Page 111 of Controlled Burn
She thought of Jake’s voice, of Brooks’ hands, of Dean’s silence—and ground herself against Elijah’s tongue like she was erasing them all.
He moaned—deep, rough, hungry. The sound vibrated straight into her, obscene and intoxicating.
“Use your mouth like you’re grateful,” she breathed. “Like you’ve been begging for this.”
He groaned louder, surrendering to it. His tongue pushed deeper, circling her clit, sucking like he wanted to drink her down.
And she let go.
She rocked harder. Let the pleasure rise—not like a wave to ride—but a riptide to drown in. She took it all—control, lust,rage. Every second, every pulse, every twitch—etched into the dark.
“Open wider,” she panted. “I’m not done using you.”
Her thighs clamped around his head. His muffled groan only spurred her higher.
“Don’t stop,” she snarled, tightening her grip. “Not until I say.”
He didn’t. Not whenherthighs quivered. Not when her breath shattered. Not even when she came, wild and wicked, grinding him into the steel like punishment.
Her orgasm ripped out of her, shaking, wet, her body bucking against his mouth until her vision blurred. She held him there through every aftershock, muscles twitching, breath ragged.
But she wasn’t done. Not yet.
Her pulse thundered. Her body screamed for more.
She pulled back just enough to catch his face in her hand, her fingers slicking his beard with her release. His lips were shining, his pupils blown wide.
“Stick your tongue out,” she ordered.
He obeyed instantly, tongue wet and waiting.
She rubbed herself against it—slow, obscene, smearing her wetness across his mouth, marking him. Her clit throbbed with the pressure, her body climbing again.
“That’s it,” she growled, breath hot. “Take it. Every drop. You’re not done until I’m finished with you.”
Her second orgasm hit sharper, crueler. She rocked againsthismouth until her thighs burned, until her cunt spasmed around nothing, until her voice broke on a sound she didn’t recognize.
Only then did she let go of his hair, shoving his head back, stepping down off the bench with her shorts still twisted aside, pussy bare and dripping down her thighs.
Elijah sat there, dazed, lips swollen, chest rising and falling fast, arms still obediently locked behind his back.
She tugged her shorts into place, hoodie falling low again. Her legs trembled. Her pulse still skittered.
She didn’t kiss him. Didn’t say thank you. Didn’t even look back.
She just walked away—boots echoing like a warning, thighs still sticky, her cunt still pulsing with aftershocks.
Behind her, Elijah let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding—stunned, reverent, shaken.
Not because she’d used him. But because she hadn’t done it for him.
Above them, near the ceiling, a maintenance cam blinked. Red. Steady. Starving. Recording.
Brooks
He’d told her the truth. That he’d been watching. That he liked it. That she should’ve let him see.
But she slapped him. Left him. Like he was the monster.
