“My girl wants this, doesn’t she?”
“Yes,” I breathe, raw and desperate, breaking into a sob.
His mouth brushes my jaw, hot and taunting. “I will give you everything, baby.”
He lifts up a hand, his thumb slipping past my lips, and he leans forward for a kiss that’s just tongue, meeting mine where his finger holds my mouth open. It’s filthy and mind-blowingly good. “You just want to be told what to do.”
My head tips back, nodding, surrender in my bones.
“On your knees, pretty girl,” he orders. “Take me out. Show me how good you can be for me.”
Heat slams through me. I drop so fast, it’s like gravity pulls me down. My pulse is wild, my body thrumming, every nerve lit up by his voice alone. I want more—I wanteverything. For Nate Russo to dominate me, to strip every ounce of control until there’s nothing left but him.
My fingers tremble as I fumble with his zipper. His handslides into my hair, steadying me, brushing strands from my face. When I finally drag it down, I free him—thick, heavy, straining against the elastic of his boxers. I ease them lower with shaking hands, glance up, and find his eyes glued on me—molten, waiting.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” he growls, fist tightening in my hair. He strokes himself once, then drags the head across my lips, slicking them with salt and heat. “Open up, baby.”
The praise detonates low in my belly. I obey, wrapping my mouth around him, tasting him, reveling in the sharp hitch of his breath. My tongue circles the head before dragging down his length, taking in more, greedy for the way he groans above me.
“Oh, fuck.” His moan vibrates, dark and raw, hips straining forward, huge palm anchoring my jaw. He pulls back with a ragged sound, chest rising hard. “I need a minute…” A large thumb strokes my cheek, gentle, incongruous, even as his cock leaks against my skin.
“I’m going to teach you,” he rasps. “Teach you to suck me the way I like it. You want that, don’t you?”
It’s all I want. Forget everything else—my job, my ambition, the rules I’ve built my life on. Right now, I want to be good for him. A sob tears out of me. “Yes…. Please.”
He curses, pushing hair from my face, then knots his fingers back into it, guiding me. His pace. His depth. His control.
“Eyes up here, Eden.”
This is everything I didn’t know I needed.
I hollow my cheeks, sliding deeper, finding a rhythm that makes his breath stutter. My mind spins with the contradiction: me on my knees, obeying without hesitation, subdued.
And yet…I own him. I own the pleasure winding his body tight, the way his jaw locks, the curses torn from his throat. With every flick of my tongue, every swallow, I unravel him further.
The paradox is dizzying. Shameful. Exhilarating. I can’t untangle it, how surrender can be power, how obedience turns into control. But Nate, he understands everything that is happening here, his eyes flicking between my eyes and mouth.
My insides are clenching, my underwear so sticky, it feels as if I’ll have to peel it off me. I’m trembling, needy, as his groans deepen, guttural, raw—every sound of his undoing pulling me deeper.
“You’re doing so good for me, baby,” Nate rasps, voice rough with restraint. “My sweet girl…you were made for me, weren’t you? On your knees. Taking me so deep. You love having my cock in your mouth, don’t you?”
The filth of it collides with the worship, and I moan around him, undone, eager to please him.
“Fuck, you look so good with my cock between those pouty lips.” His hips jerk forward, strokes rougher now, deeper, less restrained. The thick head nudges the inside of my cheek, then pushes farther, his groan vibrating down into my bones.
I want more—more of that sound, more of his body tensing under my command—so I lick and suck with greedy precision, teasing, coaxing. He shudders above me, moaning loud, his voice breaking, and I slide him deeper until he’s lost in me completely.
“Oh, Eden—fuck.”
I bob along his length, finding the rhythm that makes him unravel. His grip tightens in my hair, his jaw locked, chest heaving, and then—holding my gaze—he comes apart. Heat floods my mouth, raw and hot, and I swallow asbest I can, his thumb pressing the last drops past my lips. When I suck on the pad of his finger, his groan is wrecked, guttural.
I’m floating, strung so high I can barely breathe. My whole body burns.
He hauls me up easily, setting me on shaky legs.
In one fluid motion, he strips me bare—sweater, shirt, bra, all gone, tossed aside. Cool air rushes over my overheated skin, and a helpless sound slips out of me, soft and broken.
A scorching gaze rakes over me. “Perfect,” he murmurs, eyes dragging down my body, memorizing me. His hand hooks in my waistband next, tugging my pants down. They puddle at my ankles, followed by the scrap of lace I’d worn beneath, leaving me trembling, exposed.
