Cal. For fuck’s sake. I’ll slap your thigh or something if I can’t take it.’
With that little announcement, she takes my cock so deep she gags a little before making a pleased noise in the back of her throat that vibrates around my crown.
She’s doing it again. Masterminding things. She’s bewitching my cock, and therefore my mind, and manipulating the outcome. Turns out her deep-throating abilities are just as deadly as her skill at debating immigration policy and knife crime.
Who the fuck is this woman, and what is she doing to me?
I’m barely capable of anything right now.
Every ounce of blood, every last vestige of self-control, has gone straight to my dick.
Consciousness is the warm, wet slide of Aida’s mouth and tongue, the grip of her fingers.
Callum Sinclair, patient teacher, is disappearing out the door and in his place is the beast. The predator who thinks only of conquering. Of coming.
Fuck.
Fine.
‘Slap my thigh if you need to, okay?’ I tell her in a voice I barely recognise, my breath coming in harsh spurts from my flared nostrils.
It’s the extent of the nobility I’m capable of.
And as soon as I hear her garbled okay I’m clamping my hands around her head so fucking tight and letting rip, volleying my hips in a series of thrusts that jam my dick so far down her throat that I hit soft tissue over and over.
Fuck me.
Fuck me.
This is… I’m lightheaded. Reeling. Sensation has me in a chokehold as I grip her head between my hands, watching in wonder at the sight of her sucking and writhing, at her attempts to override her most basic instincts and slap my thighs so she can get my cock the fuck out of her mouth.
But she doesn’t. One hand is still on my balls, though her other is on my bare arse, holding me against her, as if the grip I have on her head isn’t enough.
I can tell from her flailing, jerky movements and little noises that she’s in panic mode, but she doesn’t stop.
She digs her nails into my arse, she massages my balls, she sucks her little heart out with strangled moans, and she takes. Every. Inch.
I’m gonna come. Hard. White-hot pleasure is racing through my balls, down my cock, spreading all over my body.
I drive into her mouth over and over like a man possessed, holding onto her face for dear life, and then I stiffen.
Still. And I erupt, rutting violently against her face, shooting my load into her mouth and it’s fucking—it’s fucking amazing.
My climax tears through me, wiping out everything that is not it. My body is a circuit, and she’s lit me the fuck up. This orgasm is a glowing, pulsing thing. And as it courses through me, this miraculous, life-affirming release, it relaxes every bone in my body.
I realise I’m holding her face so tightly I might squeeze her brains out, and I let go, hauling her up by her armpits before she’s done sucking me clean and crushing her blessed nakedness against my body.
‘Fuck,’ I mutter into her hair, the fog of pleasure dissipating and leaving patchy, but appalled, awareness in its wake. ‘That was not the way that was supposed to go, but Jesus Christ, baby.’
She allows me to hold her, her laugh tinkling, her breath warm against my neck.
‘Are you okay?’ I ask her, pulling my head away so I can see her face. ‘I didn’t mean—I went at you far too hard. I’m so, so sorry.’
‘Are you kidding me?’ she asks. Her eye makeup is smudged, her cheeks wet with the tears that fell when I choked her with my dick. Her lipstick is mostly gone, though I hope she left a ring around my dick.
Property of Aida Russell.
I blink.
‘That was awesome,’ she says against my mouth. ‘That’s what I wanted you to do. You’re so sexy—I didn’t want you to go easy on me like I was some little snowflake. I wanted you to show me what I’ve been missing.’
I give a humourless little laugh. ‘I’m not sure you’ve been missing that.’
‘A super hot guy suggesting he can’t get enough of me?’ she asks softly. ‘Yes, I have.’
There’s only one way to respond to that.
So I kiss her heatedly, thoroughly, to demonstrate how much she blows me away.
I kiss her until I’m sinking gracelessly to my knees, cock twitching and trousers halfway down my legs.
Until I’m lying down, my head hitting the hard floor with a dull thud, and tugging her on top of me, my hands roving all over her sensational, oiled-up, naked body.
I kiss her until I feel confident I’ve proven to her that I cannot, indeed, get enough of her.