Page 46 of Untether

Obviously, I’m in over my head. This woman uses her brains and charm to manipulate the most powerful men on the planet. And bymanipulateI mean that she makes them do or say or react exactly what or how she wants, even if they don’t realise it.

I realise it. I know exactly what she’s doing. But when she plays her trump card and insinuates that I’m doing her a favour, that I’m building her confidence?

So help me God, I’m too weak a man to call her out on her bullshit.

Because I want her scarlet, sinful fucking mouth sealed around my cock like I want nothing else on God’s green earth, and a naked, sated, slippery Aida, the most alluring of supplicants, on her knees in front of me is a force so powerful I’ll give her anything she wants.

‘Take it out, sweetheart,’ I grunt. I’m sweating with the effort it’s costing me not to shoot my load. Not to push her onto all fours and slide home. My entire consciousness has narrowed to a singular focus, the way it does in any situation that requires extreme physical willpower. The next step on a marathon. The next downward push of the pedal on an uphill bike ride.

Dirty-lite.

Dirty-lite.

I repeat my ridiculous, condescending, made-up phrase like a mantra.Thisshould be my singular focus. My reminder of my duty of care to Aida. I think I acquitted myself pretty perfectly just now, given the constant pulse of my raging hard-on. I don’t want to fuck it up now.

She thinks she wants me to fuck her mouth.

She has no fucking clue.

But ensuring today goes perfectly for her is the mostimportant thing. It’s definitely more important—and more valid—than my right to fuck every hole in her body, hard as I like.

Unfortunately for her, I’m a man pushed to the brink of desire, and I’ll do anything to come.

She smiles at my order like I’ve pleased her, her hands moving to my flies. As soon as she has them undone, my cock surges forward, still encased in the black jersey of my boxer briefs. She glances up at me briefly through her eyelashes, as if checking I’m still on board, before pushing my trousers down and wrangling the elastic waistband of my underwear over my aching, weeping cock.

‘Fuck,’ she murmurs as soon as she sees it. It’s a reaction I get a lot, and the awe never stops being gratifying. I don’t respond—mainly because I’m channelling all my executive function into fending off my inner caveman—but the trembling in my legs grows a little more intense.

She gets my underwear down properly and wraps a slim hand around me, her other hand going to cup my balls, and the feel of it, the warm, slick, pressure of her skin against mine is enough to draw a shuddery exhale from me, because Lord above.

‘Jesus Christ, Cal,’ she mutters. ‘You’ve got a lot more dick here than I know what to do with.’ But even as she says it, she’s running the pad of her thumb experimentally over my weeping slit, smearing my precum around my crown and down to my frenulum.

I close my eyes and let out a low, anguished hiss as I reach for her face. It’s taking all my self control not to clamp a palm on either side of her head and slam my dick into her mouth.

Again: this is about her. Not me.

‘God, you’resohard,’ she says in awe, running her hand up my impossibly stiff shaft, and then she’s licking my crown like an ice cream, that mouth of hers so soft and wet and perfect.

I drag my thumbs along her jaw, my fingers under her ears, cradling her head with the painfully jerky, careful movements of a man walking through landmines. Because, in this moment, all bets are off. I have zero confidence in my ability to acquit myself well here. One false move, and I’m finished.

‘Fuck, that feels good, baby,’ I tell her shakily. ‘I’ve dreamt of your mouth on my cock—fuuuck.’ My anguished curse comes as a result of her taking me in deep, so a good amount of my length is sheathed in wet, silky heaven. ‘Look at you,’ I rasp. ‘Fuck, yeah.’

I stand there, pleasure swirling viscerally through me, around me, as she lavishes her perfect licks and sucks upon my cock, her teasing fingers feathering over my sac. It’s sublime and hellish; it’s too much and nowhere near enough.

She gives a low moan of pleasure and then pops her mouth off my cock. ‘Fuck my mouth.’

‘Er, no, sweetheart.’ I laugh nervously, unsure of my ability to maintain my current Herculean levels of self-control. I tighten my grip on her neck, my fingers tangling in her glossy hair. ‘You’re doing so fucking well,’ I say through gritted teeth. ‘It’s perfect.’

She in turn tightens her grip on my shaft and glares up at me, her dark eyes glittering. ‘Cal. I mean it. Show me. I want you to show me how you are with those women at the club.’

Nope.

Nope.

Nope.

That kind of behaviour has absolutely no part to play in this little scene. The side of myself I let loose in The Playroom has no business showing his ugly face when I’m in instructor mode. Mentor mode. I’m here to teach Aida the art of pleasure, the pleasure that’s evaded her for too long. I’m categorically not here to untether the beast within.

‘No,’ I gabble. ‘That’s not—this is amazing. This is great. It’s so—shit.’

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