Page 58 of His To Erase
My fist wraps around my cock, already pulsing with every fucked-up thought she’s burned into me.
That voice. That bratty, breathy edge that lives in my skull now. Sharp and soft and soaked in attitude.
My eyes slam shut and there she is. Mouth open. Head back. Thighs shaking.
Dripping for me.
That look on her face when she came… fuck, I’ll never forget it. Like she didn’t know whether to scream or cry. It was like her body finally figured out who it belonged to. I picture her on her knees—lips parted, chin tilted up, and those eyes daring me to ruin her like she doesn’t already fucking know I would.
All I can see is that filthy mouth wrapped around my cock, while I hold her jaw open and fuck her until the only sounds she makes are the ones I give her.
Just tears caught in her lashes and spit dripping down her chin and the sound of her choking around me like it’s the only thing she knows how to do.
It’s not even the image that unravels me. It’s the feeling. It’s the way she looked at me after—like maybe she wasn’t scared.
She wanted more.
I stroke harder, and my breathing turns sharp and ragged, my jaw locks as I chase the edge of something I’ll never fucking reach. Not like this.
Not without her bent over and begging, with her voice cracking on my name while I fuck her until the only thing she remembers is who she belongs to.
It hits like a freight train—dark and vicious—and I come with a low, guttural sound that barely makes it past my teeth.
But even then… it’s not enough. Because it’s not her.
It’s not that soaked cunt wrapped around my cock while she claws at my shoulders, asking me to ruin her.
I sit still, breathing like I just went twelve rounds in the cage. My hand is still twitching from the grip, and now my thoughts are a noose around my own fucking neck. I reach for the towel, wipe the mess off like it’s going to make me feel less like a monster, and drop back against the mattress, my spine sinking into cold sheets that feel emptier than they should.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
The library should’ve been the end of it.
But it’s not just the way she moaned, or the sound of her breath hitching when I bit her thigh, or how soaked she was from a few filthy words murmured like a promise. It’s the way she fucking flinched. The way her mask cracked when she thought I couldn’t see her breaking underneath it.
I want the tears and the sass. The fight and the surrender. I want every piece of her she’s still trying to hide. I drag a hand over my face, then reach for my phone.
My thumb hovers over one contact.
It rings twice.
“I was wondering when I’d hear from you.”
The voice on the other end is amused, and too fucking smug for someone who’s still breathing because I haven’t changed my mind yet.
“Yeah,” I say, voice flat. “I’ve got a favor.”
A pause. Then a soft, knowing laugh. “Aren’t those supposed to go both ways?”
I lean forward, my jaw is clenched so tight it clicks. “I need eyes on someone. Quiet ones. I want routes. Patterns. Who they talk to, who talks back, and what changes when they think no one’s watching.”
Another beat of silence. “You’re being cagey. Even for you.”
“Just do it.”
My tone drops. “And if anyone catches wind you’re looking, I’ll make it your last favor.”
That earns a low whistle. “Still charming as ever. Alright. Send what you’ve got.”
