Page 17 of Blackmail
So if this guy can come even close to delivering on the filthy things he promised to do to me, I want it. Every bit. Just this once. Just for me.
The air conditioning pebbles my wet skin. I push back against the door, trying to hold myself up under the intensity of Sebastian’s gaze. “You’re fucking killing me here, dude.”
He brings one hand up to stroke my balls. The other keeps up its slow slide over my so-hard-I-might-pass-out erection. Sure, firm touches mixed with soft ones I can barely feel. Then, a squeeze that’s a little too rough. A lick over my crown, followed by a bite to my inner thigh. I buzz over every inch of my body, especially where his skin touches mine. With the constant changes in technique, I can feel my orgasm rush toward me and then retreat again, like the ocean waves on a choppy day.
My legs give a little. My knees are threatening to walk off the job.
Fuck no. Stand strong. I’m not the weak, skinny teenager I was with Elijah. Like I was the night I ran away from home. Nobody ever gets to see me weak again.
I can take this. I can take whatever he throws at me. I want to.
“Don’t,” he rumbles. “If you fall, I stop, and I’ll make you crawl to me begging before I finish. If I finish at all.”
If I finish at all. There’s a terrifying thought. If he leaves me hanging, I will scream. You wouldn’t believe how few clients care if I get off. Some don’t even notice. This guy’s promised me orgasms until I’m dehydrated, and I intend to get what I came for.
Another small slip, my foot sliding on the ceramic tile beneath me, shoots me full of adrenaline. I press my hand to my chest, trying to calm the frantic flailing of my heart. “I won’t fall,” I murmur. “I won’t slip.”
I don’t know if I’m trying harder to convince myself or him.
“Spread your legs.”
Let it never be said that I don’t know how to follow directions.
Sebastian stands, threading a hand into my hair and pressing an oddly intimate kiss to my throat before licking across the seam of my lips and making me gasp with the force of his kiss. It’s aggressive and messy. A swirling tornado of teeth biting my lip and scraping my tongue as he steals the breath from my mouth.
I don’t kiss much—barely ever. Clients don’t usually want to, and my only relationship was an awkward experience a lifetime ago. This kiss is nothing like the chaste kisses of my teenage years. Nor the slobbering of old men who want pretend intimacy.
This kiss is one I could drown in and die happy. Before I realize it, I’m clinging desperately to his arms, telling myself it’s only to make sure I don’t fall.
“Wider.”
He kisses me again. I push my feet wider.
His tongue slides over my lip. I open more without really thinking. I think if it weren’t for my quaking thighs, I’d be happy to stay pressed against this door, kissing him forever. He tastes like cinnamon and desire. Like something usually not meant for someone like me.
“More. Please,” I whisper against his lips. All this time, his hand has been idly stroking me. I don’t think I can take much more.
“Spread your legs wider.”
A frustrated growl comes out of my throat. “I’m not a fucking gymnast. If I spread them any wider, my balls will be on the floor.”
Somehow, I do it anyway. I always hated being told what to do. It was always the whip or the worst chores if I failed to comply. So why do Sebastian’s commands get me so fucking hot?
His hand leaves my cock, and he brings two fingers to my mouth. “Suck.”
Those fingers shove a little too hard between my parted lips, fucking them in and out like they’re his dick. My saliva pools. I gag a little. My eyes water. I’m doing exactly what he said he’d make me do back in the car, only with his fingers. Wait. Did he say whether he’d use his cock? I can’t remember now.
“Turn around.”
I turn a little too eagerly.
He pushes my pants to the floor, and I step out of them. Then he presses my face, cheek first, to the door. Fingers trail over my back, over the tattoo that helps to camouflage my scars. Usually, I discourage guys from touching me there, but I’m so dizzy and hot that all I can do is stick out my ass and try to hang on.
And pray he doesn’t ask too many questions.
Before I can get too self-conscious, a slap to my ass steals my breath. “I wanted to fuck you, but this ass is just begging for a spanking.”
“W-wha…” I’ve forgotten how to make words. I can feel my heart pounding against the cool surface of the door.
