I don’t know what to say.Howto say it. I’m not stunned or desperate for it not to be true for Michelle’s sake, but forhis. I’ve had courtside season tickets to their relationship over the years. How she dotes on Asad. How she reveres him. How he protects her. For some inexplicable reason, I don’t want him to bear the soul-shattering agony of knowing his mother would steal his father from him.
“Think, Ember.” His deep, midnight voice is an irresistible lure as he nears me, that gaze still studying me like I’m this peculiar, exotic specimen he needs to figure out. He desires to dissect and expose. And I feel like an experiment, like a frog cut open, splayed,my heart, organs, and soul on display. “This is the woman who brought you a puppy, let you get attached, and fall in love with it. Then six months later, forced you to take it to the pound and get it euthanized. She’s the woman who locked you in a wooden chest in the attic for over fifteen hours because you spilled juice on a cloth napkin at lunch, not checking on you once. Not caring if you suffocated. And those are just the highlights. Michelle is sadistic as fuck. And you don’t think she’s capable of murder?” He laughs, and he’s so close, I feel it before hearing it. The puff of air caresses my forehead, and the caustic sound is one that will follow me into my dreams. My nightmares. His mouth twists into a smile that, if a person’s delusional, might appear kind. But I’m not as deluded as he likes to call me. He lifts a hand, traces a finger over my temple, down my cheek, to the corner of my lips. He gently taps it. “Baby girl, I didn’t think there was any more innocence left in you, but shit, you keep surprising me.”
He’s taunting me, seeking to get a reaction out of me. And since thirteen years have conditioned me to give him one, he almost succeeds. But even as anger sparks to life deep in my chest, I peer into his eyes. And it’s not the glitter of anticipation that smothers the flames; it’s the shadows of the foreign, nearly unrecognizable pain behind it. A pain I’m so intimate with I’ve lain with it, cuddled up to it, cried out to it.
As if the most complicated hypotheses suddenly rearranged itself and became crystal clear, I can easily read him. Asad wants to fight, to release the roiling, twisting emotion inside him. And in this moment, I desire to give that to him. But not as a sparring partner.
Something altogether different.
I’m a creature of reason, of deduction and equations; they make sense in a world of chaos and disorder. But I shove all that I’ve relied on for so many years as my life raft to the side and sink into the madness of emotion.
Sink to my knees.
Asad goes unnaturally still and doesn’t make a move to stopor encourage me as I settle my palms on his powerful thighs. Nerves riot in my stomach, battling against a burning insecurity. Heat creeps up my neck and pours into my face, but it’s not from arousal. No, its sole source is embarrassment, self-consciousness. Just last night, I was a virgin—that includes my mouth.
Goddamn. This is what happens when I’m impulsive. When I allow emotion to run me. I should’ve thought this through. I don’t fucking know wha—
A calloused hand cups my chin in a hard but incongruently gentle grip, tipping my head back. Just that simple, but so fucking complex, touch quiets the frenzy of thoughts ripping through my head. It ignites another flurry of anxiety, but this isn’t steeped in uncertainty and self-doubt. No, this originates from a wholly different, darker source.
His expression is neutral, damn near aloof. But again… those eyes. The traces of pain remain, as does the predatory glitter. But the latter has shifted from a cruel anticipation to a hungry one. Without removing his unblinking, steady gaze from mine, he sweeps a thumb across both of my lips. Once. Twice. A third time. I don’t need to see the skin on the pad to know it’s stained with my dark red lipstick or to look into a mirror to know he’s made a mess of me.
Both have my pussy seizing like she’s stroking out.
I don’t drop my head as I move my hands from his thighs to the thin leather belt encircling his waist. Fingers that have performed highly delicate experiments are suddenly clumsy and uncoordinated as they undo the buckle and the closure on his suit pants.
But I manage and pull down his zipper. Anticipation, nerves, and desire barrel through me, and though this dick has rearranged my insides, I’m still nervous as hell about sliding it in my mouth. But this is for Asad, about him, not me. Wrapping my fingers around his long, thick dick, I palm it, instantly thinking back to how it felt shoving deep within me, and I pant against his skin. Wanting that again, but settling for this. A whimper nearly escapes me.
“You’re… beautiful,” I whisper, risking a glance up at him and feeling scorched by the heat staring back down at me. “I’m going to…”
Lowering my head, I drag my lips up his length, graze my lips over the precum-dampened tip, and roll my tongue over and around it, sucking at the small slit. His taste, so musky, unfamiliar, and sohim. The singular flavor send my taste buds dancing, and I can’t contain my hum of pleasure. He hisses above me, and when I glance up at him, a frown darkens his face as he glares down at me.
Embarrassment singes my throat and face because I obviously did something wrong. I start to withdraw, but he palms the back of my head and pushes me back down on his dick. The tip penetrates my lips and, reflexively, I suck on it.
He grunts then brushes the backs of his fingers over my cheek. The gentle caress and the swollen head in my mouth is a juxtaposition that sends heat and something… softer through me.
“You good, ma,” he murmurs. “The only thing you did wrong was almost drag this nut out of me too early.”
A warm rush of pride eliminates the burn of humiliation, and I eagerly lower my head and take more of him. My mouth is as much of a virgin at this as my pussy was last night. Uncertain and drawing on what I’ve seen in porn, I go with instinct and, hollowing my cheeks, suck on him. Sucking, licking, kissing. I have no idea what I’m doing for real, but none of that matters. Soon, I’m lost in the feel of his hard, throbbing dick pumping in and out of my mouth. I’m fascinate with the veins trailing his length like a road map. Popping him out of my mouth, I follow those delineated lines with my tongue, learning them before inhaling him again. With one hand pressed to his thigh, I fist the almost brutish bottom half that I can’t take, pumping it.
His groan has my nipples beading, stomach clenching and pussy wetting up my panties. The sound is agony and lust, and a direct result of me pleasuring him. I’m not ashamed of the same rush of pride swelling inside me. This beautiful, powerful, lethalman, who incites respect and fear in so many people, shudders in pleasure because of me.
“Open your mouth, Ember. Wider,” Asad grinds out while slowly pulling his dick free.
Another hiss escapes him as his length glides over my tongue. I obey that rough demand, stretching my mouth so wide the corners pinch. His fingers sweep over my hair then grip the thick strands. He gently removes my hand from the other half of his dick and replaces it with his own. He taps the tip, wet with my saliva, on my bottom lip, teasing me. Every muscle in my body stiffens in anticipation. My breath comes out in heavy pants, but lust prevents any shame, any embarrassment.
“Stay just like that. Flatten your tongue,” he orders, and glides his dick back inside me, filling me. I instinctively close my lips around him, but he shakes his head. “Nah, baby girl. Keep that mouth open for me.”
My jaws tingle, but I acquiesce. And my reward is Asad gently but firmly fucking my face. I whimper, my sex completely soaked and aching. Gripping the backs of his thighs, I dig my fingernails into his pants-covered muscles, holding on to steady myself in the filthy winds of this storm I’ve thrown myself into. He continues to take my mouth, and with each thrust, he claims more and more of me, his fist retreating farther and farther on his throbbing flesh. When his tip grazes the back of my throat, I gag and he withdraws, the head resting on my cheek.
I try to swallow and wipe away the saliva pooling in my mouth and dripping down my chin.
“Don’t do that.” He cuffs my wrist and pushes it away. “You don’t know how gorgeous you are, kneeling here with your mouth stuffed full of my dick. Giving me sloppy head like a good girl. Nah, don’t wipe your mouth. Give me all of that.” He guides his damp length toward me, pausing on my bottom lip. “Spit on it.” I blink up at him in confusion, but his hooded eyes don’t waver. “Spit on it, ma.”
Hesitantly, I lean back a little and spit on his dick. Without breaking visual contact with me, he strokes his flesh, grunting with each pump of his fist. I’m captivated, burning hot watching him handle himself so roughly, twisting and jerking the hard, wide length.
With a rumble in his throat, he buries himself in my mouth again, not easing me into this fucking. It’s wild, dirty, and, yes, sloppy. Saliva seeps from the sides of my pursed lips, slides down my chin. And I don’t care. Not when he’s breaking me in with each thrust and grind.
When he touches the opening to my throat, and I, once again, gag, he soothes me. Softly caressing the length of my neck, he croons, “Relax your throat, Ember. Relax and breathe deep.”
