Page 34 of The Truths that Deceive

All of it.

“Jesus.” Smith lowers himself down onto the floor next to me. “You’re supposed to look at me with fucking disgust, not like you need more. Like you want more.”

“Stop being so full of yourself.”

He crawls over me, his mouth on mine, his tongue a welcome invasion. Then he breaks the kiss and flips us. And though I’m on top of him, his cock getting harder and at full fucking attention between my thighs, it feels like it’s the other way. That I’m caught in his web. Trapped in his arms.

But I’m on him, my fingers in his shirt, and he’s looking at me like I’m his favorite science experiment.

“You liked it. Being my prey, being chased, the roughness. You can try and kill me now.” He offers that slow grin that makes my toes curl. “If you like.”

“Maybe,” I say, coming right into his face, our lips a smidge apart, “I pretended.”

“Maybe, but I don’t think so. Why don’t you sit on my face and try and smother me? I’ll let you suck my cock.”

“What if I bite it off?”

He slides a hand down my spine and then moves it to thefront and I lift my hips, letting him place the head at my entrance and I slide down on him, stretching, taking him in deep until I hit home. I think my eyes roll back.

“Yeah, I don’t think you’ll do that, but when you do suck me off, it’s a risk I’m willing to take.” He pulls me forward and kisses me. “Ride me, Calista. Hard.”

This should be slow, but it’s not. It’s a hard, rough, fast fuck, but he flips the script and flips us right when I’m flying fast into my orgasm. He’s on me now, plundering my pussy in the most delicious way possible. My orgasm threatens to slip away with the change in position, but he hooks my legs up over his shoulders so he can hammer hard and deep, making it hurt in the best ways, making it feel even better as I stretch. I light up like my insides are aflame.

He fits perfectly, and every time he pulls almost out, it’s like he’s stealing a part of me only to slam back, balls deep like he’s rebuilding me from the inside out.

The intensity overtakes, consuming every cell, and I go along for his ride, offering myself, taking him as deep as I can, a greedy desperation raking over the fires inside.

Smith looks down, watching his cock split me open, watching as it pistons into me. It’s hot, proprietary, like he’s branding me as his. Then he looks at me.

The orgasm rips forward and he starts to hammer in to hit me in a certain way, making me suddenly cry out as I come apart once again.

He pulls out and my legs flop apart, missing him between them. But he’s not done. He pulls me onto him, and he starts sucking my clit. He slides three fingers inside of me and it’s too much. Everything’s overly sensitive, and I scream a little, trying to get free, but he doesn’t let me. He’s relentless. Pushing, eating, licking. It’s a feast and he’s eating me alive.

I want to yell my safe word, but I can’t get my breath. Ican’t let myself because things are changing. What’s too much becomes nice, good, and then fucking incredible.

But Smith still isn’t done.

He continues his oral assault, and suddenly I don’t even know where I am. Everywhere at once. I can feel it thunder up inside of me, something I’ve never felt. It’s an orgasm, but it puts every other one I’ve ever had to shame. And I feel iteverywhere.

Even my mind buzzes and burns.

My entire being contracts and expands, the pleasure overwhelming, everywhere, and it’s the only thing, my entire world for those blissful minutes.

It’s almost religious.

Slowly, I come down from the euphoric high, and I’m wet. So is his face. And humiliation suddenly hits. Christ, I’m easy.

He rolls off me with a self-satisfied grin on his gorgeous face and gets up, tucking himself away. “Get up and get ready. We’re heading out in two hours. I’ll pack.”

I’m tornbetween his lack of acknowledgement with what happened and annoyance as we drive out to some remote field. I should be marking it all off in my head. How we circumnavigate the Autobahn and take a variety of small roads.

But I can’t think.

Smith looks good, which only pisses me off more. His hair’s rumpled and the rings are on. I eye them. Apart from those, he’s the epitome of urbane European with a classy, understated edge. Except for the rings.

I don’t know why I’m fixating on them.

They pick up the light on his phone as he sits behind the driver’s wheel. The only other jewelry—if you can call it that—is an expensive watch. I’m not up on my watches, but it’s a cut above a Rolex. Black face and strap and…

---