Page 139 of Falling in Reverse

Another hit at the back of her throat, and I combust, ropes of my release filling her mouth, and I’m barely able to hold myself upward.

And it’s then that I realize I’m shaking.

Releasing her hands, Bay helps herself up, still keeping between me and the wall as I pant through my orgasm.

Her blue eyes are watered but still vibrantly beautiful and she opens her mouth, tongue extended, and my cock twitches in glee that she swallowed all of me.

“Fuck…”

“Am I free to go?”

A chuckle forms in my chest because, if anything, she’s a fucking brat and a half.

My thumb brushes away a bite of saliva from the corner of her mouth and it glides over her cheek. “If you must.”

Her blues fall down the front of me. “You gonna be able to walk again, or do you need a few moments?”

“I need a wheelchair.” There’s no jesting to my tone, but a small laugh escapes her lips, making my chest do this weird-ass twist thing.

“Will that work on the others, too?”

I bore down a glare at her, immediately catching on to her meaning. “There are no others. You don’t touch Ramsey. I told you?—”

“Fuck that psycho,” she professes with a twist of her nose. “I meant Cairo and Reeve.”

Still not a fan of that answer either.

“Why the hell would you want to go to them?”

Bay rolls those blues as if I’m slow. “Dude, if I can make them not move and paralyze them with a blow job, why wouldn’t I try? Be easier than convincing you.”

“Keep those lips away from anyone else. You need something, you come to me.”

“Sounds spoiled and selfish.”

“Sounds like you need to do it again if you think you need more,” I ground out because she’s pissing me off again.

She would bring up my boys in this conversation. Cairo would never go for it; however, Reeve has made it more than clear that he’d love to break a piece.

And she’s not me.

She’ll never be mine.

But the thought of her wanting more because I couldn’t satisfy her plentiful need for dick is irritating.

It would be for any man. Not just me.

Bay pats my shoulder, patronizing me and possibly denting my self-esteem. “Of course, Pretty Boy.”

“You thinkin’ I’m playing?”

“Never.”

“I swear to God?—”

“Calm down.” She smiles sweetly at me. “You’ll have my throat sore for days.”

“I highly doubt that. Your motor mouth has a lot of stamina.”

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