Page 69 of Snake

But here she was. Cox hadn’t asked for oral sex, he’d simply indicated, in his typically terse manner, that he wanted her to put the condom on him. The thought of doing more had occurred to her on her own.

And she liked it. Even now, after confronting the memory of Miles, she still wanted Cox’s cock in her mouth.

So she dropped to her knees between his legs and put his cock in her mouth. She set her lips on his scalding-hot tip and sucked until she had as much of him as she could take.

Cox pulled in a loud, shocked breath and rocked backward so forcefully he nearly bucked her off. The reaction was so sudden, so intense, so unlike anything she’d known of him, Autumn nearly laughed with joy. This was amazing! To do this and to be in control?

She wrapped a hand around his base and devoted all her attention to making this taciturn man wild with need. She sucked, bit, licked, kissed, rubbed, everything she could think of, seeking every reaction she could draw from him.

He twitched, rocked, writhed, twisted, moaned, gasped, groaned, grunted. Both his hands grabbed her head, sank into her hair, and pulled. What he didn’t do, through all that wild movement, all those uncontrolled sounds? He didn’t drive himself into her mouth. He didn’t try to make her gag, he didn’t hold her head in place and use her like a sex toy.

Autumn had never felt so powerful on her knees.

And then he called her baby, and her knees went weak.

“Baby—baby—babe! I can’t—Jesus fuckin’—I’m—you gotta—I don’t wanna—”

There, she stopped.

She’d known what those half-formed pleas meant; she knew why he’d asked her to stop. He was close, about to come, trying to stop her before he did it in her mouth.

Until he said he didn’t want to, she assumed he was trying to protect her (sidebar: swoon). But she was in no hurry to give up this astonishingly hot rush of power, and she was absolutely great with swallowing.

Maybe that was all he meant, even when he said he didn’t want to. But in that choice of word, she heard consent being withdrawn.

So she stopped. She pulled carefully back, sat on her heels, and looked up at him.

What a sight he was—flushed and panting, mouth slack and eyes wild with ... everything. She was making him feel everything.

“I like it,” she said, smiling up at him. “We don’t have to stop for me.”

As if he were too stunned to make sense, he didn’t try at first. He simply stared with that slack-jawed, wild-eyed expression. Then he shook his head. “For me,” he said.

Autumn thought she understood that as well: every surge of power she’d felt with her mouth on him, every gasp, groan, twitch, writhe she’d drawn from him, he’d felt it, too—and he’d felt it as power draining from him.

He wasn’t used to feeling so much; he wasn’t used to losing control.

She didn’t like to lose control, either. But on this day, when she’d neutralized her inner hall monitor, she didn’t care about control. It was enough to know she had that power if she wanted to wield it. She didn’t need to wield it always.

Lifting a hand to his cheek, she smiled. “What do you want, Cox?”

He stared hard, diving deep into her eyes. His hands came up and clenched her face, and he surged forward, slamming his mouth over hers, his tongue plunging, claiming every inch.

She threw her arms around his neck and claimed him right back, meeting him as an equal, demanding from him everything he took from her.

Kissing her as if he meant to weld them together, Cox drew her forward, upward, onto his lap. He dropped a hand from her head and flung his arm out, returning to shove his hands between them. Autumn was vaguely confused for a moment until she felt a small, sharp corner and realized that he’d grabbed the condom and was putting it on himself.

He slipped his hands under her thighs, her ass, and pressed upward. Understanding, she lifted herself into his hold and let him position her where they both needed her to be.

As she sank down on him, as she felt every inch of his length, his girth, fill and stretch her, light up every nerve ending like a match, Autumn kept her eyes open and watched Cox. His need for her, his shock at the sudden intensity of their connection, his confusion, his anxiety—it was all there, written in neon-bright letters as big as the Hollywood sign. He was wide open and unguarded, and it was beautiful.

When she was seated on his thighs, completely full of him, he wrapped her up in his arms, held her desperately to his chest, and buried his face in her hair.

“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck?” he murmured.

Nothing in her life had ever been as sexy, as exciting, as this man so completely lost to lust for her his sense of himself scattered. She was rewriting him as much as he was her.

Was this something real, this thing happening between them? Something more than an isolated experience?

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