Page 47 of Hawthorne

“But, Vincent. I–”

“Little Milla.”His voice is deep and assertive, showing his authority. “I feel neglected, and if you want to have an orgasm tonight, you need to do as I say. Understood?”

“Y-yes,” I stammer out.

“Good. Now, on your knees. I want those plump lips around my cock before I bend you over this dresser and fuck you.”

The same hand that had turned my back to him turns me around again. Now facing each other, he pushes my shoulders, gently forcing me onto my knees. I don’t put up a fight.

He is dominant and demanding—something I never thought I would like, but I do. Never mind the fact that I don’t know what the hell I am doing. I want this, and I want him.

The wooden floor digs into my bare knees, but neither my body nor mind protests. The excitement of having the duke unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants before freeing his erection in front of me makes me forget everything else.

Seeing it right in front of my face, rock-hard, brings my insecurities back to life. Can I even do this? How do I even start?

My face must have given me away because his big hand reaches out to hold my chin up, forcing me to look at him. A soft expression is etched onto his face, a huge contrast from the harsh one just a few moments ago.

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t—”

“I do,” I cut him off. “I just don’t know how to do it...”

I can’t help but blush at the admission.

Vincent looks surprised for just a moment before returning to a neutral expression and saying, “I’ll guide you through it.”

With a shy nod and courage I didn’t know I had, I softly wrap my hand around his erect dick. My eyes glance upwards, underneath my eyelashes, and what stuns me the most is his expression. His eyes are shut tightly, and his mouth is slightly agape.

Peeking at his hands above my head, I see them holding the dresser's edge so tightly his knuckles are white.

“Stroke it, Milla,” Vincent pants.

Like the good girl he wants me to be, my hand caresses it slowly, up to his head, then down again. I repeat my movements and slowly increase the speed, sometimes twisting my hand around his girth. Low moans and grunts come out of his mouth constantly.

He doesn’t stop me or make any motion for me to change what I am doing, and his vocals are a clear sign of his enjoyment. It gives me more confidence.

That’s when I open my mouth and take his glistening head inside. Taking him slowly, inch by inch, I feel how hard he is, even if his veiny skin is soft. I stop when I reach my limit, filling my mouth completely.

I do it once more, and one of his hands flies to my head, gripping my scalp and stopping me from moving forward.

“Jesus Christ, Camilla,” he pants. “You’ll make me look bad if you keep this up.”

Opening my eyes, I look up and watch him.

Completely surrendered to the moment, Vincent looksvulnerable. He is letting himself be vulnerable with me, and it gives me power.

The power to know I affect him this much. That I can make him lose control.

I dart my tongue around it as much as the lack of space allows me, and his hips thrust automatically forward, hitting deep, right where my throat begins, making me gag.

He retreats with wide eyes, exclaiming, “Shit. I’m sorry!”

He enjoyed it.

That’s why his hips had that reflex movement. To let him know it’s alright, I moan and move forward again.

My hand finds his, the one gripping my hair. Covering the back of it with my own, I tighten my hold, forcing him to tighten, too. The burn on my scalp is welcome as I move faster, taking him in as much as I can.

He freezes for a second, but I barely register, focusing on getting him there.

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