Page 33 of Sacred Vow
I laugh, and as a sultry grin stretches across my lips, I drop to my knees between Zeph and the back of the front door. Then as he braces one hand against the heavy door and leans into me, I take his heavy cock, hold his delicious stare, and show him exactly what he’s in for.
My tongue rolls up the length of his cock before trailing right back to his tip and lapping up the small bead of moisture that waits for me. He sucks in a sharp breath between his teeth, and just as he reaches around me with his other hand and wraps my hair around his wrists, I open wide before closing my mouth around him and taking him right to the back of my throat.
“Awwww, fuck,” he grunts, his hips jolting forward and pushing right past my gag reflex.
My cheeks hollow out, and I quickly put him through his paces, giving him everything he didn’t know he was capable of taking, teasing and nipping as I massage his balls between my fingers. My tongue never stops roaming over him as I clutch his base with my other hand, holding him firmly and working him in sync with my lips.
“Shit,” he groans, tightening his hold in my hair as if he could somehow take control. “I’m gonna come. If you don’t want to swallow me, then you better stop.”
Ha. I knew it wouldn’t take him long.
Pride swells in my chest as I keep going, not willing to pull away and forego the award for all my hard work, and not a moment later, Zeph comes hard, shooting his hot load into theback of my throat as his pleasure-filled stare remains locked on mine.
I swallow every last drop, and when he finally pulls back and releases his hold in my hair, all he can do is stare at me. “Where the fuck did you come from?” he murmurs, his chest heaving as I lick my lips and get back to my feet.
“Come on,” I tell him, stepping around him and leaving Zeph braced against the door with his dick hanging out. “I’m starved and you promised me a home-cooked meal.”
I make my way through Caesar’s home, and after passing through the living room, I hear Zeph finally catching up behind me, his dick happily packed back inside his pants. “I know I like to talk shit, but I know damn well that I never promised you I’d make a home-cooked meal.”
I spin around, walking backward and grinning back at the devil as I continue toward the kitchen. “The fact I can still taste your cum in my mouth means that when I tell you to get in the kitchen and make Momma a sandwich, your only response should be chicken or turkey.”
Zeph gapes at me, his jaw physically loosening. “Holy fucking shit. Is that what misogynistic bullshit feels like?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Goddamn,” he says, catching up to me as we step into the kitchen before meeting my stare with a twisted smirk and a boyish sparkle in his eye that makes me want to be his best friend for the rest of our natural lives. “Chicken or turkey?”
“Geez,” I say. “A girl gets tackled and forced to her knees before she even gets a hello at the door, then all she gets is a lame sandwich? Tough break.”
Zeph laughs and shakes his head. “Alright, your majesty. What’ll it be?”
“Call me a basic bitch, but I’d kill for a spaghetti bolognese.”
“Spaghetti. Really?” he questions. “It’s three in the afternoon.”
“And?”
“And if I make you spaghetti now, you’re not going to be hungry at dinner time.”
“Well then,” I say, glancing across the kitchen to the old, vintage clock on the wall. “Then after I eat, it looks like you have roughly four hours to make sure my appetite returns in full force.”
Zeph glances at me, his gaze narrowed with a wicked curiosity. “That better not be a challenge you’re throwing down, young lady,” he says in a stupid southern accent, and honestly, all he’s missing is the cowboy hat for him to tip.
“It’s not a challenge,” I tell him. “It’s a necessary requirement.”
He laughs and shakes his head before striding toward the refrigerator. “In that case,” Zeph says, pointing toward the counter. “Plant your ass up there. You’re in charge of entertainment while I try not to burn my father’s house down.”
I shuffle up to the side of the counter before planting my palms against the cool Italian stone and hoisting my ass up onto it. “What kind of entertainment are we talking about?” I ask. “Am I setting up a camera and starting an OnlyFans, or are we googling two girls and a cup?”
Zephyr whips around, his eyes wide. “You know about two girls and a cup?”
I just grin, and his gaze becomes suspicious when he scoffs and shakes his head, getting back to what he’s doing. “You don’t know about two girls one cup.”
An hour later, I’m sitting across the dining table from Zephyr with my bowl of spaghetti bolognese completely demolished. “I’m surprised,” I tell him. “I was almost expecting that to kill me, but you can actually cook.”
“Yeah,” he laughs. “I had an interesting childhood. I learned from a young age that if I didn’t cook, I didn’t eat.”
My eyes bulge out of my head. I don’t know much about Caesar, but he doesn’t strike me as the neglectful parent, despite his willingness to cross lines. “Your dad didn’t feed you?”
