Page 93 of Violent Possession
A guttural sound escapes his throat. “Go on.”
I obey, my thumb making slow circles, exactly as he showed me. The head of his cock is wet, and I spread the liquid, watching it shine in the dim light of the room. He is fucking beautiful.
“I’ll do whatever the hell you tell me,” I whisper.
His jaw clenches hard. He closes his eyes, and a low, fucked-up grunt vibrates from his chest. He likes to hear me being submissive.
He opens his eyes. His free hand rises and cups my chin with a firmness that makes me hold my breath.
“That mouth of yours…” he says. Serious, completely unyielding.
I give a half-smile, a little mischievous. I don’t stop touching him. “Do I go on?”
My thumb continues circling the head, spreading the liquid that is already beginning to drip.
“Do as I teach you,” he orders.
“Yes, boss…” I sigh, my mouth glued to his, as I continue the rhythm he dictated.
His hand on my chin tightens, forcing me to maintain eye contact. I see the change in him. The mask of teacher, of controller, is cracking.
“Faster,” he growls.
I smile against his mouth. “Finally,” I whisper, and obey.
The rhythm quickens, my hand sliding over him, the wet sound filling the silence of the room. His body contracts beneath mine, his abdominal muscles tightens. The hand that held my chin slides to the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair, pulling hard.
“Fuck, Alex...” I moan, because seeing him unravel under my touch is a fucking aphrodisiac.
His eyes close tightly, his jaw clenches, and a low, guttural sound rips from his throat. I feel his hot, thick spurt pulse against my hand, once, twice, three times.
I don’t stop. I continue the movement, even after the last spasm, just to feel the tremors that run through his body.
When it finally stops, he kisses me.
It’s a slow, tired kiss, and his mouth is soft against mine. It’s arealfucking kiss.
But it doesn’t last long.
He pulls away and, in the blink of an eye, the mask returns. He sits up, adjusting his shirt, his zipper, his belt. In seconds, he is impeccable again, the chaos I caused methodically erased.
The sight of him, so quickly returning to being the untouchable Alexei Malakov, leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
He’s getting ready to leave.
“Hey, Alex,” I say.
He stops adjusting his shirt sleeve and looks at me.
“Are we okay?” The question sounds stupid, vulnerable. I hate it.
He studies me. “We are,” he says.
“Right,” I say, sitting up in bed. “So… can I leave this room now, or is the house arrest still on?”
He hesitates.
“I’ll make sure it’s safe first,” he says. “My brother is still moving around.”
