Page 61 of Pretty Vengeful Queen

“Fuck,” Logan grits out, thrusting down my throat and grinding against my face. “You look even better in tears. I want all of them. They’re mine, wildcat.”

My eyelids start to flutter. Not because I want this to end, but because my whole body is trembling for him, my need to come getting to be as desperate as my need for air.

But I don’t want this to stop. Not until I get Logan’s cum. So I force them open wider again, staring up at him with my heart in my eyes.

He shudders, then jerks his hips back, pulling his cock all the way out of my mouth. “Breathe.”

I gasp for air, refusing to move other than the heaving of my chest, as he strokes himself in front of my face and stares down at me like I’m some kind of miracle.

“You make me so fucking hard,” he whispers, his voice getting choppy. “You make me want to ruin you.”

I open my mouth and extend my tongue, begging him with my eyes. If he wants to ruin me, he can. He can do anything he wants to me. The way he touches me pushes buttons I never knew I had before I met him; he takes me places I wouldn’t have felt safe going with anyone else.

Logan groans, his face contorting as if he’s in pain.

He’s not.

He’s about to come.

I strain toward him, my hands twisted together behind my back and still held firmly in place by the hand he has fisted in my hair, and his cock starts to spurt. He paints a single hot stripe of cum on my face before he shoves it back down my throat, harsh, guttural curses falling from his mouth as he finishes.

My pussy throbs so hard I almost can’t stand it. And even though he told me not to move, I need to. Maybe I even want to, just to see what he’ll do about it.

His cum dribbles down my chin, filling my mouth faster than I can swallow all of it, and with his cock still in my mouth, I scoop some off my face with my finger and shove my pants down, my vision entirely blurred now as my eyes burn from the effort of obeying his order not to blink.

I rub my cum-slicked fingers together, then slide them over my clit.

I moan. I can’t help it. And without my permission, my eyes drift shut.

“Riley,” Logan snaps, slowly pulling away from me as I force my eyes open again.

I wasn’t safe-wording, and I see the moment he trusts that. Then I suck hard on the end of his shaft, not willing to let it go. He hisses, no doubt overstimulated, as I start rubbing myself hard and fast.

“Don’t come,” he grits out, and I moan from the combination of sexual frustration and intense arousal that his demand wakes up in me.

I have to come.

I’m so close that there’s no way to stop it.

Not unless I stop touching myself, but Ican’t.

Logan suddenly tightens his grip on my hair, making me cry out when he uses it to haul me to my feet.

“I said. Don’t. Come,” he repeats, and the exquisite pain that shoots down my body from my scalp freezes my impending orgasm in its tracks.

I teeter on the edge. The tiniest whisper of any touch at all—his breath, my own hair drifting against my skin, the slow slide of his cum as it meanders down my cheek—could send me over the edge.

“Please,” I beg, my voice shattered.

This is what I need. He’s what I need. I thought I was here to help him, be here for him, and I am.

But Logan will never let me forget that there’s a deep, dark well of depravity in me that only he can ever satisfy.

“That’s it. Cry for me,” he says, his eyes searching my face with a hunger and passion that have me shaking. “Get me hard again so I can fuck an orgasm out of you. I need to take it, wildcat. I’m a killer. A monster. I need to know you want that.”

“I do. I want all of you. I’m yours, Logan.”

It’s nothing but the truth, and it rips a broken, almost feral sound from his throat. Then he hauls me over to his bed and pushes me down, face first.

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