Page 20 of The Silencer

Anthony huffs and then reaches for the glass jar once more. He twists the lid off with a flick of his wrist, and I bite back a moan at the sight. He could flick that wrist right across my dick. He could totally slap it, and I’d be begging for more.

I’d be totally into that.

His fingers dip into the white ointment and the smell of eucalyptus and lavender hits my nose.

“That looks like cum, but smells really strong,” I wheeze when his fingers gently rub at the bruise on my shoulder. His touch explodes through me like a wildfire. It rages. I can feel him everywhere. He’s consuming me.

“It works,” he says as his hand starts to rub circles on my skin, and my eyelids flutter shut. It throbs where he touches me, my bruises sore, but I can’t even really register it. He feels too good right now. All I care about is that he never stops touching me.

“Oh my god,” I whimper when his fingers drag down to my stomach.

“It’s bad,” he says, his voice low and dangerous.

Yes. Yes it is bad. If he keeps doing this, my dick is gonna leak all over him.

“Does it hurt?”

“My dick?” I gasp. Because yes. Yes, it does.

“No. Your body.”

“I mean, at the moment, it aches with sexual frustration. The bruises are nothing but a distant memory.”

Anthony huffs a small laugh and then presses me back slightly until I’m leaning against his desk. My dick bobs against my stomach, smearing precum on my skin. This is indecent, even for me. I should be mortified, and yet I’m nothing but shameless.

“I’m going to get your legs,” he says as he takes a seat in his leather chair, looking every bit a mafia boss, and lifts my bare foot onto his lap. His hands rub the white cream all along my thighs, right near my groin, and I have to bite my lip to hold back a desperate groan.

“You love to torture people, don’t you?” I blurt.

“I do,” he says, his eyes flicking up to meet mine. His fingers are gingerly massaging the back of my calf for no reason other than he can. It’s driving me crazy.

“I can tell. I’m being tortured right now.”

His lips twitch as he switches legs and continues to massage me gently. He’s moving slower, I swear. He’s dragging this out. He’s doing this on purpose.

Finally, he sets my foot down and stands up. “Turn around. Hands on the desk.”

“Good god,” I moan as I spin around. “This is like a porno.”

He doesn’t reply to my comment, just dips his fingers back in that jar and continues to rub it on me, starting at my neck and making his way down my back to my waist. I’m practically vibrating with need at this point. I’m purring like a fucking cat.

“I need to do this morning and night for best results,” he says suddenly, pulling my mind out of the gutter for just a second before it dives right back in and rolls around in the filth.

“I won’t survive it,” I say. “I’ll be dead if you do this twice a day.”

“The only people who will be dead are the people who did this to you,” he murmurs so lowly I almost don’t make the words out. But I do. I hear every single one.

The threat of it only makes my dick leak more. A drop falls to his desk top, and I stare at it. It’s in the shape of a heart.

“I’m dripping on your desk,” I whisper as Anthony’s hand cups my ass.

More precum gathers on the tip of my dick, and I arch back slightly, wanting him to touch my butt some more.

He obliges, massaging my cheeks.

Another dribble falls onto the desk, and I stare down at it, trying to regulate my breathing.

It’s not working.

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