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"I want you," he replied simply, tightening his grip on my thigh. "And I want you to remember this moment."
Something in his voice resonated with me–a sort of passion that held both an erotic promise and a deeper connection. It was enough to quell any doubts or reservations that flitted through my mind.
"Alright then," I said, turning slightly to face him. With slow but sure movements, I reached for his belt. His sharp intake of breath was gratifying as I loosened it and unzipped his jeans.
He shifted slightly under me, pushing the confines of his trousers down enough to make room for my hand to explore. His cock immediately sprang free, hard and long, jutting toward me. A bead of precum had collected there, making my mouth water.
I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest. His size never failed to impress, to intimidate, and to excite me. I gave a cursory glance at the road, checking how deserted it was before I turned my focus back to him.
His hand tightened on my thigh as I wrapped my fingers around his length, giving him a few slow strokes that made him groan. The sound sent a thrill through me, spurring me on.
In the flashing lights of the neon streets, I could make out the outline of his chiseled body, strong and commanding. His cock twitched in my hand, precum slicking the head. My mouth watered at the sight.
"Justice," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. He looked at me then, his eyes dark and intense even in the sunlight. "Don't stop."
I gave him a teasing smile, my hand squeezing him in response. I moved my hand leisurely, my grip tightening on the upward stroke. Every twitch of his cock, every low groan he let out made heat pool between my thighs.
"Use your mouth," he said.
Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I leaned over the console. His cock twitched in my hand as I leaned closer, my lips hovering over him. "Eyes on the road," I whispered softly, letting my breath ghost over him. He let out a soft groan in response, his grip on the steering wheel tightening.
Ignoring the butterflies fluttering in my stomach, I opened my mouth and took him in. His hips lifted off the seat as he let out a low curse, his hand instantly going to my hair. The taste of him was intoxicating–something raw and masculine that made my head spin.
I began to move my head slowly, taking him deeper with each stroke. His groans filled the car, drowning out the soft hum of the engine and the distant city noise. Each sound from him only added to my pleasure, making me more confident in my actions. I let my tongue trace a vein before swirling around the head, earning another moan.
"Fuck, Justice," he hissed through gritted teeth, his grip on my hair tightening. His breath hitched in his throat as I increased my pace, sucking hard and stroking with my hand in rhythm. His hips jerked uncontrollably as I took him deeper, pushing him closer to the edge.
"Justice," he growled, a warning in his voice. But my only response was to take him even deeper, hollowing out my cheeks and applying just the right amount of suction. He groaned loudly, his body tensing momentarily before he came undone in my mouth.
I swallowed every drop of him as he gasped for breath, slowly pulling back when I was sure that he had been thoroughly taken care of. As I adjusted myself back into my seat, I could see the afterglow in his eyes, a mixture of satisfaction and adoration shining through. He reached out and gently stroked my cheek, a soft smile on his lips.
"Thank you," he said softly.
I chuckled lightly at his words, adjusting my dress and brushing stray strands of hair away from my face. "Anytime," I replied, grinning at him.
He laughed. "You better mean that."
"Yeah," I said. "Of course I mean that."
Chapter Fourteen: Skylar
No one liked going to the Den.
Yeah, I was a fucking psycho. I owned it. I liked making people hurt, especially when they threatened the people I loved. But even I didn’t like going to the Den…because things had happened here that even I wouldn’t do.
Things had happened to people I cared about.
And sometimes, when the thought crossed my mind…flames licked at the edges of my consciousness, and I considered burning the damn place down.
Back in the day, when it was still just me and Bash, his dad had secured this location for operations. An abandoned warehouse in the heart of the city, too grimy and inconspicuous for anyone to suspect as our safe house. The air was always thick with the scent of decaying brick and damp wood mixed with the faint trace of rusted iron, a constant reminder of previous bloody encounters held within these four walls. Bodies, too.
The name "Den" had been a stupid joke I'd made once, a laugh in the face of danger when we were just two street-smart kids with nowhere else to run. We claimed it as our own, and it became our sanctuary against the world. However, despite its significance, it was more a place of last resort than anything else–'cause if we were at the Den, it meant shit had seriously hit the fan.
Pedro, of course, had loved it. So had Jez. Bash had rolled his eyes, but at the time, he wasn't even in line to be boss. We were both running product together.
But that was a lifetime ago.
As we pulled up to the Den, I turned to look at Zane. "You've never been here before, have you?"
