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Why would he want me? It’s not like I’ve ever been anyone’s first choice.
Tears well in my eyes. I pretend not to notice them, busing myself instead with running my hand up and down Burns’s length. My throat feels tight. I can’t bring myself to take more than his head into my mouth, but I continue to play with him, hoping he doesn’t realize that I’m struggling.
I should’ve known better.
Burns noticeseverything.
“Angel… you’re crying. Fuck. I… you weren’t supposed to cry.”
He pulls back, taking his cock with him. Squatting low enough to reach me, he use his thumb to wipe one of the stray tears settling on the height of my cheek.
Maybe I wasn’t supposed to cry. He certainly wasn’t supposed to see it.
That doesn’t change a damn thing.
I slap his hand away from my face, then grip the base of his cock again. Giving him a squeeze, then a rough stroke, I’m not satisfied until I rip a throaty groan from Burns. When I do, he braces his legs, straight enough to let the feeling skitter up his spine, as he shoves his dick against my palm.
Eyes closed, head thrown back, he’s momentarily distracted from my tears.
Good.
I increased the pace. It’s not a blowjob, so I’m not floundering in the past. It’s just me stroking him off. That’s all.
“Touch me,” Burns groans. “Atta girl.”
His praise only reinforces my need to take control. The way I feel right now, I’d rip his damn dick off before I let him pry me off of it. He wants release? I’m going to fucking give it to him.
I don’t stop working his cock until his big body is bucking, jets of come spurting messily over both of my hands. Only when his chest is heaving, his quickened breath all I hear, do I finally release him.
“Don’t forget my TV,” I tell him, keeping my tone as cold as possible.
He was right. Transactional is exactly the right word for what we have. I can add giving him a handjob for a television to the list now. At least I learned one thing: if controlling Burns by his cock doesn’t work, a couple of tears might.
And since sleeping with him is inevitable, maybe I might be able to barter my freedom for some meaningless sex.
I doubt it—but it’s worth a shot.
13
MACE
Ifucked up.
I pushed Angela too far, too fast.
I got cocky. Since it was easier than I expected to convince her to let me touch her, I thought I could do the same thing and get her to show me a little love. A little affection.
A little pleasure.
But trying to order her to give me head? She wasn’t ready for that—and I was too selfish to realize that until it was too fucking late.
I made her cry. What kind of worthless monster makes the woman he’s obsessed with cry? Even after she realized I took her to make her mine, my angel didn’t shed a tear. Not until I made her.
What was I expecting? With her history… I’ve been careful. No matter what I did, no matter how I pushed her, I recognized that she did have limits. From the moment I promised her I would never force her to do anything with me—or to me—that she didn’t want to, I refused to break that promise. I could never get her to stay with me if I forced her to do anything. I knew that.
Until the thought of seeing her lush, pouty lips wrapped around my cock made me forget for one fucking second.
The tears were the slap in the face I needed. Too bad the damage was already done at the cost of my angel’s comfort. I didn’t get the blow job I was after, though the cold look on her pretty, pretty face as she stroked me to completion made me regret coming at all. I would’ve killed for my angel to bring me to orgasm… but, instead, I fucked up by doing the one thing I swore I wouldn’t.
