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A hand pushed my head downward, and I didn’t bother to resist—they would love that. When my lips bumped against the bulbous head, I obediently opened my mouth and wrapped my lips around the overly large dick. Sadly enough, the first thing I thought was that it tasted weird. Really weird. Not good. Not bad. Just weird. If they hadn’t cleaned the fucker, I would kill them!
Whoever had a tight hold on my head pushed my head down further, nearly choking me in the process as the dick pushed against the back of my throat. Locked in the darkness of the blindfold, I had no other choice but to focus on the laughter surrounding me. The graphic language about how poorly I sucked dick echoed in my ears. Following that, there were lewd instructions on what I needed to do to improve my technique. True to my typical behavior, I blocked them out as best I could and tried to focus on pleasing the crowd. I struggled to remember how the chicks in my past had worked my cock—suck, keep your teeth away, use your tongue, a nice twist at the top, and then down again. Pay attention to the veins and slit. Of course, I’d like to think my dick was much better than the gross feeling and tasting dildo they had suctioned down onto the coffee table for their game.
“Look at that! I told you he sucked cock just like the rest of us to climb the ladder of success! Our Jinx is a natural-born cocksucker!”
I continued to ignore the catcalls and the aggressive way Tito pushed my head further down on the fake dick and for some reason, I couldn’t push away the sudden feeling of euphoria that washed over me. I felt…good…really good. Kinda sweaty, but in a good way. My heart thundered as I continued my performance, getting into it and really putting on a show. My mood had transformed from melancholy to giddiness in record time.
Maybe I was actually into dicks instead of chicks? I was having the fucking time of my life!*****LandonOne fucking o’clock in the morning and I was wandering around the halls of a hotel, listening for what was supposed to be a private party—a private party that Micah had snuck away from his hotel to participate in. Yeah, so much for thinking my new client was innocent, polite, or going to be easy to protect. I had started wanting to shake him hard enough to rattle his perfectly straight and white teeth sometime around ten o’clock, when I realized he was missing. I’d just gotten to the hotel from the fucking fitting that I now believed had been nothing more than a way to set me up so he could make his escape, stopped by his room to ensure his security detail had everything under control for the night (since I wasn’t supposed to start my bodyguard duties until tomorrow), and found that Micah had pulled a Houdini act. The two security guys that usually protected him weren’t at all surprised to see he was not where he was supposed to be…nor had they cared. They were both now looking for a new job, but as good as firing them made me feel at the moment, it hadn’t done a damn thing to help me find my missing client.
I’d wasted thirty minutes combing over every inch of his hotel room, digging through his personal items…leaving every damn item he owned strewn all over his suite. When I finally admitted my efforts were a waste of time, I’d stormed out of the room and wasted another hour searching the hotel, beginning with the bars and ending with the gym and pool areas. It was at that point that I messaged Samantha and informed her that I needed a bracelet or dog collar that contained a tracking device—something that he wouldn’t be able to remove on his own. Naturally, Samantha was furious with me, even though my assignment didn’t officially begin until tomorrow.
The fucking brat had left his cell behind so I couldn’t even hack into that and use the GPS to locate him. What kind of idiot ran away when they had abduction and death threats hanging over their head? Mr. I’m-Too-Sexy, that’s who.
With every passing moment, my fury and anxiety amped up another notch. Around twelve-thirty, my fury turned into fear. What if something had really happened to him? What if whoever was behind the threats made their move before I’d even had a chance to protect him? Would they really do all the things the emails had promised? Even if I found him on time, could he mentally and emotionally come back from that kind of abuse?
Unable to simply sit in his room and switch back and forth between seething and worrying, I crossed the room, flung open the door, and stormed out into the hall—intent on hitting the streets of Milan in search of Micah. He was a damn supermodel; how hard could he be to find?
