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“I’m not a whore,” I hiss.
“Did I say you were?” he asks almost innocently.
But I’m learning all too quickly that there’s nothing fucking innocent about Theo Cirillo. I’m beginning to discover that I’ve only scratched the surface of his depravity.
Thankfully, the situation is entirely mutual, because this, right now?
I’m all fucking over it.
Parting my lips, I allow him to feed his length back in, a little gentler this time.
I relax my throat, already knowing that he’s not going to be polite and be satisfied with just the tip.
His teeth grind, making his jaw pop when I take him in my throat.
This isn’t my first rodeo where deep throating is concerned. But fuck, I’ve never had something of that size this freaking deep.
My eyes burn and my lungs scream for air as he holds himself still for a beat too long.
This time when he caresses my cheek, he collects up the tear that drops.
Releasing me once more, he lifts his thumb to his mouth, licking the drop of water off it.
“I hate yo—”
Not allowing me to finish my insult, he takes complete control of both our movements, fucking my mouth and throat like a man possessed.
He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t make a fucking sound as he uses me.
My shoulders ache, my body burns red fucking hot, and my pussy clenches, desperate to rediscover my lost release as he races toward his.
As much as I might want to rip it away from him at the very last minute like he did to me, I know I’m not going to get the chance.
His hold on me is too tight.
I’m nothing more than his rag doll right now, just along for the ride until he decides what to do next.
His cock swells even bigger beneath my lips, the taste of him already beginning to coat my tongue before the first violent jerk of his release hits him.
He pulls out, allowing the first rope of cum to fill my mouth before he shoots the rest over my face and on my tits.
His eyes trace every drop as his chest heaves, his hand still slowly stroking his length.
I sit there, my own breathing ragged, tears streaked down my cheeks and my lips puffy from his punishing thrusts.
Time seems to stand still as we stare at each other.
I have no idea what to expect, but it certainly isn’t what happens next.
His hands grasp my upper arms and he places me on my feet, spinning me so my back’s to him and cutting off our connection.
Coldness rips through me as I stare at the black and white marble wall before me.
“What are you—”
“Shut up,” he snaps, and unlike usual, I find my lips slamming shut at his harsh request.
Leaning around me, he presses his hand to the wall, and like magic, a door opens, revealing an array of fancy products.
