Page 19 of The Dead Don't Talk
I wince, and not just because of the sting that’s back in full force, but because of the sudden emptiness without him filling me up.
But then he looks down at me, my exposed and empty hole, and curses hotly.
“You’re gaping, kitten,” he says on a rasp that makes my stomach flip with hope ofmore. Hope of a next time. Hope that this isn’t the last time I feel him leaking out of me.
I have no business thinking that.
His gaze trails up my body, snags in the way my shirt is pushed up to my chin and then my lips that feel swollen from where I gnawed on them.
“Such a whore.”
I hate that word. It’s connotation mean and unnecessary.
But when I watch his lips pucker around it, his deep fucking voice void of anything except unconfinedlust, I shiver.
And then I nod.
I don’t know why I do, and it makes my cheeks heat, but when his face slips into that sort of satisfied look, like that of a hunter that’s caught his prey, I can’t hate myself for it.
Because he dives down and envelopes my messy cock in his mouth, sucking me until my half-hard length is back to full mast.
Moros doesn’t stop there, though.
He yanks my legs up to my chest and pins me, making my hole leak even more as he watches.
“Hold your legs up, whore.”
I don’t bother asking why. Whatever it is that he wants, I want it, too. So, I do as he says and spread myself wide for him.
Again, he catches me off guard by delving between my cheeks and licking my desperately aching hole.
Years of pent-up sexual frustration is my only explanation for how many keening noises I make as his tongue laps at me, his lips sucking on me. His tongue fucking into me.
“Fuck, Moros.”
He doesn’t relent. Instead, he drives deeper into my hole, the stubble on his chin leaving a delicious burn behind.
Who knew eating ass felt so good?
And that’s how Wilson catches us.
I jump when the shadow casts over us, blocking out the now bright sunlight filtering through the open door, and try to scramble away. Cover myself.Something.
Does Moros stop tongue fucking my gaping hole?
Nope.
“Don’t mind me,” Wilson rasps, his thick hand cupping his cock through his pants.
“Didn’t plan on it,” Moros murmurs against my hole and reaches up to languidly stroke at my cock.
Just like the whore I am, I thicken against his palm and watch Wilson watching Moros.
There’s an air of something around them. Like maybe they’ve messed around before, and I fight the ping of jealousy that fills my gut.
Did he eat Wilson out like this?
The feeling doesn’t stick for long when Moros’s thumb swipes over my slick head and spreads the beading precum all around.
