Page 48 of On Your Knees

As soon as my body’s calmed Benedict kneels between my legs, his eyes fixed on mine.

“I need to come, Eva,” he says, his voice strained and threadbare. He almost appears like he’s in great pain, and I sit up.

I want to kiss him again. “Do it,” I whisper.

He unzips his pants, pulling himself out, and I nearly have to do a double take at the size of him. That thing can’t be legal, can it?

“Lean back,” he says, stroking his massive dick with one hand. With his other he brings it to my pussy, sliding a finger back inside me. “I love the way your hot cunt grips my finger. So tight.”

I want to feel him inside me, but don’t know how to ask for it. Instead I keep moaning, unable to focus on anything but the sight of him jerking himself off.

He closes his eyes for a quick moment, savoring the feel of it all. “I want to bury my cock inside you, Eva. Do you want that?” His eyes bore into mine, like he’s pleading for it. Like he needs it more than the air he breathes.

“Do it,” I say again, giving him all the permissions he could ever need.

He shakes his head, moving over my body. “Take off the sweater. I’m going to come all over your tits.”

I immediately do as he asks, and lay back once the sweater has been thrown to the floor. I’ve got no bra on, and Benedict picks up speed as he stares at my breasts. He leans forward, still tugging at his cock as he opens his mouth over one of my breasts. His tongue traces around my nipple before he’s biting down on my skin.

“Ah,” I whisper. I grab onto his head, my fingers brushing through his dark strands. “Please fuck me,” I beg of him. “Please. I need you inside me.”

His hand keeps stroking his dick as he plays with my breasts, licking, nibbling, sucking on both of them, one at a time.

“I’d give anything to feel you inside me. I’d sell my soul for it,” I keep pleading. “Please, Benedict.”

He moves away from my breasts, his eyes locking with mine. “When I fuck you for the first time, I’m going to take my time with you. Cherish you. Devour you.”

“You already are,” I whine. “Please fuck me, Benedict.” I’m not sure why he won’t. I try to touch him, but he swats my hand away.

“Not tonight.”

“Why?” What reason could he possibly have for not fucking me? Does he regret this? Will he regret me more if we do have sex?

Without warning tears well in my eyes at his rejection.

He smooths his hand over my hair, my face, resting on the base of my throat. “I’m already so far gone, Eva. When I come inside you I know it’ll be the end of me.”

I don’t know what he means, and don’t question him because he starts jerking his dick harder as the spray of white cum covers my skin. He keeps tugging, the hot liquid landing on my chest.

His eyes watch with rapt fascination at the way he covers my breasts with his cum. He smears his hand through it, gathering the liquid on his two fingers. He brings his fingers to my lips, pushing against my mouth.

“Open wide,” he says, and I do.

I suck him clean like he did at the club. I keep sucking his fingers, deeper into my mouth as he watches, his blue eyes never leaving mine.

“You’re so beautiful when you suck on me. I can’t wait to watch you take my dick in this hot mouth of yours.”

I nod, letting him know I will.

I’m realizing I’m his slut, willing to do whatever he asks. Ready to beg. Ready to do anything for him.

And I don’t know if it’s a good thing, or a very,verybad thing.

The pulsating lights of the club nearly blind me as I step inside the following Tuesday, the strobe casting flashes of neon across the crowded room. The bass-heavy music rattles my bones, the beat thrumming through the soles of my shoes as I settle into my usual station. My wig is securely in place, the raven-black strands falling perfectly in line, and my body moves automatically through the familiar motions of the night. But everything in me goes on high alert the moment I spot the Delgados slipping through the entrance.

They glide in with their usual air of untouchable wealth and power, the kind that makes people shrink back in their presence. My heart picks up speed, knowing what their arrival could mean. Tonight, Benedict’s plan is looser—he’s playing it by ear, keeping his distance unless Lazarus personally invites him into the room. He won’t push, won’t assume he’s earned a seat at the table yet.

I scan the room and spot him standing by the staircase, his tall figure leaning against the railing like he belongs there. His eyes darken, scanning the crowd with the sharpness of a predator, always watching, always waiting. I cross the club's tiled floor, weaving between bodies, the sticky scent of alcohol and perfume thick in the air. When I reach him, I place a hand on his arm, my voice low as I lean in.

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