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Now I was here, obviously wanting him to touch me, ease the painful need burning through me, but was I really going to give in to him?
He smirked as if he could read my thoughts. Hear my mental debate out loud. “I bet you were down the hall, touching yourself. Running your hands over your body, but they weren’t mine. Your fingers aren’t the right size. They don’t feel like mine. After knowing how I touch you, masturbating isn’t cutting it, right?”
I refused to answer, though I felt myself giving in, my legs going weak.
“But I’ll help you,” he went on. “I’ll give you what you need. My fingers, my tongue, my cock. I’ll give it all to you. All you have to do is crawl to me.”
I shook my head, unable to answer verbally when I was afraid of what I might confess. That I was losing not only the battle, but the whole damn war. I was nothing without my wall of anger, and he was breaking through my defenses, systematically tearing them down, brick by brick. If I didn’t stop him, there would be no protection of my sad and broken heart. And if I let him have that, there would be absolutely nothing left of me.
“I’ll take care of you, Taylor,” he said, the fog of lust cleared between us for a moment. This wasn’t an immediate promise, though I knew he would follow through with that, but he was speaking in the wider sense. He wasn’t going to hurt me, and he’d protect me from anyone or anything else hurting me too.
I found myself lowering to the floor, the wood hard and cold under my knees and palms, and then Dean’s eyes flared. He licked his lips, his chest expanding on a deep breath, and he readjusted his stance, spreading his feet wider. As much as I didn’t want to acknowledge it, this position—this supposed degrading position—was powerful in that I could see how it affected him. See how badly he craved me, how his breath hitched as I crawled closer to him.
I kept my head up, gaze never leaving his, and with every inch of space I covered, the more the air between us crackled. Hunger blazed in his eyes and waves of heat wafted off him as I stopped in front of his feet. Without a word, he reached out his right hand to me, so agonizingly slowly, and I leaned toward him, dying for my thirst to be quenched. When his fingers finally touched my face, trailing over my cheekbone, I let out a breath, only for the next to be wrenched out of me when he fisted my hair while he wrapped his other hand around my throat.
“You’re all tied up in knots, aren’t you? You need me to loosen them for you.”
I couldn’t speak, not with his fingers tightening over my pulse points and my blood rushing in my ears. My nipples were hard, my skin tight. I did need him to loosen something in me. More than he’d already loosened my grip on sanity.
“I will,” he said quietly. “I’ll make you feel better. But first, you’re going to use this sharp-tongued mouth for something other than cutting me down.” He let go of my throat, and I sucked in oxygen, filling my lungs with air, my skin already hot and damp with perspiration. “Take my underwear off.”
Without hesitation, I curled my fingers around the elastic, allowing the thick head of his cock to spring free, followed by the rest of his length until it stood straight out toward me. I inhaled his earthy scent, stared at the nest of hair surrounding him, and my mouth watered the longer he held me in place.
“No snarky comment?” he asked, voice laced with humor. “No threat to bite my balls off?”
“Then I wouldn’t get what I want, would I?”
“Full of surprises tonight.” He released my hair momentarily, only to gather as much of the short locks as he could, holding it in a tight ponytail, the pull on my scalp connected to a pull between my legs. “Show me how much you want it.”
I tried to move, incline my head toward him, but his firm grip kept me in place. His answering smile was dangerous. “See how it feels? To be so desperate for something, to want it so bad, but you’re held captive. That’s how you make me feel.”
Then he yanked, angling my head all the way back as he bent over me, his other hand gentle on my face. “I don’t know what you’ve done to me. I don’t understand it.” His voice was pure smoke, his thumb a tender pressure at the corner of my mouth. “But I’ve never wanted someone as desperately as I want you.” He nudged his thumb into my mouth, lazily dragging the tip over my tongue, teeth, and lower lip. “It makes no sense, how I’ve seen you every day for the past two years, but all of a sudden, I can’t look away.” He let go of my lip with a careless flip of his thumb and dragged the wet pad over my chin and down my throat, the soft touch at odds with the vicious clench of his other hand in my hair and the wildness in his eyes. In the darkness, they looked almost black, and his gaze seared every part of me it touched. Marking me with an invisible tattoo, etching his name across my skin. “I don’t want to look away, Taylor. I don’t want you to either.”
Then without warning, he straightened and thrust his cock into my mouth. I gagged at the sudden invasion, but he only tilted my head the way he wanted and did it again. Even as my vision blurred, I kept my eyes on him. He didn’t want me to look away. So I didn’t.
We were unflinching. My gaze. His rough thrusts. The taste of him on my tongue. His tender fingers on my jaw, working to relax me even with his otherwise rough treatment. A juxtaposition, like our relationship. Love and hate.
“Touch me,” he ordered, and I obeyed, wrapping my hands around his thighs, feeling the muscles clench under my palms.
“I’m going to fuck your mouth until I come, and after you drink down every drop, I’ll lick up all the wetness I know you’re dripping with. But I won’t let you come until you beg for it. Until you’re hoarse from screaming my name.”
I was struggling to breathe, my jaw tight, my lips pinched and sore from his bruising treatment, but I nodded anyway. Because I was wet for him, from being used like this, from his delicious threats, his ragged voice.
His shoulders hiked up, his stomach tensing in front of me, and I knew he was close, so I slid my left hand up the back of his thigh, kneading his balls for a few moments before teasing my fingers along the skin behind them. He trembled, his breathing harsh pants, and I pressed a little harder at the same time I curled my hand around the base of his length, taking control back from him. I worked my mouth over the tip, while keeping my finger moving over him in a steady rhythm, and I rotated my fist. It was wet and sloppy, and I was seconds away from bringing him to his knees.
“Oh fuck,” he rasped, his spine curving in, his chin dropping toward his chest. “Oh fuck.” His face scrunched, his eyes squeezed closed, and I felt everything in him coil tight before releasing. “Fucking hell, Taylor,” he grunted, bowing over me as hot liquid spilled into my mouth. I couldn’t swallow it fast enough, and it leaked out of the corner of my lips as he trembled with the aftershocks of his orgasm.
He unclenched his fingers from around my hair, his hand holding the back of my head reverently as he pulled away from me. He swept his other hand over my mouth and jaw, clearing away the remnants of his pleasure.
“My god,” he murmured. “You must be the devil, that’s the only rationale I can find.”
I huffed, though I couldn’t keep my lips from twitching with a smile.
“You liked that, did you?” he asked. “You ready for more?”
“As long as you can give it.”
He lifted his brow at the challenge. “Stand up and strip.”
