（Untitled） #2
The elevator dinged, and the doors opened directly into my apartment. One of the perks of having money to burn.
“Yeah, well, now I see where all the money went,” she said, walking me inside. “This place is bigger than my entire building.”
I didn’t have a response to that. Mostly because she was likely right, and I was too drunk to come up with anything clever. She steered me toward the couch — a massive leather thing that had cost more than was reasonable — and deposited me onto it with less grace than I would’ve liked.
“Stay,” she said, like I was a dog.
For a split second I considered replying with a bark.
Instead, I watched her disappear into what I assumed was the direction of the kitchen and let my head fall back against the throw pillow.
The ceiling was doing interesting things — spinning slowly, like a lazy Susan.
I’d bought this place on a whim after a particularly successful tour, and I still wasn’t sure I’d made the right choice.
Too much space. Too quiet when I was alone.
She came back with a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin I hadn’t even known I had. “I don’t need that,” I told her. “Not if I stay perpetually drunk. Like a pirate.”
Mary squinted her eyes. “When was the last time you were sober?”
I shrugged, closing my eyes. “Last year around this time?” It was a joke, and I didn’t realize how it landed until long after. If at all.
“That’s...” She trailed off, then shook her head. “Take these.” She pressed the pills into my palm and held out the water.
I took them because it was easier than arguing, washing them down with water that tasted like it had come from the fridge filter. The cool liquid helped, at least a little. Cleared some of the fog from my head, though not nearly enough.
“Better?” she asked.
“Getting there.” I set the glass on the coffee table and looked up at her. She was still standing there, her bag clutched in one hand.
“You should go,” I said, though the words felt wrong coming out.
But she didn’t. “I don’t appreciate you outing me like that,” she said, her voice gaining a cooler edge now. “Those people at the club have no business knowing how hard I get you when I’m on my knees.” And she did just that — she got on her knees in front of me.
I blinked hard, trying to make sure the room wasn’t playing tricks on me.
But no. There she was, Baby Doll, blonde hair falling around her shoulders, that tiny black dress riding high on her thighs as she settled between my spread legs.
Her hands slid up my thighs with zero hesitation, nails dragging over the denim.
“Mary—”
“Shut up, rockstar.” She looked up at me with those wide green eyes, but there was nothing innocent in them now.
Just heat and wicked amusement. “You offered me thirty-five grand to fuck me in front of your friends. The least you can do is let me play with my new favorite toy while you’re still conscious. ”
My cock was already straining against my jeans, drunk or not. She noticed immediately and let out a soft, delighted laugh.
“Still works, huh? Good boy.”
She popped the button and dragged my zipper down slowly, like she was unwrapping a present. When she pulled me out, heavy and throbbing, she wrapped her hand around the base and gave me a slow, appreciative stroke. Her thumb brushed over the piercing at the head and she bit her lip.
“Fuck, it’s even prettier in person,” she murmured, almost to herself. The memories of sending her unsolicited dick pics came flooding me. Then she looked up at me again, smirking. “You watch me deepthroat on camera all the time. Think you can handle the real thing?”
I didn’t get a chance to answer.
She leaned in and dragged her tongue up the underside of my cock, slow and wet, flicking the barbell at the head before swirling around it.
The metal clicked against her teeth and I groaned, hips twitching.
She hummed in approval and took me deeper, warm mouth sliding down until I hit the back of her throat.
“Fucking Christ,” I rasped, one hand sliding into her hair on instinct.
She pulled off with a wet pop, strings of spit connecting her lips to my cock. “You can pull my hair,” she said, voice husky. “I like it. Just don’t you dare come too fast, Milo.”
Then she dove back down, taking me to the hilt in one smooth glide.
No warmup. Just pure, aggressive skill. Her throat squeezed around me as she swallowed, nose pressed against my stomach.
The wet, filthy sounds filled the quiet penthouse — gagging, slurping, her soft little moans vibrating around my shaft.
I was drunk as hell, but my body was wide awake. Every time she pulled back to gasp for air, she’d stroke me with her hand, twisting at the head, playing with the piercing while she looked up at me with messy, watering eyes and a filthy grin.
“You taste good,” she purred between breaths. “Even after a night of whiskey. I wonder how you’ll taste when you come down my throat.”
“Mary— fuck—”
She laughed softly and sucked me down again, faster this time, hollowing her cheeks. One hand cupped my balls, gently massaging while the other worked the base she couldn’t fit in her mouth. She was sloppy on purpose — spit dripping down my shaft, running over her chin, making everything wet.
I tightened my grip in her hair and she moaned loudly around me, the vibration shooting straight up my spine. She liked it. She loved it.
“That’s it,” she gasped during a brief break, stroking me fast. “Use my throat like you wanted to use my pussy tonight. I can take it. I take bigger toys on camera, remember?”
The reminder of her videos — combined with her warm, eager mouth — was too much. My hips bucked up and she took it, eyes watering but never breaking eye contact. She looked proud. Amused even.
I lasted longer than I expected for how hammered I was, but not by much. The pressure built fast and dirty.
“Gonna come,” I warned, voice wrecked.
She pulled back just enough to speak, lips brushing the head. “Good. Fill my mouth, rockstar. Let me taste you.”
Then she sank down again, throat working me, and I was done. I came hard with a groan, hips stuttering as she swallowed around me, milking every fucking drop.
When I finally stopped pulsing, she pulled off slowly, licking her lips with a satisfied little hum. A thin string of spit and cum still connected her bottom lip to my cock until she wiped it away with her thumb and sucked it clean.
I was… fuck… at a loss for words.
She sat back on her heels, looking far too pleased with herself while I tried to remember how to breathe.
“Better than the videos?” she asked sweetly, tilting her head.
I let out a breathless laugh. “Fuck yes.”
She stood up, smoothing her dress down. “Good. Now sleep it off. I think there’s a couple other things I wanna do with you when you’re sober.”