Chapter 11 #3
"You like that," he growls. "You like feeling it. Like knowing what it does to me."
I do. I shouldn't, but I do.
I lean in, working him with my mouth harder, feeling his fingers knot in my hair as I tease him with every stroke.
Every time he pulls out, I roll that piercing against my tongue, tease along his shaft as he pushes in, taking back some control.
It’s harder work than any blowjob has ever been, but I can feel him coming undone.
I can feel his thigh trembling under my hand, feel how impossibly hard he is in my mouth.
I think he’s been fighting not to come for minutes now, trying to keep going, but he’s going to break soon.
My jaw aches. My eyes are watering. I can barely breathe.
And I don't want to stop.
“Oh, fuck,” he growls, his hand in my hair curling around the back of my head. “Fuck, I’m going to come. I can’t… fuck, I’m going to fill your fucking throat—”
He shoves himself forward, burying himself in my mouth, and as I cough and gag around his length, I feel him spurt down my throat.
My eyes are streaming tears, my lips tight around him as I fight to breathe, and it feels like he’s never going to stop coming.
His hips buck, the piercings rough in my throat, spurt after spurt pouring into me as the muscles of his abdomen flex against my nose.
“God, you make me come like nothing else,” he pants, still twitching against my tongue as he thrusts once more and then retreats. “Fuck.”
I gasp for air, looking up at him with wet eyes and swollen lips, and the look on his face makes my stomach clench with desire.
He looks wrecked, his hair tousled around his face, his eyes dark, his lips parted as he gasps for breath.
He’s fully clothed, only his cock jutting free of his trousers, beginning to soften in the aftermath.
"Up," he commands.
I stand on shaking legs. Before I’m fully up, he’s already guiding me backward toward the desk. My hips hit the edge and he lifts me easily, setting me on the polished wood surface.
"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" He yanks down the shorts I’m wearing, along with my panties. “You provoke me so I’ll lose control. So I’ll take what I need from you and then make you come. Brat. I should send you back to your room without an orgasm. Let you spend the day wet with my cum in your belly while you imagine all the things I could have done to you.”
Need. He said need, not want.
"No, I—"
"Yes. You wanted this. Wanted me to lose control. Wanted to see what would happen if you pushed hard enough." His hands grip my thighs, spreading them wide, and then he drops down to his knees, his mouth pressed between my legs.
The sensation is immediate and overwhelming. His tongue, his lips, the scrape of stubble against sensitive skin—I feel him drag his tongue from my drenched entrance to my clit in one long lick before he slides back down, and I gasp, helpless against the onslaught of pleasure.
I fall back on my elbows, unable to stay upright, unable to do anything except feel. His tongue finds my clit and the pressure is perfect—not too much, not too little, exactly what I need.
"Andrei." I gasp his name. His tongue pushes me to the brink, so close that I’m about to spill over it, and then he leaves my clit, pushing his tongue into me. I let out a high, whimpering sound, bucking my hips as my clit pulses, frustration sweeping through me. “Andrei!”
He ignores the demand, and I know he did it on purpose.
I’m right on the edge, and his tongue thrusting inside of me feels good, so fucking good, but it’s not enough.
It keeps me right there without the friction to send me over, and I feel my orgasm ebbing, backing off until I’m no longer right on the edge.
And he knows when that happens, because as soon as I’m not on the brink, his tongue returns to my clit with that perfect, maddening rhythm.
Twice more, he pushes me to the edge and then backs off. And then, the third time, when his tongue returns to my clit, he pushes two fingers inside of me.
Pleasure explodes through me, so good, so much that I can hardly bear it, the sensations so intense that I can’t bear it if he stops again. I need to come, I need…
"Please." I don't even know what I'm begging for—release, mercy… more.
He gives me all of it.
His fingers curl inside me, finding a spot that makes my vision blur. His tongue moves faster, harder, and then I break.
My orgasm rips through me, arching my back and tensing every muscle in my body.
I come hard, crying out his name, my body clenching around his fingers as pleasure crashes through me in waves.
And he doesn't stop. He just keeps going, drawing out my orgasm until I'm shaking, and pushing at his head because it's too much, until I'm gasping for mercy.
Only then does he pull back.
He stands, and I can see myself on his face—the evidence of what he just did, what I just let him do. He doesn't wipe it away. He just looks at me sprawled on the desk, panting and disheveled, completely undone.
"This doesn't change anything," he says. His voice is as hard and cold as I’ve ever heard it, full of a sharp, icy satisfaction. The knowledge that he’s won this round. "You're still my captive. I'm still the monster who kidnaps women. And you're still the woman who wants me anyway."
Then he turns and walks out.
The door closes behind him with a soft click, and I'm left alone on his desk, half-naked and trembling, and furious with myself.
Because he's right, about all of it.
I know what he is. Know what he's done. I know that he ordered the kidnapping of an innocent woman and when his men grabbed me instead, he just adjusted his strategy without a second thought.
I know he's a monster, and I want him anyway.