Page 191 of Unexpected Hero

Again, I comply instantly. I’m too much of a chickenshit to glance away from his face, but a large part of me wants to stare at the glass, pretending I can see whoever is in there.

Watching us.

Once his belt hits the floor, he drifts his hand back to the fly of his pants. “That’s a good girl. Now roll your hips.”

Too turned on to dream of disobeying him, I swirl my hips in a circle as my fingertips dance over my clit.

He tugs his pants down over his hips, leaving him in only his boxers. My greedy eyes travel up and down his fit body and pause at the erection stretching out the material of his boxers.

“You sang like an angel and look like a goddess, Lettie.”

A sliver of doubt tickles the back of my throat. “You’re not mad that I’m wearing this?”

He shoves his boxers down, his cock springing free. He wraps his fist around the shaft. “Why would I be mad?”

“I was worried you might be jealous of other men seeing me like this.”

“Not a concern for me, baby.”

No artifice or deceit laces his words. He’s not the least bit jealous.

Why does that sour my stomach?

If he’s not jealous, does that mean he doesn’t consider me his? I don’t know why I’m surprised by this. We’ve not labeled our relationship beyond that first night when he called me his lover.

Yet, a part of me wanted him to be jealous. And that’s ludicrous.

But he called me his girl on the way in here. Does he mean it the way I hope he does?

He moves to the side of the bed, standing at the edge. “Come put your head over here. Feet down there.” He points to the spot he wants me, right in front of him.“Face up.”

Dominant James really does things to me. So fucking hot.

Doing as instructed, I move into position and wait for direction. I have no idea what he’s got planned. He remains standing over my head, leaving me between his legs, facing up as he looks down at me.

The only hole he can access in this position is... my mouth.

Oh, this is going to be interesting. How the hell is this position going to work? Are upside-down blow jobs a thing?

I swallow past a lump in my throat, hoping to hell I don’t embarrass myself in front of whoever might be in that room.

“Scoot closer to me. Let your head hang off,” he orders.

I dig my heels into the bed and shove myself toward him, dangling my head a few inches off the bed.

“Perfect. Now open your mouth,” he orders, moving his cock over my face. “I’m going to fuck your throat before I take your pussy.”

My throat? Not my mouth? Oh fuck.

We’ve dabbled in blow jobs over the last few weeks. I was terrible at first, even if he won’t say so. But I’ve improved, thanks to his expert tutelage. And now I enjoy them quite a bit. It’s arousing as hell to be able to make him feel good like that. But he’s always been gentle with me.

Fucking my throat doesn’t sound gentle.

He must sense my hesitation because he steps back, lowers his head to mine, and cups my cheeks tenderly, upside-down Spiderman style.

At a volume so low I have to strain to hear him, he whispers, “I’ll never hurt you, sweetness. Don’t worry. Wrap your hands around my hamstrings to hold on. And if you want to stop, just pinch me. Okay?”

Oh this man.

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