Page 47 of Blackmail
Still, I can’t rein in my body’s reaction to him. The heat of his skin practically burns through my damp clothes. I know what he’s thinking, because I’m thinking the same thing. We’ve been here before. We both know how it ended. With me bruised and aching and wrung out and covered in his cum.
Fucking glorious.
That’s my last thought as he threads his fingers into my hair and tightens his fingers into a fist. The pull isn’t enough to truly hurt, but it’s enough to tip my head back so I’m staring up at the shadowy outline of him standing over me. His face becomes clearer as my eyes adjust to the dark, and I swear I can see an evil glimmer in his eye that promises every wrong thing I never admitted out loud to wanting.
“It could be hours until the power is restored. What do you think we should do with all of our free time, Simon?”
The wind has picked up outside. The rain beating on the windows makes me feel like I’m inside of a rock tumbler.
It could be hours. It could even be days.
“You guys have free drinks here? Sometimes at work I like to make towers with all the soda cans in the break room. Really pisses off the administrators.”
He chuckles and then without warning sits down again, not gently, pinning me to the chair. Still holding my hair hostage, still looming over me.
“There’s that odd sense of humor of yours.”
“That’s probably the most harmless way I’ve even been called odd.”
I’d like to smack my hand over my mouth and take my words back. Still, I can hear my father in my head shouting about how the devil was in me, and I’d never be right until he beat it out. The flesh on my back burns at the memory.
Another chuckle. “I like you odd, Simon. I like you exactly the way you are.”
Sebastian tugs harder on my hair, tipping my head farther, and then his lips are on mine, hot and plump and a little bit salty. His kiss is both innocent and anything but. It escalates rapidly from something equal parts sensual and chaste, and then not chaste at all. He sinks his teeth in hard enough to draw blood and then slides his tongue over the wound and into my mouth.
The tang of my own blood should be a massive warning bell. I’m breaking a thousand rules right now. There should never be fluid exchange with a client.
Except…I’ve already broken that rule. And Sebastian isn’t exactly a client. So then, what is he?
I bet he’d be a good boyfriend, my inner farm boy supplies. He’d treat us so much better than Elijah.
Shut the fuck up, farm boy, that’s a low fucking bar.
In the next second I’m saved from further thinking when my zipper gets pulled down and all my blood rushes south. Let’s be honest, most if it was already there.
Sebastian frees himself and slides the thick length against mine, making me gasp. His free hand wraps around us both. I can’t stop myself from fucking into his hand, my dick sliding against his. I’ve jerked off a million times, but his surprisingly rough hands and the smooth friction of his dick are some of the most delicious things I’ve ever experienced.
He stops too soon.
“What the fuck are you doing? I thought we were having a repeat of that hot as hell car sex.”
Sure, I talked a good game to myself about how we were going to hold strong and not fuck him again, but once my resolve crumbled? Damn right I was expecting this would end with orgasms.
Sebastian stands, leaving me with an ache in my scalp from where he was pulling my hair and a stronger ache in my cock from frustration and cool air. Asshole.
“I always thought office porn was the stupidest thing,” he growls. “Who the fuck wants to mess up their desk, their computer, and their paperwork with sweat and cum?”
Where the hell is this going? “I’m a big fan of gangbangs, myself. Oh, and those ones where it’s some sort of religious ritual that involves some muscular salt-and-pepper daddy fucking a barely legal twink who’s been naughty.”
No doubt a result of my weird-ass religious upbringing. I try not to think about it too hard.
With a laugh, Sebastian pulls on my arms. Before I can process what’s happening, I go from standing to chest down across his desk with my pants around my ankles. “Shit, you’re fast.”
One hand presses down on my back. The other takes its time, sliding under my scrub top, across my shoulders, and down my spine, over the left hip and then the right, before trailing far too gently into the cleft between my cheeks.
“Tell me to stop,” he growls. Then he sinks his teeth into that tender spot where my neck and shoulder meet. I nearly pass out on the spot.
“No.”
