Page 94 of Beautiful Cruelty

My breath catches at the sight of his sculpted torso, but it's the stories written on his skin that make my heart race.

A long scar traces his collarbone, pale against his flesh. Another cuts across his ribs on the left side—a knife wound? How much violence has he seen? How many battles has he fought and won?

But it's the tattoos that truly captivate me. An intricate cross spans his right pectoral, surrounded by letters that I can't read. On his left bicep, a roaring bear rears up, claws extended. The artistry is stunning—each hair and muscle rendered in stark black ink that ripples as he moves.

Near his heart, a small star catches my eye—similar to the endearment he calls me. The skin around it looks older, faded, like it was his first.

A sprawling design covers his right side—what looks like a cathedral with onion domes reaching toward stylized clouds. The detail is incredible. Every brick and every window is meticulously inked.

My fingers itch to trace each mark, to learn their stories. His body is a roadmap of his past, and I want to explore every inch.

A particularly wicked scar curves around his left side, disappearing behind his back. The puckered flesh speaks of a deep wound, one that should have been fatal. My heart clenches at how close he must have come to death.

"Enjoy the view?" His breath comes in harsh pants.

Shit. When did I stop?

Giving him a long sultry look, I run my tongue along the slit of his cock and resume sucking with renewed enthusiasm. His taste leaves warm salty trails on my tongue, and I moan with every bob of my head, the vibrations sending shivers through him.

"Fuck," he growls, his hips arching toward me. "You're going to make me lose control."

I release his cock with a playfulpop, and run my tongue over my lips slowly as I look up into his eyes.

"That's the idea."

Before he can say anything else, I take him deeper inside, my lips gliding over his length until I can feel his pulse throbbing against back of my throat.

Reaching up, I place my hands on the hard ridges of his abs, and give him just a slight nudge. Obediently, he falls backwards until he collapses into the seat.

The entire time, I never let his cock slip out of my mouth. I push his legs further and open my mouth wider to give myself better access. My tongue feathers the smooth shaft while the sinful cocktail of precum and spit run down the corner of my mouth to coat my chin and his heavy balls.

His entire body tenses with need. His fingers tighten in my hair, and I know he's trying to pull me off, but I hold on, sucking him deep as I stroke his length.

"You're going to make me cum," he whispers, voice straining with exertion to keep himself in check.

I respond by speeding up my torture. He growls, his fingers tightening in my hair as he pulls me off his cock.

"Enough games, Lacey. I won't be satisfied cumming in your mouth."

I don't need to be told twice. I scooch up onto the desk, spread my legs to reveal my pussy, and dip my fingers down to find myself completely soaked.

"Is this where you looked through my photos?" I ask him breathily as I start playing with my slit.

"Yes."

"Was it enough?" I wrap my other hand around his thick hard cock, guiding him, groaning with need, to my entrance.

"No." He admits as I bring his tip inside of my weeping folds. Even just the tip feels impossibly large, and my heart skips at the thought of taking the rest of him inside of me.

"And what will be enough?"

"The real thing." He inches himself deeper, driving the air from my lungs.

"Then what are you waiting for?" I coo. "Take it. It's yours. It's always been yours."

"Mine." He pushes into me slowly, filling me with his length. "Myzvyozdochka. My good girl."

I moan, my body stretching to accommodate him. Holy fuck, he's massive. My hands reach up to grip his shoulders, my fingernails digging into his skin as I throw my head back to let loose a long cry of pleasure.

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