Page 33 of Dirty Little Secrets
He lifts his hands. The chains pull taut when his hands slide down his abs, fingers disappearing under the waistband. My knees weaken as I watch as his hand comes back out with his hard cock.
“I saw the live feed,” he murmurs and strokes. “You wanted someone to stick a fat cock inside your pussy. Here it is, RED.”
Oh my God.
I drop my coat, heat licking up my spine. I fall to my knees, sliding between his thighs, palms skimming over muscle and skin. My breasts press against his shaft.
A low groans bubbles from his throat.
“You’re going to suck my dick,” he rasps and then swallows.
Yes. I am.
I drag my tongue down, tracing every dip in his abdomen until I reach his cock, hard and proud. A piercing glint beneath the low light. I take him into my mouth, deep and slow. My tongue flicks the metal and feel him shudder.
My head bobs faster. And faster. His fingers tangle in my hair, gentle but imperious.
“I’m about to come,” he pants, and rips me from his mouth. “Sit on my cock.”
I rise. Grab a condom from the tray. Tear it open and slide it on him slowly. But I don’t straddle him yet. I wait. I watch.
He shifts restlessly. He can’t see me. Doesn’t know it’s me. That’s the thrill. He’s tied. Blindfolded. At my mercy.
“Fuck, RED,” he growls. My clit pulses. I straddle him my pussy hovers over his cock. The moment imprinting into my memory as I lower feeling the soft head of his cock penetrate my folds, sliding further, widening me to the max.
We groan together as I sink down on him completely. “Fuck your pussy is amazing,” he grits. He stretches me, his cock thick, perfect, and devastating big.
He sets a rhythm, hands gripping my hips. Tongue tracing my chest and when he touches the piercing on my nipple, I cry out. Pain. Pleasure. Madness. All mixing like the sweetest poison.
I ride him harder. Faster. Sparks scatter behind my eyelids temporarily losing vision as my orgasm crashes over me.
“You got yours,” he pants with a smile. “Now ride this dick.”
I obey. He slaps my ass. Marking my skin with the imprint of his hand spurring me on. His fingers dig into my thighs. His jaw clenched. Veins straining. He fucks me like he’s punishing me. Like he hates me.
I love it.
When he comes, he spills inside me with a groan that sounds like surrender. Our bodies are slick with sweat, our chests heaving as he leans in. “Don’t forget to clean up your mess, RED.”
I slide off, remove the condom, and suck him clean. His fingers stroke my hair. Just once. Like he cares.
“It was fun,” he says. “Press the button on your way out.”
Just like that, the fantasy is over. A cold dish with a glass of hot water. And maybe it’s better he never knows who I am. Because this way, I can pretend to be his just for the night. There’s no point in trying to hold on to an unkept version for someone you could never be.
19
New York has an endless supply of coffee shops. There is one near Landon's apartment, one by the office, another close to Kristina’s building. The style, the crowd, the concept. They all depend on the street, the block, the borough. The right corner can smell like espresso and ambition or pumpkin syrup and TikTok users.
This morning, I need quiet. I need something quick without the fuss. I choose a shop without a concept wall or popularity. No influencers preening for their “just woke up” shot. Just caffeine and quiet corners. That’s all I’m after. Because after last night, I didn’t sleep.
I spent hours scouring the internet. Looking up Xaiden Drazen. Articles. Fundraisers. Events. Women. I scrolled until my eyes stung. I compared myself to the high-society types he’s taken to galas and tech summits and came to the conclusion, I don’t hold a candle to any of them. I knew it was self-sabotage but it was the only way I could stop thinking how I would never mean more to him. That he was using my body and nothing more.
But I have something none of them do: The desire he hides when it comes to sex. None of those women in the pictures experienced his darker side. A side he keeps to himself. If they did, I wouldn’t have ended up in that room.
Even after brushing my teeth, I swear I still have the taste of him. Or maybe it’s because I’m still stuck in the fantasy, burning itself into my bloodstream. His scent branded on my skin. His touch carved into my thoughts like a password I can’t forget.
By the time I reach the top floor with five minutes to spare, he’s already in his office. The door is open. He’s seated behind his desk in perfect control, angled to see me the second I step out of the elevator and into his line of sight.
