Page 191 of His To Erase
“Fuck—just like that,” he snarls. “Keep going. That’s it. So fucking messy—just how I like you.”
My throat tightens, and I moan around him, licking and swallowing, giving him everything I have. His hips stutter—once. Then again. A raw sound punches out of him as he pulls back just far enough to slap the head of his cock against my cheek, groaning when I chase it with my tongue like I need it to breathe.
“You want it?” he rasps.
I nod, gasping. My thighs are clenching like I can pull him back in through will alone.
“Then beg for it.”
“Please,” I whisper, broken and breathless. “Please come in my mouth—I need it. I need to taste you?—”
That’s does it. That’s what fucking wrecks him. He fists my hair tighter, snarling something feral as his release hits. The growl that leaves his throat sounds like it’s been buried for years—raw and guttural—as he spills down my throat with a curse so filthy it makes my toes curl.
I swallow everything, and eventually he pulls back slowly, still breathing hard, staring down at me like he’s not sure what’s worse—what he just did, or how much he liked it.
I drag the back of my hand across my mouth, cheeks flushed, lips swollen, and my knees aching. My body’s still trembling from the edge he ripped away—and the fact that I want it again.
He leans down, grabbing my chin in one hand, and tilts my face up until our eyes lock.
“Remember what I told you,” he says, keeping his voice low. “Orgasm for talking. Not lying.”
Then he walks off—like he didn’t just leave me ruined on the floor.
Ani
“Jesus,” I mumble. “Did you fight a bear out there or just beat the shit out of the trees?”
He looks wrecked—his hair’s a mess, his shirt clings to his chest with sweat, and his knuckles are raw like he went the rounds with the forest and didn’t win. His eyes flick up and they just look dark and cold. Whatever warmth cracked through last night is long gone—shoved back behind steel walls like it never happened.
I cross my arms over my chest, the oversized shirt suddenly feeling paper-thin. “Hey, you good?”
He doesn’t answer. Just grabs a water bottle from the counter, cracking it open, and downs half of it in silence. His jaw ticks as he sets it down, staring at his phone.
“I don’t make a habit of fucking the same mistake twice,” he mutters—more to himself than to me.
I blink. “Wow. Charming.”
He still won’t meet my eyes. “I’m not in the mood to play games.”
I snap, voice cracking as it claws up my chest. “Apparently I needed a reminder of how fast you can turn into a fucking prick.”
He shrugs. No flare of guilt. No flicker of remorse. Just a careless roll of muscle and silence—like none of it meant shit. It’s like I didn’t have his cock buried inside me six hours ago while he whispered things that made me ache in places I didn’t know I couldfeel.
Then he just walks away, disappearing down the hallway like I’m not even worth slamming a door over.
My breath burns in my lungs, trapped behind the scream I won’t give him as I clench my fists at my side. I stalk to the counter, snatching the mug he made—still full, still steaming—and carry it to the bedroom like it’ll keep me from doing something stupid like going after him.
Instead, I sit on the edge of the bed, clutching my phone like it owes me answers, staring at Frank’s message.
Frank: I’m starting to wonder if you’re avoiding me. That wouldn’t be smart, Ani. I’m not a man you ghost.
I don’t have time for this. My stomach lurches as another text pops up from another unknown number. I'm about to throw it across the room and never look back.
REALTOR - LITTLE RIDGE PROPERTIES: Hi Ani! Just confirming your 10:30 appointment to view the retail space at 15 Wisteria Street, near 5th. Looking forward to meeting you.
Shit—I forgot I even messaged her when I was spiraling and pretending like I had a future.
I stare at the screen like it’s accusing me of something because I already know what I’m about to do. And I also know he’s going to be pissed, but right now, I don’t give a fuck.
