The woman is fucking edging me.
And she is loving it.
“You’re playing a dangerous game, Firefly.”
She glances up with a grin. “I know.”
It isn’t the first time I’ve given her that warning, or the first time she’s ignored it. But this feels different somehow, tonight does. And as she sucks me back down again, that becomes more and more clear.
RAVEN
Connor is barely holding on by a thread, his rock-hard body so tense that it feels like he might snap in two. With his cock deep down my throat, every muscle trembling beneath me with his restraint, I’ve never felt more powerful.
It’s something I hadn’t even realized I needed so badly when I’ve felt so out of control of everything the last few months.
Even before Connor dragged me up here against my will, I was free-falling, struggling to keep up with everything whirling in my head—all the conversations, all the facts, all the people, all the consequences. It all felt overwhelming in a way I didn’t want to admit because it would mean conceding I might not be the best person to take on this story.
But being removed from everything else, being forced to concentrate only on that, living in this isolated place without the distractions of life or having to worry about watching my back, has somehow allowed me to find my purpose and my confidence in what I’m doing.
That all changes as soon as Connor walks out that door. Because while I may be the one who wrote that story, what happens next is far beyond my control.
It means relying on other people to do what’s right. To get things done. It means relying on Connor to get it down the mountain, Tony to get it to Agent Michaelson, and Killian to get it to the editor at The Atlantic. It means believing that all my sources will come through for me in the end—that they’ll come forward when facing the FBI instead of just me.
All ooff it has been enough to make me feel like I’m spinning out of control.
And I must have been to have fallen so easily into this man’s arms and bed.
To have ended up like this.
This man has far more control over me than I’d like to admit if the way my body throbs for him is an indication.
He’s on edge.
The good type.
One I want him to jump over.
I need to see him lose his grip on his own control and unleash on me the way he did that first night. That’s what I want to remember when he leaves. That fiery, feral, desperation that he tries so hard to reign in.
As enjoyable as teasing him has been, I can’t wait any longer. I suck him down, all the way to the back of my throat, and moan around him as the head of his cock pushes even deeper with his thrust.
This isn’t a slow, torturous game anymore.
I set a rapid pace, tightening my grip on his balls as I drag my tongue along his shaft with each retreat of my suctioning mouth. His grip on my hair turns painful, and his body trembles violently as he tries to hold out.
Tries and fails.
One last flick of my tongue across the underside of the head of his cock and he arches up as he comes, shooting down my throat in hot, salty spurts that I swallow down greedily.
When he finally sags back onto the mattress, his cock still hard in my mouth, I give it one last suck that makes him twitch, then slowly peel my mouth from it and lick my lips as I gaze up at him.
He watches me through slitted eyes from under thick, dark lashes, and his hand shifts from my hair over to brush his thumb across my lips. “If I would’ve known it would be that good, I would’ve shut you up this way a long time ago.”
A threat or a promise of what will happen if we argue in the future?
It’s impossible to tell with Connor.
Especially when it isn’t clear if anything that happened between us up here is going to stay here or follow us back down the mountain.
