Page 15 of Controlled Burn
Her moan was the sound of a woman starved—fingers clawing his duty shirt, teeth scraping his jaw. He could taste the aftershock of her shower, the lavender and smoke, the metallic tinge of something wild and forbidden.
"You've been driving me insane," he said, lips against her throat.
"Good."
She dropped to her knees—fluid, fearless, like she'd done it a hundred times but only ever for him. The concrete wascold beneath her, the bay's fluorescent lights turning her into something half-wicked, half-holy.
Her fingers worked his belt with a shaky impatience, the clink of metal echoing in the cavernous silence. She never broke eye contact, daring him, wanting him to see her surrender—see that this was a choice.
He was already thick and heavy in her hand, his breath ragged as she stroked him. His cock was big. Thick. Perfectly shaped. The kind of cock that demanded space, that made you feel small even before he touched you. She wrapped her fingers around him like a prayer—and stroked like she was afraid to wake a beast.
The first brush of her mouth made his knees threaten to buckle—hot, wet, velvet-soft, her lips wrapping around him with a hunger that was almost painful to watch.
"Look at me," he snarled, his voice dropping to something primal.
She obeyed. Eyes wide, glistening, worshipful, and wild.
When she slid him deep, her throat tightened, jaw straining—tears springing to her lashes as she forced herself to take more, desperate to please.
Spit dripped from her lips to her fist, gloving him in slick heat, her tongue swirling the sensitive ridge beneath his head. The suction was relentless—her cheeks hollowed, jaw working him over and over, each pass wetter, messier, more desperate.
He tangled his hand in her hair, not gently, holding her in place as he rocked his hips, pushing himself deeper with each thrust. He watched her choke, eyes streaming, mascara bleeding down her cheeks. She was raw, ruined, beautiful—pink lips stretched around him, gagging, gasping, but refusing to let go.
Every gasp for air, every shudder, only made him harder.
"You like being used like this?" he gritted out, hand tightening in her hair. "You like knowing I can't get enough of you?"
Her moan vibrated around him, needy and depraved—a plea for more.
He lost himself in the sensation, the heat, the slick slide of her mouth, her tongue working him while her nails dug half-moons into his thighs.
He started to fuck her mouth harder, his rhythm growing punishing, desperate, all his control burning away.
"Fuck, Cross—"
He came with a groan, every muscle locking.
She swallowed it all—his release hot and salty, her throat fluttering as she took every drop, not letting a single bit escape.
When she finally let him go, she was a wreck: lips swollen, chin shiny with spit and come, eyes wild and dark. She wiped her mouth with the back of her trembling hand, still looking up at him—hungry, defiant, like she was proud of the mess he'd made of her.
He stared down at her, chest heaving, his shame and hunger mixing in the air between them.
"Captain?" she asked, voice shredded.
He didn't look at her. "Yeah?"
"You're gonna hate yourself in the morning."
He closed his eyes. "I already do."
He zipped up, walked away. Every step a retreat. Shame and longing chasing him down the hall, louder than any alarm.
It didn't kill the ache. It doubled it.
He wanted her more.
Talia
