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My palm continues to rub him over the fabric and I can feel him about to snap, and just as I predicted he grabs me by the chin and holds me in place. “I’m sick of hearing your mouth run. Open wide and don’t make me ask again. I am going to punish this smart little mouth of yours. You’ll be too busy choking on my cock to do any begging, Brielle, trust me.”
Trust me.
Out of everything he has said, those two words slam into me harder than anything else, because I do trust him. I trust him with my life, a fact that has been tested too close for comfort and he was there just like I knew he would be. I trust him with everything, except my reasons for leaving him. But for right here, right now, I only need to trust him with this.
I keep my eyes fixed on his as I swiftly tug his sweatpants down to reveal his large, thick cock, and use one hand to push up his shirt, and the other to fist around his base. When my skin caresses around him he lets out a low “fuck,” beneath his breath. His eyes move back and forth rapidly between my own and where my fingers are surrounded, but I can’t even look at him right now. My eyes are transfixed on the long, smooth cock in front of me. It’s fucking beautiful. Can a cock be beautiful? Well apparently so because his cock is.
“Don’t just fucking stare at it, Brielle, do some…” His words are cut off when I swipe my tongue across the head of it, licking up the bead of pre cum that was taunting me. Fuck he tastes good, better than I could have imagined, so good in fact that I can’t stop myself from doing it again. And again. On and on my tongue slips and swirls across his slit and around his crown until he is groaning loudly.
The fact we are in the public campus gym where anyone could walk by and catch us should deter me, but if anything, it only spurs me on. I suck the full head of his cock into my mouth and slide my tongue along underneath. More curses fall from his lips and I feel my body alight at being the one to draw such a reaction from him as his fingers tighten in my hair.
He releases me and I pull back to take a deep breath, ignoring the spit trailing between us as he asks, “How do I taste?”
Fucking perfect.
He tastes like I have been alone in a desert for months and I am finally finding water. Like I was drowning and this is my first gasp of air. Like I was dying and he is the thing that brought me back to life. Does he feel it? This connection between us. The one that has been there since we were kids, the one that even after months apart and a crater of lies, it still hasn’t been severed. He tastes perfect, he tastes like my Z, he tastes like mine.
Except he isn’t mine, he can never be mine, which means this is all we get. This one sordid moment of imperfect passion to erase the depths of how far I’ve fallen to protect him.
I can’t say anything, unable to tell him the truth and not willing to spew hatred and lies when I’m already on my knees for him. All I want is a moment. This moment to forget about all of the other shit and be ourselves, even if they are our very worst versions. Because, tomorrow, next week, the next time they pull some shit, or Carson forces himself on me, I can remember this. Get lost in the memory of what we could have been if we’d all been just a little braver.
So I give him the only response I can, I open my mouth wide and let his thick length slide across my tongue towards the back of my throat. I take my time dragging him back and forth across my tongue, taking him a little deeper each time.
He watches me with rapt attention, little praises falling from his mouth that I don’t think he even realizes he is saying them.
So good for me.
God I fucking love your mouth.
Your tongue is so fucking perfect.
Can’t wait to watch you swallow my come.
His words have me soaked, needy, and desperate. What I wouldn’t give for him to bend me over right here and fuck me so hard that the only thing on my body that would hurt is my pussy. But that would be too personal, so I settle for this. His cock filling my mouth while saliva spills down my chin.
When I take him to the back of my throat again, I swallow, letting my throat close around his crown so tight that his groan could be heard from someone passing by outside. I hold him there for a few seconds until the first tear slips down my cheek, and then I pull back to take a breath before I do it again, and again. His head falls back, but his lust filled, glazed eyes stay locked on me, and when I moan around his dick, his fist flies into my hair and grips it tight, pulling me off his dick with a loud pop.
“I asked you a question, Brielle. How do I taste?” Fucking asshole. He’s really going to make me answer him.
“Like a dick,” I sass.
His responding chuckle is so dark it wakes up a new, primal part of me. One that demands to be used, to be controlled, to be punished. My guilt over my lies to them, to the hurt I’ve caused, it wants to be soothed. Righted by paying penance on my knees.
“You haven’t learned yet, then.” I see the last shred of his control snap, the last thing tying me to the girl I used to be who he could never hurt, no longer there.
This time when he fists my hair, I feel the burn of it at the back of my scalp. The sweet, luscious burn as his fingers tighten and I am held captive by his fist. His cock is shoved back into my mouth so hard and fast that I gag, but he doesn’t care. He pounds into the back of my throat, barely pulling back before it’s down my throat again. My tongue doesn’t move, it can’t, it’s held hostage against the underside of his dick as he fucks my throat harder and harder.
“You look so fucking good with my cock down your throat, Ellie.” I swallow around him and am rewarded with his decadent moan. Tears pour down my face, soaking my cheeks as he picks up his pace. Rocking his hips back and forth as he fucks my mouth.
He gives me barely enough time to breathe, pausing when he hits the back of my throat long enough for my vision to start darkening at the lack of oxygen. It’s everything I never knew I needed so badly.
The look of awe and worship on his face as he stares down at me, completely unguarded and lost to the passion brewing between us. Even if this was born from hate, it’s such a wicked and beautiful thing. To feel alive always is.
He slows and his hand cups my cheek gently, such a dichotomy to the brutal pace he was just taking on my throat. “I always knew you’d cry so pretty for me, Baby.”
I shouldn't preen under his words, but I do. They are everything I want to hear and my head curls into his touch without my permission, but it’s been too long since we have been this close and not at each other’s throats. His thumb runs through my tears, collecting them before lifting his thumb to his mouth and sucking on it, never breaking eye contact with me as he does.
He moans as I hollow out my cheeks and suck, and just like that, our moment is broken. He throws his head back, using his grip in my hair to hold me in place as he pistons his hips. My jaw is already sore from how wide I have to open for him to fit, but the sounds he makes are worth it.
