Chapter 11
Cain
His eyes drop. To my mouth then to my throat. He's imagining it. Biting me, tasting me, marking me. I reach out, touch his face, the way I've wanted to do a hundred times before. He leans into my palm, like a cat, like he's been waiting for this his whole life.
"If I told you to get down on your knees for me," I say softly, "right here. In this bathroom, with anyone able to walk through that door..."
His eyes snap back to mine.
"I'd do it." The words come out before he can stop them.
"Like the desperate person you are."
A sound escapes his throat. A moan, small and breathless. His eyes widen, hand flies to his mouth like he didn’t know he could make that sound.
"On your knees, Grey."
He hesitates, eyes searching my face for mercy I won’t give. Or confirmation that this is real. I give him neither. I wait.
Then he sinks to his knees, slow, like his body remembers what it’s always wanted. The tile must be cold, he doesn't seem to notice or doesn’t care. He's looking up at me now, eyes dark, mouth parted, hands resting on his thighs like he's waiting for instruction.
"Look at you. You have no idea how long I've wanted to see you like this."
"How long?"
"Longer than you've been watching me." His breath shudders out of him.
I reach down and touch his hair. Run my fingers through it the way I've imagined a hundred times. He closes his eyes, leaning into the touch.
"Mine," I say.
He opens his eyes. "Yours," he whispers.
The word lands in my chest like a bullet. I grip his hair, tilt his head back, expose his throat. I lean down, my mouth brushes his ear. "Prove it."
His hands find my belt, trembling, and yearning. He fumbles with the buckle, and I let him.
"Slow down," I say.
He freezes. His eyes meet mine, confused, needy.
"I want to watch you, I want to see every second of this."
He swallows and nods. His hands move slower now, deliberate. He unbuckles my belt, unzips my pants, and pulls them down just enough. I'm hard, have been since he walked through the door.
He looks at me. At what I'm offering him. And then he leans forward. His mouth is hot. Unbelievably hot. I gasp before I can stop myself. My hand tightens in his hair. He takes me deeper. His tongue, fuck, his tongue traces patterns I can't think about without losing my mind.
"Grey." He looks up at me.
His eyes are wet. His lips are stretched around me. He looks wrecked. And he's still going. Deeper. Faster. His hand joins his mouth, stroking what he can't reach.
"Look at you," I manage. He moans around me. The vibration shoots through my entire body.
"You've always wanted this."
He nods. His head bobs, taking me deeper.
"You wanted to be caught, to have me see you" Another moan.
His hand moves faster.
"Fuck." The word punches out of me. "You're so..."
I can't finish, he's too much, too good, too everything. I pull him off. Not because I want him to stop but because I want to watch him. A string of saliva connects his mouth to me. His lips are red and swollen, his eyes are glassy.
"Don't stop," he whispers.
"Look at me." He does, and fuck, how I would love to come on his beautiful face.
"I want you to remember this," I say. "I want you to remember exactly what you look like right now. On your knees. For me."
"I will." His hand is still on me, stroking, touching, and claiming. "I'll remember every second."
"Good boy." He shudders and takes me back in his mouth.
I let him take what he wants, let him prove himself. His head moves faster. His hand is relentless. My hips are moving now, I can't stop them, can't control them, can't do anything but feel.
"Grey,"
He looks up. His eyes are dark. His mouth is full. He's beautiful like this, eager to please and all mine. I wish I could take a picture.
"I'm close."
He doesn't pull away instead he takes me deeper, swallows around me. The feeling is too much. My orgasm hits me like a wave, hard and overwhelming. I grip his hair crying out his name as I pour myself down his throat.
He doesn't stop, doesn't flinch, doesn't pull away until I'm finished. I pull him up watch him swallow me and kiss him, tasting myself on his tongue.
"Beautiful," I say. His eyes are wet, his hands are gripping my shoulders like I'm the only thing keeping him upright.
"That was,"
"I know." I say, because I do.
He laughs. Broken. Relieved. "You know everything."
I tuck myself back in. Smooth his hair. He's still shaking.
"Are you okay?" I ask.
He laughs. "I think so, I think I've never been more okay in my life."
I smile. "Good."
He looks at me. His eyes are soft. Vulnerable.
"What happens now?"
"Now," I say, "you go back to your friends. You finish your drink. You pretend this didn't happen."
"I can't pretend."
"You're going to try." I smooth his shirt. Make him presentable. "And tomorrow morning, you're going to sit at your desk like the perfect, efficient, invisible secretary you've always been."