Page 16 of Blackmail
As I fall silent, there’s an odd vibration in my body, as if my blood is rushing so fast it’s making music. I’m still gripping his ass. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t pushed me away. The anticipation that hums between us is the sweetest thing I’ve tasted in ages.
Simon regards me silently. He doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t run. His wet lips part, and his damp chest heaves, and when his head tips back slightly to give me a clear view of the long column of his throat, I wonder if he knows how much it looks like an invitation.
The scarlet flush on his cheeks spreads, covering his neck and spreading across his chest.
The wet sound of his swallow fills the car despite the claps of thunder outside and the heavy rain still pounding the roof. “I’ve had a lot of guys promise things. They always disappoint.”
That sounds like a challenge. I don’t back down from challenges. “I always say what I mean.”
“Oh yeah?” He leans down, stopping with his lips a maddening few molecules from mine. “Then do your worst, big guy.”
Chapter
Seven
SIMON
I barely remember the ride from the restaurant to his condo.
Maybe it’s being shoved against the door the second we get inside. Perhaps it’s the way my head is spinning.
“I need you naked,” Sebastian says as he rips my shirt off.
Buttons pop as the wet fabric comes apart, forced over my shoulders and down my arms by a man whose set jaw and angry growl have my skin so hot I could start a fire.
“That was one of my nicest dress shirts,” I mumble. Fuck it. I hate wearing formal clothes. Who needs to be dressed, anyway?
Sebastian drops to his knees. Holy fuck, that’s hot. I mean, I was on board with that whole gagging on his cock idea, but I can get on board with this too. I can probably count on one hand the number of times I’ve been with a guy who didn’t want me to be the one doing the pleasing.
“God, yes. Touch me,” I moan as his palm slides over my abs. Chilly air conditioning pebbles my nipples, and he rises to close his teeth over one and then the other. His hands pin mine against the door as he bites down. Let me tell you, he bites down hard.
“Oh, God. Oh fuck.”
I never noticed how erotic the clink of a belt buckle is before. The quiet click of each notch on my zipper is all I can hear, aside from us both breathing like we’re running a race.
“Your cock is gorgeous,” Sebastian breathes when he finally frees me. His hand is warm and fucking huge, wrapping around me with confidence. God, that’s sexy.
Plenty of men have talked a good game. I’ll admit, when I challenged him back there in the car, I didn’t expect much. Fuck, though, I want him to deliver.
“You gonna suck me or just sit there and hold it?”
I don’t know what I’m saying right now. Usually, with a client, it’s about being who I think they want me to be. My job is to make them think I’ve never been more turned on than I am with them. They’re in charge so long as they’re not asking me to do anything uncomfortable or dangerous. It’s about them because making it about them brings in the big tips and makes them return for more.
I’m a fantasy. That’s the job.
Except nothing about this moment is typical. Technically, it’s a date. The professional kind. I’ve never actually been on the other kind, but this guy who’s on his knees stroking my cock so slowly I might go insane, he called Brennan and paid to take me to dinner, which makes it a professional date. Usually, it’s up to us to negotiate any “extras.”
We kind of skipped that step. Something about me being so horny my brain wasn’t working. So horny I’m offering myself up on a platter.
The truth is, for once, I don’t care about getting paid. The things Sebastian said back in the car stirred up something I hadn’t felt in forever. Just this once, I want to be the guy who gets laid out and fucked into a coma because someone wants me so badly. Not because I’m getting paid to be someone’s fake-ass fantasy.
It’s a dangerous thing to want. Taboo, even, in a business where almost anything goes. But nobody in my life has looked at me the way this man is looking at me now, and can’t I have something this one time that’s for me, and only me?
Does it matter that I know he’s using me? Do I care that the way he’s grabbing and biting at me like I’m free samples at the grocery store is nothing more than an outlet for his anger? Not in the way I probably should.
I shiver from the rough grip of his hands on my hips and the scrape of his teeth over my balls and inner thighs. I learned early on that I enjoy pain with my pleasure, but it’s not something I can do with a client. I don’t trust them enough.
You probably shouldn’t trust Sebastian, either. Knowing he hates me, though? Oddly, I trust him. He's been refreshingly direct.
