Page 147 of Double Standards
“I look good in everything,” she replies, voice syrupy and smug.
God, she does. She knows it. She weaponizes it. Cocky. Smart. Fucking beautiful in a way that wrecks me every time I try to keep my head straight.
Stepping closer, I let the heat roll off me in waves. My voice drops to a whisper, low and deliberate, meant just for her. “How about putting that smart mouth to some use?” I murmur.
She tilts her head, crossing her legs with that maddening slowness, like she’s the queen of the goddamn world and I’m just lucky to be kneeling at her feet.
“What are you going to do?” she teases, chin tilted, eyes flashing with heat and challenge. Like she doesn’t already know what she’s doing to me. Like she doesn’t feel the way the room tightens around us with every beat of silence.
I lean in, every move calculated. Predatory. Hungry. My eyes never leave hers. “Do you really want to know?”
There’s a beat—just one—where her breath catches. Then she leans forward, lips brushing mine without touching. “Oh, I know,” she breathes. “I just want it to happen already.”
Fuck. She’s a storm in a slip of cotton, and I’m a man too far gone to seek shelter. She owns me. She has from the start, she just doesn’t know it.
Or maybe she knowsexactlyhow tightly I’m bound to her.
Andthat’swhat makes her so dangerous.
Getting to her knees, she slides her hands up my thighs, coaxing me gently to sit back in the chair. Her fingers move with purpose, undoing my belt with a practiced ease, a mischievous glint dancing in those green eyes. She bites her bottom lip as my cock springs free—and I’m fucking done.
She wraps her hand around my length, stroking in slow, languid passes that toe the line between pleasure and exquisite torture.
My head tips back as she drags her thumb over the tip, smearing pre-cum around the sensitive head, and I groan—low and guttural—because it’s already too much and nowhere near enough.
Then her mouth is on me—warm, wet, perfect. The moment her lips wrap around the head of my cock, I suck in a breath so sharp it rattles in my lungs. My fingers curl tight around the arms of the chair as she takes her time, slow and deliberate, like she’s tasting something rare. Something she’s been craving.
“Fuck,” I groan, my hips twitching up before I can stop them. She doesn’t flinch. If anything, she presses down harder, taking more of me, her throat relaxing as she sinks lower. The heat of her, the pull of her mouth—it’s like being devoured in the best way.
Her eyes flick up to mine, lashes fluttering, and I swear to God I see pride there. Power. She knows exactly what she’s doing to me, exactly how far she can push before I unravel.
She pulls back slowly, letting me slip free with a soft pop, her hand never stopping its torturous rhythm. Her lips are glossy, swollen, and she looks up at me like sin wrapped in silk.
“Jesus,” I hiss, threading my fingers through her hair, not pushing, justholding. Needing the anchor. “You’re gonna kill me.”
She smiles against the base of my cock, all wicked innocence. “That’s the idea.”
Then she takes me again—deeper this time. Her throat flexes, and I lose the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. My hand tightens in her hair as she sets a pace that’s unhurried, confident, devastating.
I’m trying to hold on, desperately clawing at the last scraps of control. But the way she looks up at me while on her knees, lips stretched around my cock like she was made for this, like sheownsme? I’m already lost. There’s no winning when it comes to her. Not when she gives herself like this. Not when she claims me without saying a word.
She moans around me, the sound vibrating straight through my core, ripping the air from my lungs. My head falls back with a groan, body arching off the chair as my hips buck on instinct. I can’t stop it. I don’twantto stop it. My grip tightens on the edge of the seat, knuckles white, and I squeeze my eyes shut as the pressure coils tight and hot in my spine.
She doesn’t stop. Doesn’t let me retreat. Her hands are firm on my thighs, grounding me, holding me there like sheneedsto watch me unravel for her. Like shelivesfor this.
Andfuck, do I give it to her.
My orgasm rips through me, fierce and consuming. I groan her name like a prayer, like a curse, like it’s the only thing anchoring me to the earth. My muscles lock, my chest heaves, my heart races—and she takes it all. Every last drop. Swallowing me down like it’s nothing.
Like it’severything.
When she finally pulls back, she drags her tongue slowly across her bottom lip, savoring the taste, her eyes never leaving mine. There’s that spark again. That dangerous, knowing glint that always manages to undo me.
“I should wear your shirts more often,” she says, voice thick and husky with satisfaction.
I huff a laugh, still trying to catch my breath, still strung out and wrecked in the best fucking way. “Yeah,” I manage, reaching down and tugging her into my lap, wrapping my arms around her like she’s the only thing that matters. “But next time,” I murmur against her skin, “I’ll be on my knees. And I’m not standing until you forget your own name.”
She hums in approval, curling into me like sheknowsexactly what she’s in for, and wants it all the same. “Promises, promises,” she teases, but there’s a tremor in her voice—one that makes my cock twitch again, already greedy for another round.
