Page 22 of Confession
“If you don’t hate it, then there’s a different reason you react badly when I touch you.”
He knows the truth, I can tell. He’s figured it out. And I can see in his eyes that he’s well aware that he’s trapped me, that I can’t evade him anymore. His lips tug slightly as he reveals my secret: “You’re attracted to me. You always have been.”
God, his arrogance. I hate it. I love it. My dick stiffens at the way he’s defeated me.
“Yes,” I confess. What else can I do?
He regards me, studies me. “You’ve hidden it well.”
“I never had any reason to think you were anything but straight.”
“I gave you a reason last night.”
“You were drunk last night,” I remind him.
“I’m not drunk now.”
“And you’re still curious?”
“Curious,” he echoes. “Is that what you think I am?”
“You tell me.”
He smiles. How can his lips look so cruel and so sensual at the same time?
“You’re getting better at this, Quinn. I should grill you more often.”
“We’re on more even footing now. The power has shifted to me.”
He’s amused. “How so?”
My heart is pounding because I’m about to say something that there’s no going back from. But there’s no going back anyway. Things between us are already irrevocably changed, and I want this. Fuck, I do. And I need his reaction. I can’t handle any more uncertainty, not at this point.
“Because, between the two of us, Vitali, I’m the only one who knows how to suck a dick.”
His lips part as he inhales sharply. He didn’t expect that. I’ve never talked that way with him. I’ve been so careful not to. So he doesn’t know how dirty I am. He’s about to find out—if he wants to.
And hedoeswant to. He smiles. He likes the idea. Fuck, this is really going to happen.
“Are you good at it?” he asks.
“Good enough to make you come down my throat, I guarantee it.”
Those cruel, sensual lips twist. “Oh, Quinn. I don’t think this is going to go quite like you think.”
He stands from his desk, making me straighten from it. My eyes drop instantly to where his cock is pressing hard against the front of his close-fitting light blue dress pants. He’s such a damn peacock sometimes. And yet my mouth waters. My dick throbs in my jeans.
As Vitali starts unbuttoning his shirt, my eyes lift to watch him. He has beautiful hands, elegant and refined looking, but I know how brutal they can be. I’ve watched them break people apart. I’ve felt them at my throat.
He tugs his shirt from his waistband, exposing a swath of his chiseled abdomen. His tattoos heavily mark his shoulders and chest, but most of his abs are olive skin over cut muscle. I’m so distracted that I’m in something of a haze as he walks around the desk and fits himself between it and me. His hand clamps on my shoulder. He pushes downward.
I drop to my knees. I should have known that his inexperience with men wasn’t going to give me an edge over him. For one second, in his shock, I had the upper hand, but I’ve already lost it—and I’m glad. This is what I want.
With one hand, Vitali unbuttons and unzips his pants. With his other, he grabs my jaw and makes me look up. I shiver in pleasure at his dominance.
His lips tug in a half smile. “That’s what I thought.”
Vitali keeps hold of my jaw to keep my head still while his other hand is busy at his groin. The tease of not being able to watch has my dick throbbing. I want to see. I need to.
