Page 81 of Executing Malice
“I’m not running.” I nudge him with the point. My breath hitches with the tiny bead of blood that wells next to his Adam’s apple. “Back.”
He obliges with an amused cock to his head. He takes a slow step back.
“Drop your pants.”
His eyebrow lifts, but his hands are already at his fastens. He has them open.
“Aren’t you scared?” I ask.
“You’re not they only one who enjoys this.”
Fuck!
The thought that he wants this as badly as I do only amps that crazy voice in my head. The one who wants to carve little lines all across his body and lick his blood.
Jesus.
Fuck.
I need to calm down.
Then his cock is in his hand and out between us and I lose all sense of rationality.
That’s fucking mine.
Every beautiful inch from the fat, pierced head to the cleanly shaven base ... mine. Every silver bar running up the underside ... mine.
“Off. All of it,” I demand, fingers tight around the sleek handle of my weapon.
The cargos are pulled off and kicked away.
And I’m on my knees. Face level with the most perfectly formed male appendage to grace the world. It arches just enough to make my insides beg to feel him rearrange my organs.
“Have we fucked?”
He gives a faint nod. “Yes.”
“Did you have piercings then?”
“No.”
I lift my gaze up the solid plains of his stomach to lock gazes with him. “I’ve always been curious how a pierced cock would feel.”
“I know. You wanted me to get them. I wanted to be ready for when I found you.”
I lift up into my knees, just high enough to hover over his shiny head. “You did this for me?”
His jaw muscles look ready to shatter, but he’s not touching me or demanding I do anything. I wonder what he would say if I just stopped.
“I would do anything for you.”
Never breaking eye contact, I lean in and press my lips to the head. The salty tang of his pre-cum washes over my tongue. Fills my mouth.
But it’s the flare of his nostrils, the tightening of his fingers at his side. The crack of his knuckles as he fights for control.
I smirk and lick his slit.
“Fuck...!” he groans, low and primal.
