STEPHANIE
FORTY-ONE
The fine line we walk between love and hate brews from the torment of those who get closest to us.
His eyes flare as I sink to my knees and offer him my hands.
“Stand up,” he utters. There’s a plea behind his words, one that tells me he wants me to stay exactly where I am and take exactly what I am offering. But he’s also too frightened to ask for it.
I lift my chin in defiance. “Tell me you don’t want me, and I will go to my bedroom and never bring this up again. I will stop wearing your shirts and stop pushing you to face your demons and desires. I will ignore the way you look at me when you think I’m not looking.”
His hand threads into my hair at my nape, and he fists it to tilt my head farther. “You don’t understand what you’re asking for.”
“I’m trusting the man who doesn’t shy away when he learns what I touch myself to in the middle of the night to teach me how to get those things safely. I’m consumed by you. It’s too late to take that back.”
His nostrils flare, and I prepare myself for his rejection. Deep down, I know it’s because he thinks he’s no good and doesn’t deserve anything that gives him peace or pleasure. But I’m nothing if not persistent. I already trust him; he just has to trust me.
The silence stretches between us, and I can see the war playing behind his eyes. Come on, James, take the leap. I’ll catch you.
His jaw tics, and I begin to lower my hands.
His free hand snatches my wrists and holds them in the air.
My heart beats faster, and my skin flushes.
I lick my lips. His mouth parts, and he releases my hair and unbuckles his belt, sliding it free from the loops and letting it slap against the wooden floor while I continue to stare at him in invitation.
I need to feel. I’m alive but not living. “Do it,” I whisper. “Please.”
His eyes flutter closed, and he sucks in a long breath.
“Put your hands together,” he orders. I twist them, doing as he asks.
Heat unfurls in my stomach, low, deep, needy.
He guides the leather around them, pulling the end through the buckle to secure them and stretches my arms high.
I start to stand, but he shakes his head. “Stay on your knees, sweetheart.”
I swallow and do as he instructs. He keeps my arms high with one hand holding the belt, while the other traces my bottom lip, tugging it free from my teeth. “Rest your knees on top of my boots.”
It seems like an odd request, and the image of him dancing with me standing on his shoes plays in my mind.
“If it gets too much, I want you to tap your knees on my feet.”
Oh... “Okay.”
He has my hands immobilized, and I’m asking him to put his cock in my throat. It makes sense that we need a different form of communication. “Tell me you want this,” he growls.
“I want this. I want you. Every facet, every shadow, every demon that stalks your dreams. I want it all.”
He shakes his head. “You are too good for me.”
“No, I’m just the right side of wrong for you.”
He unbuttons his jeans slowly, making me wait with bated breath. A flash of fear runs through me, worried that I’m going to freak out. If I do, he’ll never pursue whatever this is between us. I’ll never know what we could have been, and that would be a fucking tragedy.
“I’ve never felt so out of control as I do when I’m with you.”
“Same,” I whisper, my eyes dropping to his waist as he tugs down his black boxer briefs. Holy shit. I blink. Is he big, or is that normal? No, I’ve watched enough stuff online to know that he’s punching well above average. “I’ve never done this before.”
“I want you to use your tongue around my head. Get used to my taste.”
I lean forward, and his cock twitches, making me smile.
It’s like it’s excited to see me. Which is true.
I’m careful at first, swirling my tongue around the silky tip.
I never realized how smooth a cock would be.
Then my confidence grows, and I close my lips around him, letting his heavy weight sit on my tongue and the width stretch my mouth. It’s doable, but not easy.
He hisses as I take him a little deeper. Okay, the women from those videos must have training or their gag reflex removed, because they make it look easy.
“Look at me, Stephanie,” he growls.
My eyes sweep up his body and collide with his stormy-blue depths. “Good girl.” His thumb sweeps across my cheekbone. “Can you take me deeper?”
I lean back, releasing him with a pop. “I can damn well try.”
“Are you okay?”
I love that he’s checking in with me, but there’s no need. “If I’m not enjoying something,” I tap my knees on his boots. “I’ll use the bat signal.”
He grins. “You’re such a nerd.”
I shrug. “Life is too short to feel embarrassed about anything I love, including doing this. So stop stalling and put your cock back in my mouth.”
He blinks at my words. “How are you so perfect?”
I shrug. “No idea. But you aren’t going to get off standing there talking to me.”
“You’d be surprised,” he mutters before pushing his length into my mouth, his hand curling around my throat to hold me in place.
Heat washes down my spine, and an empty throbbing need stirs deep.
He watches me carefully as he breaches my throat for the first time.
It’s overwhelming, and I choke. He groans, and I realize the squeeze must feel good. He slides free.
“What are you doing?” I gasp.
“You good?”
“Not now that you’ve stopped.”
He shakes his head, then rewards me with a thrust, faster and less tentative as he gains confidence in knowing this is something I want. My eyes water, tears slipping down my cheeks and making a mess.
“I’m not going to last, sweetheart. It feels too good.”
I’m both elated that I can make him lose control this fast and sad it’s about to be over. At least this round.
He steals my air in one beat and gives it back to me on another. It’s making my head spin and my panties wet.
“Where do you want it?” he asks.
I blink up at him and lean forward in silent demand. I want him inside me. To feel him come apart in my mouth. This is already hands down the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever experienced or fantasized about.
His cock swells slightly, and he grips my neck tight and buries himself in my throat as he pulses. “Fuck,” he growls.
I swallow him down and wrestle with the instinctual fight my body puts up. He tastes like he smells. Spicy, musky, and fucking delicious.
He slips free from my mouth, leaving behind a trail of saliva, and blinks down at me, our breaths ragged. He shakes his head, and I can see the metaphorical curtain falling, the way his demons win.
“James?” I whisper.
He releases my wrists from the belt and drags in a breath. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I should have never.” He takes a step back and swipes a hand through his hair.
I stand. “What are you talking about? I was right there with you.” He shakes his head and avoids my gaze, creating an unacceptable chasm between us. I reach out to catch his wrist. “Don’t do that. Don’t cheapen what we just did.”
He moves so fast it steals my breath, shoving me against the door with his body caging mine, his arm leaning against the wood above my head. “I just treated you like a slut, and you were into it?”
Something ugly twists in my chest, but I wrestle it back. “You don’t mean that.”
He tilts his head. I can see the real man is now shielded behind the mask of the cult leader, whose every action is to dominate, create fear, and control evil.
“You aren’t special, sweetheart,” he says, flicking a lock of my hair over my shoulder and leaning down to my ear.
“You want some home truths? You are one of hundreds who have gotten down on their knees for me, and each one of you thinks you’re unique.
You all do this with the hope to trap the devil you should never desire in the first place.
You are already a fading memory before your throat has cleared of my cum. ”
He shoves off the wall and turns on his heel to stalk away from me while I remain against the door. I will only chase him for so long. “James?” He pauses but doesn’t turn around. “If I were just a fading memory, then you wouldn’t be replaying the way my mouth felt around your cock.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. Your one quality, to have never felt a dick in your mouth, is now spoiled. Go find yourself a white picket fence and that Prince Charming you need to make pretty babies with.”
I don’t want pretty babies, and I definitely don’t want some wholesome prince who would run a mile if I was as honest with him as I’ve been with James. I’m not willing to live a lie for any man, and I won’t let him ruin any of the memories between us.
“Careful, James,” I call out as he pushes open his bedroom door. “Only someone who cares deeply would work this hard to wound. There’s a reason they say there’s a fine line between love and hate, and you, my dark prince, are toeing it.”
The door slams shut, and I huff as I massage my wrists. He needs a few hard truths too, and I’m just the woman to deliver them to him.