Page 71 of Veil of Smoke

His throat works as he swallows. His hands grip his thighs harder, knuckles paling.

I lean in. Let my breath brush his chest, then lower, hovering over the line where his jeans meet skin. My fingers undo the button, slow, deliberate, the zipper rasping loud in the quiet.

He exhales rough, head tipping back slightly.

I tug the denim down, just enough to free him. His cock’s already half-hard, thickening under my gaze. I don’t touch it yet. I want him aching first.

“Look at you,” I murmur, running a single finger along the edge of his hip, teasing the sensitive skin there. “So eager.”

“Viviana,” he breathes, voice strained.

“Shh.” I press a finger to his lips. “You’ll speak when I let you.”

His chest heaves. He nods again, submitting.

I slide my hands up his thighs, spreading them wider. My nails dig in, leaving faint red marks, and he tenses, a low sound catching in his throat.

“You feel that?” I ask, leaning closer, my hair brushing his stomach. “That’s me owning you.”

“Fuck,” he mutters, barely audible.

I smirk. “Not yet.”

I rise slightly, still kneeling, and peel the silk dress up my thighs, higher, until it bunches at my waist. The cool air hits my skin, but I’m burning inside. I straddle his lap, hovering, not touching yet.

His hands flex, itching to grab me. I catch his wrists, pin them to the chair arms.

“No,” I say, voice sharp. “You wait.”

He groans, head tipping back fully now, exposing his throat. I lean in, drag my tongue along the pulse there, tasting salt and heat.

“You taste like surrender,” I whisper, biting lightly.

“Viviana,” he rasps again, desperate.

I pull back. Look at him. His chest rises fast, sweat beading at his temples, dark hair sticking to his forehead. He’s unravelling, and I’ve barely started.

“Beg,” I say, voice low, commanding.

“Please,” he says, quick this time. “Touch me.”

I smile. Slow and dangerous. “Good boy.”

My hand slides down his chest, nails scraping, until I reach his cock. I wrap my fingers around it, stroking once, slow and firm. He bucks beneath me, a sharp groan breaking free.

“Fuck,” he gasps. “More.”

“Patience,” I say, squeezing tighter, thumb brushing the tip where he’s already leaking.

His hips jerk again. I release him, letting him feel the absence, and he curses under his breath, low and ragged.

I shift back. Kneel again. My hands spread his thighs wider, and I lean in, my breath hot against his cock.

“Tell me you need it,” I say, voice husky.

“I need it,” he grits out. “Fuck, I need you.”

I lick him, slow, from base to tip, tasting him fully. His whole body tenses, a deep groan rumbling through him.

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