Chapter 11 #2
"We never left it." I take an unsteady step back. I need space from him… I need to not have him filling my senses every moment that I’m standing here, trying to think.
"You kidnap people, Andrei. You use them.
You were going to do to someone else exactly what you did to me, and when your men grabbed the wrong woman, you just—you just adjusted.
Like it didn't matter. Like terrorizing people is just part of your business model. "
"Sometimes it is."
The casual admission makes me feel as if I can’t breathe for a moment.
"And you knew that," he continues, moving closer again, eliminating the space I just created. "You've known it since the moment I walked into my office and you met me. So why are you acting surprised now?”
"Because I let myself forget what you are. What you're capable of. And that was stupid.” My voice trembles, and I try to stop it, but it’s difficult.
"Yes. It was all of those things. So why did you do it?"
"I don't know."
"Liar."
The word hangs between us, sharp and accusing. "You know exactly why you did it," he says, his voice taking on a low, husky note that makes heat slide over my skin. It sounds like he did last night, before he… before we…
"You did it because you wanted to. Because despite everything you know about me—despite the fact that I'm exactly the monster you think I am—you still want me."
I shake my head quickly. "No."
"Yes." He takes one more step forward, closing the distance between us again, and he touches his fingers to my throat. He doesn’t wrap them around my neck or squeeze, but I can feel that with one movement, he could.
"And that terrifies you. Not what I am. Not what I've done.
But what it means about you that you want me anyway. "
My heart is pounding. I want to pull away, and I don’t.
I feel my thighs press together, the heat of his touch burning into me like a brand.
Everything we did last night comes rushing back, and I want more of it.
I want to feel that good again. It was… I can’t even describe what it was, but it was nothing I knew existed before.
Why does it have to be him?
"If you wanted me gone," I hear myself say, "you wouldn't have fucked me."
It’s a challenge… a desperate attempt to regain some control over this conversation. And he knows it. I can see it in his eyes as they gleam, a smirk curling his mouth.
He laughs. The sound is cruel and mocking. "I fuck women I want gone all the time, Liesl. It doesn't mean anything."
Jealousy burns through me in a hot flash, and it’s so completely irrational that I hate myself even more for it.
I have no right to be jealous. No claim on him.
No reason to care who else he's been with or what they meant to him. I shouldn’t care if he’s ever fucked a woman without a condom before or if he growled mine in their ear, if he told them how pretty they looked impaled on his cock. How good they were for taking it all.
I shouldn’t feel sick thinking about it. But I feel it anyway. And he sees it.
His smile widens, predatory and satisfied. "There it is."
"Fuck you."
"You already did." He's enjoying this. Enjoying my discomfort, my jealousy, my inability to hide what I'm feeling. "And you're going to do it again. Because despite everything you know about me—despite your moral outrage and your self-righteous anger—you can't help yourself."
"You don't know what I want,” I hiss, my stomach twisting as I try to pull back from his hand. It tightens on my neck, holding me in place, and it takes everything in me not to whimper.
"Don't I?" His thumb strokes along my jaw, the touch almost tender. "You have no idea what I want from you, Liesl. No idea what I think about when I'm alone. What I imagine doing to you."
My breath catches. His smile is dark and dangerous, full of promises and threats in equal measure.
"I want you on your knees.” His voice goes rough as his thumb slides from my jaw to below my lower lip, tracing it.
"I want my hand in your hair and my cock in your mouth.
I want to watch you take me. Want to feel you struggle with the size of me.
Want to see tears in your eyes as you try to take me deeper. "
Heat floods through me, pooling low in my belly. I should be disgusted. Should be horrified by the crudeness of what he's describing.
Instead I'm wet. And I’m already imagining exactly what he's talking about.
"I want to feel my piercings against your tongue," he continues, as his hand tightens slightly on my throat. "I want to hear the sounds you make when you realize how good it is. How much you like it."
"Stop." The word comes out breathless.
"You've thought about it." It's not a question.
"You've wondered what it would feel like. What I would taste like. How it would be different with the piercing. You laid in bed last night trying not to imagine my cock in your mouth, and how it would feel compared to anyone else you’ve been with. The sex was like nothing else you’ve had, so what else would be? "
God, he’s so fucking arrogant. I glare at him, but he doesn’t stop. His fingers stroke the column of my throat, his thumb shifting to drag down the center of it, as if he’s imagining his cock there.
"A good man wouldn't want this," he murmurs, and there's something almost mocking in his tone. "A good man wouldn't look at his captive and imagine her on her knees. Wouldn't think about using her mouth. Wouldn't want to see her debased and desperate and begging for more."
His hand moves from my throat to my hair, fingers tangling in the strands.
"But we've established I'm not a good man, haven't we?" He pulls, not hard enough to hurt but firm enough to guide. "We've established exactly what I am."
He's urging me down. The pressure is insistent, impossible to ignore. I know what he wants from me. I can feel a fine tremor running through my muscles, begging me to go down, begging me to resist.
I should resist. I should tell him no, fight him. I should preserve whatever dignity I have left. I don’t think he’d force me, if he believed that I truly didn’t want this. I should stop this now, before it goes any further.
But I don't.
I let him guide me to my knees on the library’s rug, my heart beating faster with every second that passes.
He has absolute control over me in this moment, and he knows it.
I feel weak down to my bones, aching, so wet I know I’ve soaked through my panties.
I want to see him. I want him so badly it hurts.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
"Look at me," he commands.
I look up at him from my knees and I can see the hunger in his eyes—the desire.
The dark satisfaction of having me exactly where he wants me.
This is why, I think dizzily, as his fingers tighten in my hair, holding my mouth an inch from where I can see his cock straining against his fly.
The feeling of making a man this powerful come undone is intoxicating.
He’s someone who always strives for control, who commands everything around him…
and he’s unable to resist me. He didn’t want to want me any more than I wanted to want him.
But he can’t help himself, either. All the money and power in the world, and I’m the woman who he can’t stop himself from needing to devour.
The thought makes me gasp with arousal.
He undoes his belt with a quick motion, then slides down his zipper. When he frees his cock, the barbell through the head catches the light. This close to my face, I can see exactly how thick and long he is. My heart trips in my chest. I don’t know how much of him I can fit in my mouth.
"Open," he says, and I’m helpless to do anything but obey.
I part my lips, and he guides the tip of his cock into my mouth. I taste salt and skin and the metallic edge of the piercing against my tongue, and as he pushes in another inch, my jaw has to stretch to accommodate him. The fullness is overwhelming, and I have to fight the urge to pull back.
"That's it," he murmurs, his voice is rough with pleasure. "Take it. Take me."
Everything in me is screaming to pull away, and clamoring for more at the same time. I stare up at him as I take him deeper, feeling the piercing drag against my tongue, feeling the weight of him filling my mouth. My hands come up to grip his thighs. I need something to hold onto.
This feels like a challenge. I can see it in his eyes, the dare of whether or not I can take him as well with my mouth as I did in my pussy last night. He’s wondering if he can humiliate me, make me feel useless, and I refuse.
I’ll suck his cock so well it’ll bring him to his knees. The thought startles me, and before I realize it, he’s pushed deeper, all the way to the back of my throat. I gag, and he moans, his blue eyes darkening with lust.
And then he starts to move. He doesn’t actually want to hurt me—I can tell from the way he goes slowly at first, thrusting his thick length over my tongue in shallow, slow movements.
He’s trying to let me adjust to the size and the difference of having the piercings in my mouth, having so much trying to push into my throat all at once.
But then his control starts to slip and his movements become harder, more demanding.
The hand in my hair tightens, guiding my head, controlling the pace. I can feel tears starting to form in my eyes as he pushes deeper, testing my limits and seeing how much I can take.
"Fuck," he groans, gasping as my throat convulses around him. "Your mouth. God, your mouth. So fucking good. Fuck, I should come down your throat every fucking morning. Christ, ptitsa, fuck."
I suck harder, my tongue sliding against the veined, pierced underside of his cock.
When he pulls out to the tip, I flick my tongue against the piercing in the head, moving it back and forth, my gaze locked on his.
The response is immediate—his hips jerk forward, pushing deeper, and the groan he lets out is almost pained.