With Justine’s eyes locked on my cock, I milk it with quick, jutted strokes. My wish to come is as direr as my yearning to eradicate the hunger in Justine’s eyes. I picture her fleshy lips sliding down my shaft when her mouth falls open. When she sucks me off, her mouth will be as wide opened as it is now, but she’ll be on her knees, servicing me like she’s dying to do, but is too ashamed to admit.
While holding her gaze, I stroke my cock, not the least bit deterred that cum is biting at the crest, begging to be released. This isn’t about endurance, it’s a show, a performance, an endeavor to show Justine her scars don’t deter her sexiness in the slightest.
She puts on a brave front, but I know the real reason for her constant backstepping. She’s not scared of me. She’s petrified of herself.
From what I read in the report Roman compiled, she hasn’t placed herself first for years. Even while enduring a prolonged hospital stay for an incident her hospital record states was ‘confidential,’ Maddox’s arrest was still on the forefront of her mind.
For years, Justine’s wish to free her brother from incarceration has taken center stage—until now. Her thoughts are far from her family as she watches me stroke my cock in a way I plan for her to perfect over the coming days.
After working my fist over the crest of my cock to gather a bead of pre-cum pooled at the end, I lock my eyes with Justine’s. Her cheeks are heated with need, and her knees are pulled inward.
Certain I have her on the cusp of giving in, I say, “Why watch when you can join,Ahren?”
She considers my offer for barely a second before her eyes drop to the floor. A normal person would construe her actions as those of an innocent woman. It’s lucky for all involved, I’m far from normal. Her eyes may be pointed toward the floor, but they only went there after she stared at my cock long enough to imbed the image of me stroking it into her brain indefinitely.
“You’re responsible for this,Ahren. Your eyes, your lips, your body.”
I quicken my strokes, loving the responsiveness of my cock. Excluding last night when I had Justine pinned to the front door of her apartment, I can’t recall the last time I was this hard. It feels good even though it should feel so fucking wrong.
“I couldn’t sleep thinking about how good you’d feel wrapped around my cock. That’s why I was in the shower… seeking release.” Because most of my reply is honest, it comes out sounding that way. I had no intentions to stroke one out in the shower until the needy scent of her cunt veered me astray, but she doesn’t need to know that. “If I didn’t do something, I would have slipped under your knitted blanket and taken you while you were sleeping.”
I tighten my hand around my shaft when Justine’s eyes widen with recognition. “You were in my room?”
As the urge to come overwhelms me, I wink at her. Her shocked facial expression matches the one she pulled last night while screaming my name into the humid night air. She is mad, but more than anything, she’s turned on.
I groan in pleasure, my clutch on my dick almost cruel. “You’re even more beautiful when you’re sleeping.”
Although she rolls her eyes, her feminine moan has my balls tucking in close to my body. I’m going to come soon, and I’m going to picture the hot, salty squirts of my cum sliding down Justine’s throat when I do.
After adjusting my position to ensure she won’t miss the white stream that’s about to jet out of the slit in my cock, I work it faster. I slide my engorged knob in and out of my fist as I plan to do her no doubt tight cunt.
As a tingling sensation races down my spine, the devil inside me roars. I stroke faster, my hips jackknifing on repeat. I increase my pressure on the vein feeding my erection until the sensation gripping every inch of my sack becomes too intense to hold back.
With my grip tight and my hips steady, cum streams out of my cock at the same time Justine races for the door. I can’t help but laugh when she mumbles, “If you haven’t finished in twenty minutes, I’m switching off the water heater.”
I’m already done, baby, but don’t worry, we’re only just getting started.
Chapter Nine
“We’ve held him off for as long as we can, Nikolai. We can’t delay the inevitable for a second longer.”
I glare at Roman, the playfulness I exuded in the shower two hours ago long forgotten. Wrangling Ms. Aaronson back into her apartment thirty minutes ago already had my mood slipping, now Roman has gone and fucked it up entirely.
“I have a monitoring bracelet on my ankle. How far does he expect me to get?”
Roman scoots to the edge of his chair in the dining nook of Justine’s kitchen. “You know how Vladimir has been since Rico’s death. He doesn’t trust anyone.” I’m about to say his lack of trust occurred long before Rico’s untimely demise, but Roman continues talking, foiling my endeavor. “He’s also aware a tracker won’t stop you.”
He’s right, but it doesn’t make his confession any easier to swallow.
What he says next, though, it sure does. “And while he’s occupied ensuring your whereabouts are known at all times, we’ll have the opportunity to slip an operation under his nose without his consent.”
Smirking, he slides a manila folder to my side of the table. It’s similar to the one he left on my bed last night, but the target’s name is different. It belongs to the officer who bullied Justine mere minutes before he attempted to goad me into spending the long weekend in a holding cell.
While perusing Officer Prentice’s file, I say, “I thought you wanted to let his ‘mishap’ slide?”
Roman argued that exact point last night when I requested for him to compile a file on Officer Prentice. He thought I was starting a war that didn’t need to be fought, and assured me he’d find a way for Officer Prentice to learn the meaning of the word ‘manners’ without me needing to get involved.
I wasn’t fucking happy, but with Vladimir already having me burning the candle at both ends, and the media circulating a story about the death of a long-serving Las Vegas judge, I gave Officer Prentice a few days of amnesty. He will still be punished, just not until Justine has my charges expunged, which will now be in a legal manner since the media was referencing the judge I have on my payroll—or should I say had?
