Page 14 of Kiss the Villain

I’m going to die with a cock in my mouth.

With a man usingme.

In a snap decision, I move my lax tongue, licking the underside of his cock, thinking about the blowjobs I get on the regular, then suck. Mostly how I like to be sucked but don’t voice it, because girls can’t or prefer not to do it.

They don’t go hard and deep, to the point it hurts a little.

I think he likes it, because his violent thrusts stop.

My hands wrap around the base of his cock, smudging him with some of the blood, sucking deeper, licking with more passion, wanting to empty him of every last drop of cum.

The man whose days are numbered pulls my hair tighter. “The fuck you think you’re doing?”

He doesn’t like it—the way I’m giving him a blowjob. I can hear the bewildered anger in his voice. I can also hear the roughness and the masked desire.

So I squeeze his cock in my hand, jerking him and then pulling it in my mouth that’s all full of saliva now, making the sounds sloppy.

The idea that I’m on my knees, sucking off a man, is enough to make any other guy spiral, but I push it down.

Because those empty eyes are narrowing, but he doesn’t stop me as I deep-throat him, taking him in as far as possible and using my throat’s movement to bring him over the edge.

His abs coil and contract.

A grunt falls from his lips.

His veins pulse and throb in my mouth.

That’s it. He’s at my mercy now, even though I’m on my knees and his cock is in my mouth.

The sense of power gets me high and I suck and lick, draping my lips along the crown in harsh strokes and a fast rhythm that I’d like if I were being given head.

I don’t think about the humiliating position or him towering over me or even the gun.

I only think about the power in my hands. The way his breathing grows uncoordinated, his fingers pulling at my hair.

My spine jerks, my cock growing heavy in my jeans.

No.

I’m not getting hard due to sucking cock.

That is not fucking possible.

I never get hard if I don’t put myself in the mood. It just doesn’t happen.

“What a fucking natural slut.” The man jams his shoe on my jeans, over my hardening cock, and I grunt against his dick. “Too much of a slut, it seems.”

“Fuck you,” I mumble, but it ends on a groan as he slides his shoe up and down, the friction drawing tingles down my spine.

“You got hard by being used. What a little masochist. Want a hand with that? It looks painful.”

I’d rather he shoot me.

But I do something better.

As he toys with my cock, I do that swallowing thing with my throat on his crown. The one that made him grunt earlier.

And his movements stop.

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