Chapter 9 Isaiah #2
She smiles, slow and devastating.
“I know.”
The closet door rattles faintly as someone passes outside, music pounding distantly through the walls. Everything feels tight. Dark. Alive.
Valentina leans in closer, her lips almost brushing mine, her breath warm enough to burn.
“Now,” she whispers, “let’s finish making them believe you’re the perfect traitor.”
My hands come up, one cradling the back of her head, fingers tangling in the silk of her blonde hair, the other gripping her hip, pulling her flush against me. I can feel the frantic beat of her heart through our clothes. Or maybe it’s mine.
“No more talking,” I growl, my voice rough, raw.
Her eyes flash with pure, undiluted challenge. “Make me.”
It’s all the invitation I need. I crush my mouth to hers, not a kiss of tenderness but one of possession. A claim. She opens for me instantly, a soft, yielding gasp swallowed by my hunger. Our tongues clash, a hot, wet dance that tastes of vodka and mint and pure, unmistakable want.
I break the kiss, both of us breathing hard. The air in the cramped space is thick with our heat.
“On your knees,” I command, the words leaving no room for debate.
She holds my gaze for a long, defiant second, a queen deciding whether to kneel.
Then, a slow, deliberate smile curves her lips, and she sinks down, the rustle of her skirt the only sound besides our ragged breaths.
She looks up at me from under her lashes, and the sight of her, so perfectly submissive and utterly in control, is the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen.
My fingers tighten in her hair, not to hurt, but to anchor. To connect. I free myself from my pants, and I’m already hard, aching. Her eyes widen just a fraction, a flicker of genuine awe that sends a jolt of pure power straight through me.
“Open,” I rasp.
She does, her pink tongue darting out to wet her lips first, a preview that makes my stomach clench. I guide myself to her mouth, the head of my cock brushing against her lower lip. It’s a searing, unbelievable heat. A promise.
“That’s it,” I murmur, watching, completely mesmerized, as her lips close around me.
The first touch is electric. Blinding. Her mouth is a furnace, wet and soft and perfect.
A low groan rips from my throat. I let my head fall back against a shelf with a soft thud, my eyes squeezing shut for a second, just to feel.
Her tongue swirls around the tip, a slow, practiced circle that makes my knees threaten to buckle.
“Eyes on me, Isaiah.”
My eyes snap open. She wants to watch me unravel. Fuck.
I look down, my gaze locking with hers. The visual is devastating.
Her beautiful face, my cock sliding between her lips.
I move my hand from her hair, cupping her jaw, feeling the incredible stretch of her mouth around me.
I push in a little deeper, and her throat works, accepting me.
The sensation is almost too much. Hot, tight, velvet pressure.
“You take it so well,” I grunt, my voice strained. My hips give a shallow, involuntary thrust. “Such a pretty fucking mouth for this. For me.”
A muffled sound of pleasure vibrates through her, around me, and I groan louder.
Her hands come up, one wrapping around the base of me, stroking in time with the movements of her head, the other gripping my thigh, her nails biting through the fabric of my pants.
She’s not just letting me use her; she’s devouring me.
Taking every inch I give her, her tongue working relentlessly underneath, her lips sealed tight.
I fist my hand tighter in her hair, controlling the rhythm now. A slow, deep thrust. Then another. Her eyes water slightly, but she never looks away. The trust in that gaze, mixed with a hunger that mirrors my own, is my undoing.
“You like this, don’t you?” I pant, driving a little deeper, feeling the head of my cock nudge the back of her throat. She gags softly, a beautiful, choked sound, and then relaxes, taking me deeper still. “You love having my cock in your throat. Fuck, Valentina.”
I can feel the pressure coiling at the base of my spine, a tight, hot spring winding tighter and tighter with every slick, perfect slide of her mouth. The world has shrunk to this dark closet, the muffled beat of the music, the sound of our ragged breathing and wet, sinful noises.
“I’m close,” I warn her, my voice a broken thing. “So close. You’re going to take it. You’re going to take every last drop.”
Her only response is to hum in agreement, the vibration shooting through me like lightning. She picks up her pace, her hand working faster, her head bobbing with a desperate, eager rhythm. She’s chasing it. Chasing my release.
A white-hot, uncontrollable surge that rips a guttural, primal shout from my lungs. “Valentina!”
My release pulses into her warm, welcoming mouth, wave after relentless wave. My body shakes, my grip on her hair is probably too tight, but she holds me there, swallowing, taking everything I give her until I’m spent, trembling, completely empty.
I slump back, my breathing ragged. Slowly, gently, she releases me, her lips leaving me with a soft, final pop.
For a moment, she just stays there on her knees, catching her breath.
Then, with a grace that astounds me, she rises.
A slow, deliberate smile plays on her kiss-swollen lips.
Her tongue darts out, catching a stray drop at the corner of her mouth.
The sight is so obscenely sexy I almost harden again right there.
She smooths down her leather skirt, her eyes glinting with wicked satisfaction. Without a word, she turns and opens the closet door, the party’s noise flooding back in.
I quickly tuck myself back in, my fingers fumbling, my body still humming. I follow her out just as she’s taking a step into the hallway.
I reach out and deliver a sharp, stinging smack to her perfect ass. The sound echoes down the hall.
She yelps, then throws a smirk over her shoulder that promises this is far from over.
I grin, squaring my shoulders, and yell to the crowded living room, my voice booming with a confidence she put there, “Who wants a drink?”