Page 61 of Suck It Up


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“Fine.”

ChapterTwenty-Eight

I haven’t finished that last word before his mouth closes over mine, hard and fast. Camden groans, like he’s been unleashed after holding himself back for too long. His kiss is all consuming, possessive, aggressive. He’s not claiming me; he’s taking me like I’m already his.

His hands move along my ass, and grasp my thighs just underneath. He lifts me up to his waist, and I instinctively hook my feet behind his back. From this angle, my center is right against his hard length underneath our layers of clothing.

“Damn,” Roman chuckles.

Only then do I realize we’re not alone—we’re in the entry hall, in full view of the lounge. I peek behind Camden’s shoulder, and find his two friends shamelessly spying on us, Roman sporting a goofy grin and Rhys, visibly amused.

Kill me.

“Fuck you, Greene.” Camden shoots his friend the finger.

For my part, I lower my head to his shoulders and hide, as he tightens his arm around my waist and starts to walk, carrying me with ease again.

“Where are we going?” I mumble against his shirt.

He smells clean, like soap and laundry, with just the tiniest hint of musk and citrus—something that reminds me of summers by the waterfall. If I could bottle that scent, all my financial woes would be over.

“I’m showing you to your room, remember?” He carries me up the first flight of stairs.

His words take me back to the last time I was in a bedroom with him.

I remember him imperiously seated at the edge of the bed, waiting for me to crawl to him, my bare ass up in the air. I remember struggling to fit in the engorged head of his huge cock between my lips. Liquid heat floods the apex of my thighs, and my cheeks are on fire. I never allow myself to visualize that night in explicit detail, for fear of this very torrent of arousal, usually tempered by shame and self-disgust.

We reach a door he kicks open and doesn’t bother to close, leading us straight to the bed.

I expect him to toss me on it, but he lays me down gently and looms over me.

"Are you going to make me suck your cock again?"I blurt out.

I think he growls. “Are you trying to kill me, Morgan?”

“It’s just a question.” I shrug.

It’s not like I’m deluded. I gave him twenty minutes with me. He’s going to take full advantage.

He runs his hand through his shiny dark hair, brushing the wayward waves away from his eyes, before cupping my breast. “I’m going to make you beg, first. If you’re a good girl, Imightlet you suck my cock.”

Without warning, he grasps the edge of my white top and lifts it up, exposing my underwear without bothering to remove it.

I glance down at my own bra, a red, unlined simple thing without underwire—I don’t really need the support, given my small size, and it’s too fucking hot for padding.

“Everyone can see your nipples through these things, you know, little tease. Does it amuse you to give a hard-on to every man coming into that café?” he asks, as he squeezes and caresses the sensitive skin.

I never thought one way or another about people looking at me. They’re just tits. Everyone has them, and mine aren’t spectacular.

“Every man’s hard for me?” I find that ridiculous fantasy stirs me, though I know he’s greatly exaggerating.

“If they swing that way, they’re straining in their pants, between those fucking nipples and the fact that you love wearing tiny shorts and skirts.” One of his hands remains on my tits, but the other slides against the skin of my torso, until he reaches the band of my denim skirt.

He hooks a finger in the waistband, as if he’s thinking about opening them, but he moves under, to palm my ass instead.

And he callsmea tease. Dick.

“When you bend down, they’re all seeing themselves sinking right into your tight cunt.”

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