Page 55 of Moonlit Thorns

“Get ready to take all of it. Relax your throat, and don’t fight me, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

He pulls my head forward with both hands, and I part my red lips. He slides into my mouth, and I have to stretch it to fit around his girth. There’s no way I’m going to be able to fit all of him in my mouth.

But I do what he said and relax my throat so that when he pistons his hips and pushes in, he reaches the back of my throat. I gag but manage to keep my hands where he told me to keep them. He pulls out and rocks back in, holding my head in place while he fucks my mouth.

My jaw aches, but I ignore it. The satisfaction and pleasure of being the one to provide this outlet for him is too great to care about that. His eyes are hooded in pleasure behind his mask, and he looks down at me in wonder.

“Keep your eyes on mine.”

I do.

Asher pumps into me over and over until he moves his hands from the side of my face. Using one hand on my chin and the other on the top of my head, he pushes himself as far into my mouth as I can take, curling his abdomen over me and holding me there.

My eyes water, and I panic because I can’t breathe, but just when I think I’m going to have to move my hands and try to push away from him, he pulls out. I only have a moment to ready myself for his next assault. Again he pushes himself to the back of my throat and holds himself there, groaning. This time, he jostles my head a bit, and the tears from my eyes stream down my face.

When he pulls all the way out this time, I feel saliva drip down my chin onto my cleavage.

It’s only when someone moans behind me that I remember we’re in a room in front of a bunch of strangers. The same seems to be true of Asher because his head snaps up and whatever he sees there has him hauling me to my feet and throwing me up over his shoulder. He pops off the dais and strides through the room. I see the feet of people parting behind us like the wake left behind a boat.

I’m not sure where he’s taking me or why, but I know enough not to ask and not to fight him. I hear the slam of a door and a lock click into place, then he bends down and sets me on my feet. I stumble back for a second, and he grips my forearm to steady me. We’re in the room I was waiting in before.

“What are you doing? Did I do something wrong?”

I can’t see his expression because of that golden mask on his beautiful face.

“Go open the top drawer of the table in the corner.”

It’s clear from the tone of his voice that we’re still playing sub and dominant, so I do what he asks. I walk past the bed and open the drawer. All kinds of things are in there—vibrators, dildos, lube, condoms… a knife.

“Grab the knife.”

Chapter

Twenty-Five

ASHER

Anabelle stills in front of the drawer. Probably wondering if she should say the safe word or trust me. It only takes the space of a heartbeat for her to decide, and the moment she decides to trust me, her body relaxes, the tension melting away.

That’s almost as big of a turn-on as when she had her red lips wrapped around me. I was about to blow and couldn’t take it anymore, so I dragged her in here. I want to be inside her when I spill my seed, and there’s no way any of the savages in that room are ever getting a look at her pussy. No, that’s all for my viewing pleasure.

I’ll probably hear about it from my brothers, but I didn’t technically break any rules. There’s enough on camera of Anabelle debasing herself to meet the initiation requirements.

She picks up the knife and walks it back over to me.

“Step closer.”

She does as I say, and my dick twitches, still exposed in my splayed open pants. She’s been so perfect tonight, so trusting, so obedient.

The corner of my lips tilts up slightly. “Don’t move.”

Before she can even respond, I dip a finger in between her cleavage and pull the fabric out and away from her body, then slice through the leather straps that weave in and out of the grommets, holding the bustier together. The knife and the garment drops to the floor in a silent thud because of the music.

She gasps, and it turns into a moan when my hands find the weight of her breasts. Her perfect fucking breasts that I’ve imagined when I jerked off more times than I care to admit. They’re natural and the perfect size for the proportions of her body. Her nipples are a deep cherry color and puckered as though they’re begging for my attention.

“I was too impatient to unravel all that,” I say.

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