Page 72 of These Secret Years

He lets out a shout of surprise as his hips buck off the mattress, and then I just—fucking lose myself.

I wrap my lips around his dick and start sucking. He tastes like summer sweat and clean skin. Warm vanilla and white musk. Like Sullivan. He moves, and I move, somehow agreeing on a pace where he fucks my mouth, and I meet him thrust for thrust. I say I lose myself because more than once, I let him go way too far, too into the motion and the feel of his cock filling my mouth that I cough and gag around him, but I don’t ever stop. I barely even remember to breathe.

I feel fucking possessed as we engage in this filthy, carnal act that feels like so much more than a blow job. He whimpers and groans while I try not to choke, often failing, but still never stopping. Eventually my throat gives up trying to resist, and then it gets unbelievably intense.

With my face buried between his abs and his cock, he’s nudging deep then deeper still. His sounds have gone low and guttural. “Fuck, Knight…fuck. Fuck. Christ that feels so fucking good. Oh my god. Shit. I’m gonna fucking come. Oh god. Oh my fucking god. Don’t stop.”

It’s not really about me stopping, though. We’re both still in a rhythm. He thrusts, and I advance. He lodges deep, and I lick, groping him with my lips, cheeks hollowed so I can feel every inch of his girth as it stretches me open, and I apply a pulsing suction.

I’m lightheaded, seeing stars as he cries out, his body jerking hard. Heat slides down my throat, and his leg tenses around my back. I swallow his cock, his cum, even as my vision blackens at the edges and static fills my head.

When my survival mechanism kicks in, I shove away from him, gasping and drooling. His cock lands with a wet slap against his abs. I try to remember how to breathe.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I hear him say. “That’s how you give head?”

I push myself up onto my hands and knees again, then sit back on my heels, my mind fumbling around for an answer to his question. “Are you pissed?” I can’t a hundred percent tell, but it sounds like he might be pissed.

“No, but shit. I was not expecting that.”

Aside from the buzz I’ve still very much got, everything else is clearing up as oxygen makes its triumphant return to my blood stream. “I thought it was pretty good.”

“It was fucking amazing. Jesus. How’d you even know to do that?”

“It wasn’t just me.”

Our eyes meet, and neither of us says anything for a long moment.

And then he smiles. “Fair enough. Now come back here and finish what you started.”

Chapter Fifteen

SULLIVAN

When I told Knight I trusted him, I meant it. For better or worse, he likes me, and he’s never once made me feel even slightly uncomfortable around him. The opposite actually. I’m probably way too comfortable around him. Knowing I’ll be returning to Adrian’s sooner than I thought I’d have to and for much longer than I’d ever want to has me feeling all kinds of ways. Out of control—yes. Desperate to escape—yes. Resigned—also, yeah.

But I’m also afraid.

I think maybe I’ve gotten a little numb to the fear over the last couple of years. I shut down the part of me that wanted to run—to resist, finding little ways to rebel instead. But the bottom line is I don’t think I would have wound up in the situation I’m in with Adrian if I weren’t on some level deeply afraid of what he’ll do to me if I ever try to end it.

He’ll ruin my life. Any chance of a future I might have would go up in smoke if I don’t do exactly as he says. I belong to Adrian Frazier. I’m bought and paid for. He owns me.

So, when Knight’s body covers mine, and he lowers his mouth to kiss me, I want to give him one of the only things I’ve got left that Adrian can’t touch. My desire. My need.

Knight’s gentle entreaty of a kiss is met with something much more robust on my part. I’m so overzealous, I end up rolling him over, and we thump off the air mattress and onto the carpet. His head hits the floor, and he grunts, but neither of us breaks the kiss. We’re good like that. Once we’re in it—we’re in it.

He’s so hard still, and I’m rutting against him, wanting to get all my arousal back, but given the tequila and the way I just came down his throat, I should probably be more patient—it’s just—I can’t. We’re out of time.

Where is the fucking lube?

What I lack in hardness, I make up for in how goddamned turned on I still am. I never knew getting head could feel like that. Could be like that. It was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, much less experienced. I already know I’m never gonna get over it. I’m still in fucking awe. “Fuck me,” I’m saying over and over between kisses. “Fuck me.”

His big rough hands run down my back to cup my ass cheeks. I wrap my arms around his head and make out with him like I’m being judged on performance and endurance. I need him inside me. Now. I need his cum painting my insides and laying its claim. In fact, I want his cum and his marks all over me. Scratches, hickeys, bruises, whatever. I want the entire claiming experience.

The next time Adrian forces me to take Quinn’s cock, I’ll know I’ve had Knight inside me. I’ll remember the way he felt and the sounds he made, what he said. And I’ll know it was because it was what I wanted. I want it so fucking much.

“You want this, don’t you?” I ask, wishing his hair were longer so I could grab onto it.

“Yes.”