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I snatch my hand from the window and bring it to his collar, reaching for his perfectly straight tie. He doesn’t like that. His eyes narrow. His mouth opens, but I work my thumb into the thick of the cape knot before he can say a damn thing and tug. He breaks off when the tie tightens, and the brief moment of control snaps some damn sense back into me.
Fight,Evie. Every cell in my body urges me to turn tail and run. I start to shove him back, trying to wiggle my hips from his grasp, but the bastard recovers before I can make even an inch of progress. Two fingers rub me raw. Stroking. Teasing. Detonating. He’s rougher than he was last night—cocky.
I don’t have a chance to catch my breath before he slides a finger inside me and watches my body collapse in on itself. My head flies back, my body arching, hips jerking, knees shaking. He’s the only thing holding me up, and my nails dig in, one at his neck the other at his shoulder.
When he picks up his speed, grinding out earth-shattering friction, I say things I don’t mean. Words that have no business flying out of my mouth, directed at none other than Graeme Bellamy. To save myself, I block them out, but he counters every plea, growling his responses into my neck.
“Faster?” he grits out, flexing the finger he has inside me before adding another. “Harder… Like this?” He thrusts both, and my head spins, my body buzzing. “More?” He grinds his palm against my clitoris, and everything ceases to matter but the friction. He’s ruthless. When he shifts the angle of pressure, I moan. Greedily. Breathlessly. Every groan rises in pitch the harder he strokes. I can’t stop whatever he unleashes inside my body. When he shoves both fingers inside me at once and flicks them apart, I go deaf. Numb. With a speed not even my trusty battery-operated boyfriend, or B.O.B for short, can achieve, I promptly shatter into a million pieces, and none other than Graeme Bellamy himself is there to pick them up and crudely shove them all back together.
“It was something like that,” he tells me while I shudder through the last throes. “But I remember you being louder. And mentioning something about god…”
“And I remember you being much quieter,” I rasp out when I find my voice again. It takes everything I have to meet his gaze fully, but I don’t like what I see there. Blazing hot heat. Hunger, even. Like he wants to swallow me up whole in a way that is totally unprofessional. He still has his hand between my legs, two fingers still inside me. He continues to move them, lazily slow, as if it’s just that easy. “Much quieter,” I continue. “Because your mouth was occupied, as I recall. Doing something useful for once.”
His smug grin falls flat and becomes something else. Something deadly. “That it was…”
He’s on his knees in the blink of an eye. Graeme Bellamy is kneeling before me, dragging my panties down my legs and off before wrenching the hem of my sweater over the ridge of my stomach. He licks the skin there first, right below my navel. Then he uses his teeth to plot a path downward…
Oh no. My head connects noisily with the glass as I squeeze my eyes shut. He paints a sensual trail I don’t have to see to know where he’s headed. Hot breath nuzzles my inner thigh, and then his fingers are back…Shit.
“Does this feel familiar?” This man doesn’t even sound like Graeme Bellamy. Self-assured, arrogant Graeme Bellamy—he sounds feral. And then I feel him. Tongue. Teeth. Everything… all at once.
My knees buckle when he makes the first pass with his tongue, setting every nerve on fire. He uses his thumb to aid in the second sweep, and suddenly I’m not standing on my own anymore. Dizzy, I wonder how in the hell I’m not crashing to the floor—then I feel the answer, practically fucked into me with every searing jab of his tongue. “I’ve got you.”
Those words… The way he says them. In this moment, he means them, every word. He has me for what feels like hours, but it can only be minutes. Minutes before he has me thrashing, shaking, climbing that peak faster than I ever have before. Too fast.
It hits me like a train. My spine curls. My nails fist in his hair, dragging him closer, deeper… anywhere he can reach. When I finally get there, I do so loudly. My ears pop with the force of it as my brain disconnects from my body and spirals out of control. I’m barely back inside my head when I hear him—growling. Still moving. Sucking. Lapping. Oh god…
It strikes me then—he’s trying to kill me.
“Okay!” I gasp the word out in two strangled syllables.O…kay. He doesn’t stop. My body is on fire. I see sparks when he parts me with his thumb and simulates an action that should be done with a much larger part of his body. I fist my fingers into his hair, desperate to find enough leverage to pull him back. As if to spite me, he latches his entire mouth over me, shoving my legs apart, demolishing any semblance of balance I may have had on my own. I suck in air and practically scream out a plea, “Okay, enough! Enough…”
He withdraws his mouth so suddenly my stomach lurches at the loss of sensation. I need it back… I’ll shatter if he does go back.Need it…
“Enough, what?” He’s regained some semblance of that old haughty arrogance in his tone. True to form, Graeme Bellamy is determined to get his way. He wants my surrender, and I know damn well that if he doesn’t stop now, he will get it.
“You…” I croak out the word, muscling every ounce of self-control I have left to spit out three more. “Your… your turn.”
That makes him freeze, his mouth inches from my throbbing, needy flesh. I do my best to slam my thighs together as my eyes open one by one. God, the sight of him on his knees. It’s breathtaking. It’s insane. I brace my weight on the hand buried in his hair to find the leverage to stay upright. My free hand has a mind of its own when it drifts over to the knot of his tie. I yank the tail of it from the fold of his suit and tug until he grudgingly stands.
The shift in the atmosphere is palpable when I take a step forward, and he counters me by taking one back. Forward. Back. Back. Forward. We stumble in tandem that way until the back of his knees hit the nearest leather chaise, and he sits, his legs parting. There’s a dare in his eyes as he gazes up at me. I know just what he’s thinking—that there’s no way in hell I’ll follow through on my own unspoken threat.
But curiosity is a dangerous, terrible thing. I can’t stop myself from stepping forward, right between his legs. My fingers dart for the fastening of his slacks, and he even arches his hip off the leather seat to give me better access. The moment I touch the gray button, my teeth snap together. He’s straining against the front of his pants in a way that’s totally obvious. Vulgar. He’s aroused, and he doesn’t give a damn who knows it—especially not me.
The corner of his mouth quirks into the semblance of a grin when I hesitate, my fingers hovering over the zipper. My nerves falter for all the wrong reasons—I shouldn’twantto commit a vulgar act on Graeme Bellamy. I shouldn’twantto see how he reacts to my touch. I shouldn’twantto hear the sounds he’ll make if I touch him in the right way. I shake my head to clear it, but the unwelcome thoughts persist.
In the end, I let his smug expression goad me on. I sink down to my knees. I bring both hands to the front of his pants and undo them swiftly with none of the teasing care he used on me. The moment I free him from his boxers, I curl one hand around the base of him and swipe my tongue along the helmet. With my head down, I don’t have to hide the shock I feel. He’s perfect. Beautiful. His taste explodes over my tongue—everything a man like him should taste like. I can’t stop myself from wrapping my lips around the crown and bobbing my head just once.
To prove that I can, of course. That’s all this is… A sick, sordid game that I refuse to lose. In all reality, I have no excuse. At the tender age of thirteen, a stripper named Peaches gave me a detailed play-by-play on how to give a blow job that will make a guy “pay you at least twice the usual rate.”In her expertise, it was all in the way you took your time to savor, rather than just “jerk and leave.” My mother, of course, hadn’t appreciated the impromptu lesson, but I had tucked the words away for safekeeping regardless—a lot of good it did me. Though one boyfriend—as he listed out all his many reasons for dumping me—claimed while I may have been a controlling bitch, at least “you give good head.” That’s always a plus.
Usually, I don’t get much enjoyment out of the act—but the moment my tongue swipes the silken surface, and I hear the ragged groan he releases… I hollow my cheeks and take him in. His hands tangle in my hair, dragging me forward until I’m balanced on my knees. I take him deeper. Deeper. It’s still not enough.
His entire body ripples with every stroke of my tongue. To the point that his nails break the flesh of my scalp. Blood rushes through my ears, muting the backdrop of his grunts and the few words he manages to grit out. “Fuck… Fuck… bloody fuck.”
There’s a moment when he shoves himself in so deep that I gag, and I know he’s at the point of no return. I probably only have seconds to get clear before he does, but my body doesn’t want to budge. My fingers keep twisting…
“Enough!” He yanks on a handful of my hair, dragging me back and freeing him from my mouth. Any brief bit of triumph I might have felt is quickly melted away by the look in his eye as he stands, fisting his cock with his free hand. He shudders for a full second, holding himself, but it’s not until nearly a minute passes that I realize just what he’s doing—staving off his own orgasm. Why?
Maybe his intentions have something to do with the way he drags me up by my hair once he seems to regain enough control over himself. His eyes meet mine, and they are so dark that I can’t even name the shade of blue swirling around the irises. Using his grip on me like a leash, he steers me backward while advancing with every forced step. From my hazy knowledge of the layout, I know we’re heading toward the stairs. Which can only mean…
