Page 54 of Ruthless

The flush on his face deepened, spreading down his neck to his chest. Whether from arousal or embarrassment, I couldn't tell. Probably both.

"Faster," he managed, his voice strained. "I need—I need you to go faster."

I deliberately stopped moving altogether, my hand still wrapped around both of us, but completely still. "Is that how you ask for what you want? I think you can do better than that."

"Please make me come, Luka," he said, his voice raw and honest despite his awareness. "I want to feel those piercings against me while you stroke us both. I want it hard and fast. Please."

The polite "please" combined with those filthy words nearly undid me on the spot. That calculated surrender was more arousing than blind passion could ever be.

"Since you asked so nicely," I purred, resuming my movements with increased speed and pressure.

But I wasn't going to give him just a standard frotting session. This was Vincent fucking Matthews, the man I'd been obsessing over for weeks, the man I'd killed for, the man I'd betrayed everything for. He deserved my A-game.

I shifted positions, adjusting so that the head of his cock dragged directly over my ladder of piercings. His eyes flew wide, back arching off the bed as the sensitive frenulum caught on each metal bar in succession.

"Holy fuck," he gasped, fingers digging into my shoulders hard enough to bruise. "What are you—oh my god."

I grinned down at him, grinding deliberately slower to let him feel each individual ridge. "Like that, doc? Each one of these bars has a different texture. This one's smooth—" I positioned his cockhead against the lowest piercing, "—and this one's ribbed."

Vincent's vocabulary had apparently been reduced to profanity and desperate gasps. His hips bucked helplessly, seeking more of the sensation.

"You should see your face right now," I murmured, watching him come undone beneath me. "The perfectly controlled Dr. Matthews, falling apart because of my cock jewelry. Wonder what your colleagues would think."

"Shut up," he managed, though the command lost its effect when delivered between desperate moans. "Just don't—don't stop."

I angled my hips to increase the pressure, creating a filthy rhythm that had him cursing like a sailor. Each thrust dragged his cockhead over my ladder of piercings. I kept my eyes on his face, noting every reaction, every shift in expression as pleasure built.

When I felt him getting close, I deliberately slowed again, drawing a frustrated groan from him. "Not yet," I whispered, enjoying his desperation. "Not until I say so."

"Luka," he protested, voice tight with need. "Please."

"Beg me," I demanded, my free hand sliding up to grip his jaw, holding him still so I could watch his face. "Let me hear how much you want it."

Vincent's eyes met mine, and I recognized that look. He was analyzing me even now, noting my responses, filing away information for later. The therapist never fully disappeared, even when he was coming undone.

"Please let me come. I need it. I need you. Please, Luka."

The way he maintained eye contact as he begged, the calculated vulnerability in his surrender… It was the hottest thing I'd ever seen.

"Fuck yes," I growled, resuming the faster pace, twisting my wrist slightly on each upstroke in a way that had him crying out. "That's it, gorgeous. Give me what's mine."

His eyes rolled back in his head as he came, his back arching off the bed. "Fuck, Luka! Fuck, I'm coming!"

Cum shot in thick ropes across his stomach and chest, some even hitting his chin. I kept stroking us both through it, watching intently as each pulse shot out of him, his cock jerking against mine. His warm release coated my fingers, making the slide even slicker.

"Holy shit," I growled, something primal taking over as I watched him fall apart. Mine. This was fucking mine. No one else got to see my prim and proper therapist like this, covered in his own cum, shaking and gasping my name.

The sight of him wrecked and marked pushed me over the edge. I came hard, adding my cum to the mess between us, deliberately aiming so our releases mixed on his skin. I wanted to mark him, wanted him to smell like me, like us, wanted everyone to know he'd been thoroughly fucked.

"Goddamn," I panted, riding the aftershocks, grinding against him until the pleasure tipped into something sharp. My limbs turned liquid, muscles useless as the high coursed through my bloodstream.

I collapsed beside him, my body still buzzing with aftershocks. My usual move would be to get up, clean off, maybe offer a fist bump or a casual "thanks for the ride" before leaving. Quick, dirty, uncomplicated. Just how I liked it.

But Vincent turned toward me, his expression soft and open in a way that made my chest tighten uncomfortably. He reached up, gently brushing sweat-dampened hair from my forehead, his fingers lingering against my temple.

"You okay?" he asked quietly.

I froze, not knowing what to do with this. Sex, I understood. I was a fucking sex god. But this gentle touching combined with that analytical gaze? That wasn't something I knew how to handle.

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