40. CORA
CORA
I kneel in front of Lane and the way he’s looking at me? Yeah, burn this into my memory. Let me keep it forever.
His jaw ticks as he watches me reach and grab at the button of his jeans. Slowly, I unbutton them, and then grab the zipper. I pull the jeans down before he steps out of them.
Lane’s dick is hard, pushing against the fabric of his black briefs. He waits for me to make the next move.
I feel powerful. Like I have the upper hand. And I fucking like it.
My hands push up his thighs until my fingers are at the waistband, hooking in and pulling down.
He’s so hard; the barbells of the piercing grab my attention before I glance back to him. His eyes on me make me physically hot.
My lips find his length, placing kisses all the way down. Before I sit back, I lick at the precum-soaked tip, which pulls a groan from him.
Slowly, I open my mouth, stick my tongue out, and watch Lane bite his lip before moving closer to me. He strokes his length a few times before guiding it into my mouth. His piercings slides over my tongue and I can’t fucking believe this is real life.
Good girl Cora? I don’t know her. Because the girl on her knees in this apartment is Lane’s good girl.
“Look at you, Peaches. Taking me so well,” he groans while threading his other hand into my hair and pulling me to take more of him.
I moan as he fills my mouth, my tongue gliding over his piercings.
“Fuck,” he hisses. The way he responds to me is intoxicating.
Still holding my hair, he rocks into my mouth, careful not to go too fast. But I slurp and suck faster, needing more. Wanting it.
I can’t help but steal glances at him. The way he watches me, licking his lips, pushing his bottom lip through his teeth—it’s everything. I never felt like this with Freddy. It’s like sparks are at the top of every inch of my skin, itching to catch fire.
Lane makes me want to burn.
I bob my head, taking as much of him as I can as he inches closer to the edge.
“Faster,” I demand, the tip of his dick barely out of my mouth.
He doesn’t hold back this time.
“Just. Like. That.” He barely gets the words out between thrusts. I suck and swirl my tongue, changing the pressure.
Lane fucks my face and I feel him tremble before he comes. Standing still, his release spurts and his legs shake. I swear, I could come again just from seeing him, feeling him, like this.
He steps back and I swallow. Offering him a smart smile, I think about that night he had me lick his fingers after he was inside me. This feels almost like it’s something forbidden but it doesn’t matter. I love it.
Immediately, his hands are lifting me. Once I’m on my feet, he’s lifting my chin and dipping down to kiss me.
“You are fucking incredible. You know that?” he praises, all breathy and spent. “Let’s get cleaned up.”
Lane Maxwell—usually all stoicism with just a hint of skepticism—takes my hand and leads me to the shower, like he already knows exactly what I need. I know he’ll take care of me.
This doesn’t feel real.