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‘Aren’t you hearing me, princess?’ He takes hold of himself and draws back, then slips the head that’s slick with cum across my lips. ‘I said now. Suck.’ The pressure of his hardness forces against my lips a split second before my mouth drops open, and I virtually swallow him whole, grabbing his arse and wrenching him forward. ‘Son of a bitch.’ His shocked bark only spurs me on. I dig my nails into his flesh and pull back, giving a wide swirl of my tongue around the tip before taking him all the way again. I’ve never loved giving a blowjob. The taste, the feeling of choking, but this . . . Becker’s cock? I can’t get enough. Won’t get enough.
‘Sweet mother of fucking God.’ His spare hand finds my hair and pulls painfully, wrestling with my locks. ‘Steady.’
I’m not steady. Don’t plan on being, either. I lap and suck like a starved lion, determined to inflict torture to rival his own. I’m confident of a victory. His sharp gasps for breath tell me I may have already won. Releasing one clawed hand from his arse, that fucking delectable arse, I tickle my way between his legs and find his balls, relishing in the whimpers and groans before I revel in the more satisfying sound of a high-pitched yelp. I grab on. Probably too hard, but the constant firm strokes of my mouth over his taut flesh are achieving the perfect mix of pleasure and pain. His body is quaking with pleasure and stiffening with delicious pain in between. He’s unravelling before me. I’ve quickly sensitised myself to the sounds and feel of him, adjusting my touch from soft and giving to raw brutality. I stroke and tickle his heavy sack and follow it up with a tight squeeze. I run smooth lips up and down his cock and round it off with a firm bite – not too hard, just enough to have him tensing in uncertainty.
‘Shit, Eleanor. How the hell do you do this to me?’
I look up to see his eyes clenched shut. Back at you, Hunt.
‘You . . . fuck. Fucking, fuck, fuck, fuck.’ His head drops, followed by a few beads of sweat, dripping from his wet brow. He shakes his head at me, torn, gritting his teeth and letting out a gruff bawl. Then he starts to convulse, his stomach concaving to control the sensations hijacking him. He’s coming. My hold of his balls slackens and my tongue relaxes, my hand beginning to work in unison with my mouth. ‘Oh, Jesus.’ He smashes the wall above me with his fist, then drops his head back and yells at the ceiling, screaming for help from the gods. He’s losing his mind. He’s crumbling. ‘I can’t fucking see.’ His head drops limply and rolls uncontrolled, his hips now taking on a mind of their own and meeting my advancing mouth. ‘I’m coming,’ he pants. ‘I’m fucking coming.’ He roughly pushes me off him, and takes over, his hand flying over his shaft urgently. My back meets the wall, my lungs screaming for breath as I heave, sweating and breathless. And then he comes, in long, hot, surging spurts, moaning and directing his release to my breasts. I accept it all, closing my eyes and melting into the hard wall behind me, feeling his heat slide between my boobs, down to my tummy.
‘A-fucking-men,’ Becker pants, dropping to his knees in front of me and slapping his palm on to my breast. Then he makes sure every inch of my front is coated in his essence.
Dropping my chin to my chest, I watch his hand glide across my skin with ease, and feeling him looking at me, I peek up through my lashes. He half-smiles, revealing a glimmer of that boyish charm. And I smile right back. ‘You’re a fucking she-devil, Eleanor Cole.’
‘And you,’ I puff, ‘are a fucking saint.’
‘A saint who’s now going to fuck you like the filthy princess you are.’ He takes my hands and lifts me as he rises. ‘How’s your arse?’
I pout. ‘Sore.’
‘Good.’ He flips me around and shoves me forward so my front splats against the wall. ‘I quite like it this colour.’ He gives my right cheek a light smack, not painful as such, but reminding me of the delicate condition of my poor abused flesh. He pushes his body into every curve of my back, moulding us together. I swear he must be charged, because my flesh is sizzling like a metal prong powered with a thousand volts is being held against my skin. Then he takes my hands and braces my palms on the wall. ‘I’ll work hard to keep it this colour.’
I wince at the very thought. I’m going to be flinching every time I sit down for a good few days. Taking my waist lightly, he steps back, bringing my hips with him, bending me into position. Then I hear the rip of a condom packet, followed by a tiny hiss as he rolls it on.
