Page 15 of Dirty Deal

“Lena.Fuck.”

My father’s ex-protege may pride himself on his poker face, on keeping his thoughts and emotions buttoned up, but once I’ve got my hands on his body, Weston James is surprisingly responsive. His hands twitch and tighten on me when I lick a long stripe up the base of his shaft; he hisses through his teeth when I reach into his underwear to cup his balls.

They’re soft and heavy and warm in my palm, and when I massage them gently, Weston lets out a low groan above me.

“Oh, shit. That’s it, princess. Just like that.”

Hearing that stupid nickname, my ardor cools a couple degrees, and I slide my hand back out of his underwear. I decide right this second: only nice guys get ball rubs from me.

Still, I’m too far gone to call off this whole thing—my skin is flushed hot and my legs beneath me are pure jelly. Every time my ass shifts against my heels, there’s an answering throb between my thighs.

Iwantthis man.

Heedless of the fact that he hates me, I bury my nose by the base of Weston’s cock and inhale. That clean, musky scent of him, with a hint of soap and sweat—it’s like a drug to my system. My head swims, and my nipples ache.

“You’re a jerk,” I tell Weston, peering up the miles and miles of sculpted male body to meet his gaze. His eyes are dark and stormy, and his lips part as he stares back. “You’ve been such a jerk to me. You think I can help who my parents are?”

His eyebrows pinch together. “Lena—”

“It doesn’t matter. Hate me all you want. We both know that you still cravethis.”

My lips stretch around the head of Weston’s cock, sucking the first few inches inside. He’s somehow even bigger the closer you get, weighing heavy and thick on my tongue, and my cheeks hollow as I suckle and slurp. He tastes a little salty, and I hum and bob my head.

“Ohshit.” Weston’s shoulders are curved over, his whole body cringing forward like he’s been punched in the gut. So long, prideful posture. Hello, man who leans back on the wall for balance. “Lena. Christ. Your mouth. Your fucking mouth—”

I’d say something back, but I was always taught not to speak with my mouth full. Instead I raise an eyebrow up at Weston, one of my hands pumping the base of his cock while the other digs five fingernails into his rock-hard thigh. Even through thefabric of his suit pants, I can feel his body shudder beneath my touch.

This whole pose might look more badass if his cock didn’t hit the back of my throat and make my eyes go all watery. I glare up at Weston, squeezing his cock even tighter in warning, but he shakes his head quickly.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—I won’t thrust, I swear.”

Whatever. As if this man wouldn’t just love to see me raccoon-eyed and ruined. And maybe Weston James trusts me enough to feed his magnificent length between my teeth, butIdo not trusthim.

Do I want him? Yes. Do I have hot, flustered daydreams about him all day every day? Absolutely. Do I lie awake at night and wish that he saw me differently? Of course.

But am I gonna show him a single scrap of weakness?

Hell no.

Despite what Weston thinks of me, I’m no fool. I have no illusions about what this is between us. This is hate and pure animal magnetism, all twisted up together in a vicious braid.

Liar, a voice whispers in my brain, and my heart pangs in agreement—but whatever. It’s all hate from Weston’s side, anyways. Doesn’t matter ifIthink he’s the best man I know.

“So good,” he’s muttering now, rubbing his thumb back and forth along my jaw as I suck and kiss and lick my way all over his shaft. “So good, Lena.”

The praise is unexpected, and I’m embarrassed to admit that it makes me go all bright and sparkly inside. You know, if this man said nice things to meoutsideof the bedroom, he’d be freaking lethal.

My breathy moans are muffled by his cock, but when Weston notices me squirming against my own heels, he inhales sharply and tugs on my hair.

“You’re getting off too, aren’t you? Oh, shit. That’s it. Show me how you come with my cock in your mouth, princess.”

It’s too late to stop now, even with that nickname ringing in my ears. I’m too hot, too trembly, too slick between my thighs. There’s a hollow ache in my lower belly, and my pulse thunderseverywhere—in my throat, my wrists, my clit.

Weston tugs my hair again, and I let out a helpless moan.

My ass rocks down harder, humping my own heels, and bright spots burst in front of my eyes as I freeze up, breath stalled in my lungs. It’s—it’s happening. Oh god.

Whenever I’ve made myself come before, it’s been nice but… muted. A quick pop of pleasure, and then done.

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