Page 72 of Twisted Needs

“Mmm. Feed it to me, baby. I wanna taste your creamy mess.”

With a final shake in his legs, Anders folds over, holding my head for balance as he spurts his liquid gold and squeezes his soft fucking thighs around me.

This is Heaven. Absolutely Nirvana.

I suck him dry, taking every last drop and swallowing it so he can be a part of me.

Anders drops down and wraps his arms around my neck, peering into my eyes with a drunken gaze, smiling lazily as he leans in close. He brushes his nose over mine, our mouths so close that I can practically taste his breath.

All I want to do is devour him. Consume him.

Whatever feeling I have right now that’s flowing through my veins, it’s telling me one thing: Mine.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

The single word echoes so loudly in the back of my mind that it feels almost dangerous. Not because I’m feeling possessive, but because I’m feeling something stronger.

“I’ve waited so long,” Anders breathes. “You own me.”

Fuck.

I own him…

What the hell did I just do?

Oh my fucking God. What the hell did I just fucking do? I just sucked off Luca’s brother…

Before I can even register what’s happening, Anders squeezes my jaw and mashes his lips to mine. His slippery, wet tongue slides over mine and laps up the traces of his salty cum.

The kiss does something to me. Snaps me back to reality.

Because he’s kissing me like he’s drunk.

Fucking hell. He’s drunk. He came home drunk and I fucking sucked his cock in the middle of the fucking kitchen.

There is something wrong with me. I’m a monster. I’m a massive piece of shit.

He slips his hand down my pants.

Fuck. “Ander⁠—”

“Mmm. You’re sooo hard,” he murmurs into my mouth. “Your turn, Petchka.”

“Sweetheart,” I say begrudgingly.

“No,” he stubbornly pouts.

I exhale sharply. “Sweetheart, please.”

“No, Petchkins.” His grip on my jaw tightens. Anders pulls back and shakes his head, sticking out his bottom lip. “I’m not sweetheart tonight. Call me something else.”

“Please.”

The air in the room thickens. I breathe unevenly as I remind myself how the fuck to think.

I shouldn’t have done that. I know I shouldn’t have.

But my body still aches with the memory of what it felt like. Worse than that, I can still hear the soft whimpers. What undoes me, though, is the trust he felt. He didn’t stop me. It fucking undoes me.