17. Avery
AVERY
Kill holds the door open for me, and the heat in his expression as I pass him into his rooms practically scalds me. There’s a soft click as the door shuts behind us and I still, unsure what to do next.
Maybe admire the elegance of the rooms, which are decorated in dark, masculine green and brown, with leather furniture and wool throws.
Or make a joke. Do something clever, or memorable.
This is all so messy. Being paid by Kill to be his insider means this is all fake, but right now, it doesn’t feel transactional. No one’s watching us.
Last time we were alone—truly alone—he kissed me and then pushed me up against the wall. And plunged his fingers between my legs. The buzz of that orgasm shudders through me.
Truth is, I think I want him, and I don’t care that he thinks I’m being paid and that’s the only reason I’m doing this. I want him enough that I’ll put up with the aftermath.
“Would you like a drink?” he asks from behind me.
No, I just want him.
He touches my shoulder and turns me. And I look up into his eyes and I’m filled with certainty. It’s only too easy to take a step away and although his brow furrows, I don’t mind. My hands tremble as I begin to undo the buttons at the back of my dress.
He doesn’t speak as the silk falls into a puddle at my feet. And then I undo my bra, releasing my breasts. Just in my knickers and my high heels, I look at him and can’t help but smile.
“I don’t want a drink,” I say.
I slowly lower myself to my knees, and his eyebrows lift almost in sync with my movements. There’s confusion. But when I reach for his belt, understanding dawns on his face.
“You don’t have to…” But his breath catches as I rub my hand over the increasingly solid length at my eye level.
“I want to.” I crave him in my mouth, and in every way. I want the memory of this night to sustain me after this ends. I’m painfully aware I’m just the hired help. I can’t have any illusions.
But for tonight, he’s mine.
“Feck, you look so pretty on your knees for me, love.”
My fingers are clumsy and inexperienced as I try to get his trousers open. The leather belt is bad enough, heavy and supple, but unfamiliar from this angle. The fastenings are even worse. Practically one of those mind puzzles that are supposed to keep your brain agile.
And he doesn’t move, as though this is another task I have to win. His hands are braced on the top of his thighs. Normally he helps me if I’m struggling, but this time he’s just watching, pupils dilated.
I think I get a hint of a musky scent as I finally pull down his soft black boxers, and then my mouth waters.
His cock is magnificent.
Admittedly, I have nothing to compare it to directly, but it’s thick and smooth and enormous as I reveal it all the way to the base.
There’s a vein throbbing up the front. It’s sculpted, I guess I imagined dicks as just poles, but the head has a curve up, and skin that’s pulled taut. At the tip, moisture beads.
Pre-come? Getting ready to shoot ribbons of white… into me? Onto me? I’d love to watch. To see him lose control, and give himself over to pleasure.
And I’ve never given any thought to balls—they’re a secondary event, right?—but his are proportional, and I get a shiver of arousal I don’t fully understand.
“Can I…” I lift my gaze to his face, but I’m already leaning forwards, drawn to kiss that thick length.
“Yes.” His groan is hoarse.
Then my lips press to his erection, and I’m whimpering. The first thing that strikes me is how unexpectedly silky he feels. The second is the heat. He’s burning with desire, as I am. And then the way he responds.
He moans, low and rumbling, and I feel it in the shudder as his cock shifts under my eager but inexpert mouth, as though just the press of my lips is enough to unravel him.
I’ve got vague ideas of how this is supposed to go, and summon up all my courage to slip my fingers around the base of his shaft, and strain my head up at the same time.
But I don’t want to hurt him, and there’s a moment where there’s an inch of gap, and no way for me to bridge it.
Then Kill has shifted his hand—helping me—and the tip of his cock is within reach.
I seize the chance. I don’t question. I just open as wide as I can, and try to get as much as possible.
Every sensation is heightened as he slides between my lips, fills my mouth, and pushes against the back of my throat. The velvet of his skin, the heat, his size, and the taste of him that’s all him, without anything else.
It’s maybe crazy, but as he lets out a rough noise of pleasure, there’s an answering pulse between my legs.
This feels so incredibly intimate. I’m on my knees, his supplicant, accepting him into my mouth.
But he’s at my mercy, and I can feel the need in him growing.
Making him tremble. My teeth almost graze him.
I am making this powerful man shake from desire. It’s me who he chose to spend tonight with, and I’ll be happy with that. I’ll get everything I can.
Closing my lips—but not my jaw—around him, I try to cram more of him into my mouth. It’s absolutely pointless. He’s huge, my mouth isn’t. I angle my gaze upwards to see his face as I experimentally withdraw and then push him back in.
His eyes are hazy, but they’re fixed on mine. “So fecking good, love. Such a good girl for me. I knew you’d be perfect.”
I take that as encouragement, and approval of what I’m doing, and repeat the action. But it’s not enough for me. I want to touch him more, have him more.
Sex. Obviously. If this is our last “date” before he chooses another girl as his bride, I’m going to have him in every way possible.
But until then, I need to give him as much as I can. I circle my fingers around the part of his cock I can’t get into my mouth, and as I begin to stroke him there too, he lets out a gratifying raspy hiss.
“That’s it. You want me to blow in your mouth, huh?”
I can barely nod, and I definitely can’t speak. But I hum agreement, and keep my gaze on him, even as he begins to rock his hips back and forth in time with my movements. It drives him deeper into my throat, and in seconds I’m drooling.
“Avery,” he grits out. “I never dreamed, feck, you feel amazing. And seeing you like this…” He shakes his head in apparent disbelief. “Willingly on your knees for me, when it’s me who should be worshipping and thanking you.”
Oh no. I’m not letting thoughts of the competition in here.
I suck harder, as though I can draw every thought from him that isn’t about me. There’s everything I need right here, even if my jaw aches. I only want his attention on me.
He shudders. “Avery, forgive me.”
Then his fingers are in my hair, and his palm at the back of my head, and he’s controlling me.
He thrusts into my mouth hard and fast. I can barely breathe, saliva is dribbling down my chin.
It’s heaven, but I crave more. I keep up the movement of my hand on his cock, exposed with each withdrawal.
And I bring my other hand to his balls, cupping them with some instinct that he’d like it, but maybe more that I like it.
That I’m eager to feel every part of him, even the bits that are more breeding equipment than refined man.
He grunts and I take that as a good sign, and even better as his balls shift in my hand, drawing up towards his body.
This is all so much messier and more raw than I imagined. His fingers tighten in my hair and send sensation washing down my neck, my eyes are watering. He’s almost pounding into my mouth, I’m drooling, and I can’t keep up with his pace. It’s overwhelming, but in the best way.
It’s real, not polished like every choreographed thing we’ve done together. I relish the honest, stripped down, dirty desire.
He’s swelling further, and I almost gag. Just when I think I can’t manage anymore, he lets out a guttural shout. The first spurt of his hot come hits the back of my throat.
Then he’s pulling out, and the next strikes my chin and neck, shock ricocheting through me. A third paints my naked breasts in a white line that immediately drips over my nipple.
It’s filthy, and degrading, but I’ve never been wetter between my legs as Kill looks down at me. And his expression is a combination of stunned—probably mirroring what’s on my face—and feral. He’s looking at me like I’m his snack, and he’s starving.
Before I can say anything, Kill has grabbed me under my armpits and hauled me to my feet.
I give a little cry of concern about messing up his suit with the absolute mess of his come and my saliva that’s all over my chin and breasts, but he doesn’t seem to care, marching with me clutched to him through the lavishly appointed rooms to…
A bedroom. He tosses me onto the bed, and I squeak as I land in the middle of the mattress.
“Take off your knickers,” he growls, and I reach for them without question, slipping the cotton down my legs.
Then my eyes go wide as Kill strips off his suit with ruthless efficiency. Almost angrily. His cock is softening, but the set of his jaw is hard as he shoves off his clothes with no ceremony at all. Discarding them onto the floor until he’s naked before me.
And ohmygodohmygod. If Kill is intimidating when he’s suave and in a suit that cost more than my parents’ annual rent, and impressive in swimming shorts, naked he’s downright scary.
I look shamelessly, as I wanted to when he was in the pool.
And now, I follow the tapering trail of black from his chest to the base of his cock.
I want to trace the lines that swirl and snake and cover him from neck to ankle, with only a few bare patches between.
My heart rate hitches up as he stalks towards me over the bed, on all fours within a moment, but still a predator. And my body responds with a gush of heat and arousal, because terrifying as he is, I have this absolute confidence that Kill won’t hurt me.
Quite the opposite.
“Spread your legs for me, love,” he says roughly. I don’t move quickly enough for him, and he grabs my ankles and yanks them apart.
I gasp and a shot of fear goes through me. I almost tell him. The words are right there. “Be gentle with me, I’m a virgin. I’ve never done this before, and I’m giving you my first time because I love you more than life itself. Though you’ll never be mine.”
I press my lips together.
I don’t know if I’ve seen him this savage. Even when he shot that man, he was calm afterwards. But although my brain is yelling shit about red flags, my body is responding to his possessive treatment of me. As though I’m already his property.
And I like it. A lot.
Then his hands press my inner thighs. I’m certain he’s going to haul me onto his cock with no further discussion, and I can’t say a thing. Not only because my throat has closed up, but because I want to be what he needs, and to feel him inside me again, this time deeper.
He gives me a dark look. “Forgive me.”