Page 57 of On Your Knees

He groans. “Fuck, Lina.”

I tug on his balls as I move my mouth over him, creating a tight suction, hollowing out my cheeks. I pump his balls, my tongue tracing over the seam of his sac before returning to lick up the underside of his shaft. His whole body pulses as I continue my assault on him.

His fingers fly through the black hair of my wig, and as if he remembers it’s a wig, he brings one hand to wrap around my throat.

Our eyes connect as he squeezes gently.

“You like this, you dirty slut, don’t you?”

I nod, slightly, my tongue tracing over the crown of his head.

“You’re sofuckingfilthy,” he breathes out, his eyes closing slightly, his breath hitching.

“Swallow him whole,” someone shouts out into the room.

I keep bobbing my head, working his balls with one hand, the other working the base of his dick. My mouth covers him completely, sucking along his hardness as best I can.

I must be doing a great job because Benedict’s whole body vibrates, his thick thighs spreading slightly as his hand grips around my throat tighter.

“You like being my dirty plaything?”

I nod, tears threatening to spill from my eyes due to nearly gagging on his girth. I love being his anything. Plaything. Slut. Anything, as long as I’m his.

I keep working his dick and I can tell he’s getting close. His balls tighten in my grip and his eyes crash into mine.

“I’m close,” he whispers.

I suck him deeper, taking him until he hits the wall of my throat. I tighten my hold on him, massaging the base of his balls.

“I’m gonna come,” he says, trying to pull himself from my mouth, but I don’t let him.

“Suck his cum down your throat, you whore,” Lazarus says.

Benedict’s eyes squeeze shut as spurts of hot cum fill my mouth. I immediately swallow him, milking every last drop. He releases my neck and groans as the last of his release spills into my mouth. His eyes blaze into mine and he lifts me up from thefloor, and I straddle his lap. He crashes his mouth against mine, kissing the hell out of me. Our bodies intertwine like two lost lovers, and his hands roam over my body. “I need you. I…, uh, I need to be inside you.”

I just stare into his blue eyes, wondering if we can really do this. I nod, and he growls.

“Not here,” he whispers. “I need to own your body, but not in front of these assholes.” His voice is low, threadbare, only for me to hear.

We remain undercover, blending into the background as we listen to the men around us, trying to catch any mention of the bids Lazarus spoke about earlier. The murmur of their conversations is a mix of drunken laughter, crude jokes, and the clinking of glasses, but nothing seems to reveal more about the mysterious bids. The longer we stay, the more I feel the oppressive weight of the room, the danger thick in the air.

The lights dim even further, casting wild shadows that seem to creep closer with each passing minute. The men are becoming increasingly rowdy—some are already too intoxicated to care about anything but their own pleasure, while others are deeply engaged with the women. A few have even slumped over, passed out from excessive drinking. The scene is chaotic, a drunken carnival of excess and depravity.

Benedict’s jaw is set with a hard, determined line as he scans the room. After what feels like an eternity, he suddenly stands, his movement sharp and purposeful. He grabs my hand with a firm grip, his eyes scanning the room one last time. “We must go,” he says, his voice low and urgent, but to no one in particular.

The crowd’s noise and confusion mask our departure. Nobody pays us any attention as we make our way through the tangled mess of bodies. Benedict keeps his gaze straight ahead, his expression a mask of controlled urgency. We navigate the dimly lit hallway with swift, determined strides.

As we push through the heavy, velvet-clad door of Club Greed, the night air is a welcome relief. Benedict doesn’t slow down, his grip on my hand firm as he guides me swiftly toward the parking lot. The silence of the outside world feels almost surreal after the raucous chaos we’ve left behind.

He practically shoves me into the front seat of his car, the interior cold and sterile compared to the warm, sweaty club. Without a word, he slips into the driver’s seat, his movements precise and quick. The engine roars to life, and the car surges forward with a burst of speed, tires screeching slightly as we race away from Club Greed.

The streets blur past us, the city lights streaking by in a wash of neon and shadow. Benedict’s focus is laser-sharp as he drives, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. The urgency in his demeanor is unmistakable, and I can sense the adrenaline coursing through him, mirroring my own racing pulse.

As we speed across town, heading toward my apartment, I steal a glance at Benedict. His profile is tense, eyes set ahead with an intensity that is both reassuring and alarming. The cityscape outside seems to stretch endlessly.

The familiarity of my apartment building comes into view, and the sight offers a small measure of comfort. We’re not safe yet, but we’re a step closer to figuring out what’s next.

Chapter 29

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