Page 99 of Suck It Up


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Breathe? How am I supposed to do that with that rod rammed deep inside me. Tears run down my face, and I push against his lap to get off, as my gag reflex desperately attempts to expel the intrusion, but Camden’s much stronger than me, and he doesn’t let me go, one hand behind my head, pushing it down. I could vomit.

Fear claws at me, and I try to rein it in, whimpering around the obstruction. At long last, I attempt the one solution he gave me, desperate for him to let me go. He’ll likely only do it after I obey.

But when I breathe in, his cock slides deeper inside my throat, clearing the roof of my mouth, and to my absolute shock, I can actually breathe now. Not easily, and I’m slobbering all over, but I’m no longer dying.

I’ve only had a second to adjust when he starts to move up and down my throat. I salivate, drool dripping all around my face.

Camden grunts, low, rough, an animalistic sound started deep inside him. “That’s right. That’s what little brats get, isn’t it, princess? Cocks, deep in their naughty mouths.”

Oh, god. I’m confused and ashamed to feel heat flood my panties, and my whore of a pussy pulses at the filthy insults.

“Erm, sir…"

I lift my gaze, true panic rushing through my entire body, wilder than a moment ago when I thought I might die with his cock in my mind. I see the ride attendant, his eyes fixed on me, his entire face on fire.

We're back down. There are people in line mere feet away from us, waiting to get on. Oh, fuck, there might even be kids nearby. Part of me acknowledges that the edge of the open cabin is high enough that not everyone can see me on my knees, sucking Camden's cock, but the poor redheaded guy trying to get us out certainly does. I try to withdraw again, this time fully expecting Camden to let me.

He doesn't.

Instead, he smoothly hands a hundred-dollar bill already in his hand to the poor, flustered guy. "We'll have another round."

Eyes wild, the guy waves, returns to his post, and Camden returns to fucking my mouth harder, cock stiffer than ever.

I'm certain this was part of my punishment—embarrassing me to death in public—but it wasn't the only reason. He likes this. He likes being watched by strangers. And God help me, by the state of my soaked, useless panties, so do I.

ChapterForty-Seven

Friday is my new favorite day of the week. If I were to judge by the way she keeps glaring at me, it's not Morgan's. I grin back at her, knowing that the bulk of hervexation's just for show. Oh, she's pissed about our little public display, but she also liked it. I barely had to touch her clit after I came in her throat, and she was flying right after me.

She's a vision tonight. The dress Valentina chose might just end up giving her the great-grandchildren she craves, because I'm going to fill Morgan up a lot more than I should given the fact that she's still sore, in many different ways.

The slits on either side of Morgan's legs crawl up to her hipbones, and the fitted bustier of her red dress does things that fuck with my mind. She's not particularly busty, but tonight, her tits are fucking incredible. I want to bite them. I want to push aside the span of fabric between her legs, knowing that she's not wearing anything underneath. She couldn't, with this design.

She looks at me like she’s savoring the sight of me in a suit, my hair brushed back into submission. I catch her gawking and smirk at her knowingly. The girl likes what she sees whatever I wear, but she doesn’t usually make it obvious.

How could I believe I'd employ restraint today? I only have her one day a week. Of course I was going to make the best of it.

"You should wear red every day," I say, helping her zip the back.

My hands stop at her shoulders. Do I really want to bother with the gala? I wanted to go make another point, but I could just take her home. I have another four, five hours to enjoy her any way I'd like.

"You only get to dictate what I wear on Fridays," she retorts, like that mouth of hers hasn't gotten her into enough trouble already.She's never going to be boring.

I kiss her shoulder. "Brat."

We returned to Valentina's to get changed, and I told the makeup professionals my father recommended to join us here.

I knew he'd have them on speed dial in town. He has a thing for dolling up his endless parade of mistresses—though the word isn't quite accurate, given the fact that my mother and he have been separated for most of my life. I can't say girlfriend either. Adrian Hunt doesn't do those.

"I have something for you," I tell Morgan, somewhat lightly, but she must catch something in my tone because she looks up at me over her shoulder.

So much for a smooth, casual transition. I suppose it wasn't smart to announce it, when I've bought her bags of designer clothing today without making an event out of it.

Not trusting myself to say another word, I place the choker around her throat and fasten it at the back of her delicate neck.

She gasps and bring her newly manicured hand to her collarbone. "Are those real?"

I crock an eyebrow. "Consider me insulted."

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