I drop to my knees.
“What are you doing?” His hands wrap around my biceps.
I would think my intention is obvious.
“It’s my turn to take care of you.”
His hands tighten on me. “You don’t get on your knees for anyone.”
I yank his buckle apart and tear down his zipper. “Havoc, you’re not just ‘anyone.’”
He studies me, searching my face for… What? The slightest trace of treachery now that he’s made himself vulnerable? He can look for a lifetime and only find love and loyalty. And after a long pause, he shakes his head. “What am I going to do with you, Duchess?”
“Wrong question.” I look at him through my lashes. “It’s what amIgoing to do with you?” And when I lower his jeans over his hips, his cock springs free.
I would be concerned about embarrassing myself by gagging on such a large erection, but I have never had the raw need to put my mouth on a man’s dick. To run my tongue around the ridge where the head meets his shaft. To stick my tongue in that droplet of precum and savor the taste. All for the primal urge to pull every unrestrained moan from Havoc as possible. I want to play with his steel piercing and learn how hard to tug with my teeth before it’stoohard.
Havoc needs pain with his pleasure, and I want to give him everything. For him to know it’s safe for him to fall because just like he’ll catch me, I’ll catch him, too.
With that singular thought at the forefront of my mind, I put one hand on his thigh and wrap the other around this cock. My mouth zeroes in on one of the metal balls.
I bite and pull.
Havoc’s quickened breathing at my tug would make anyone else think I’ve hurt him, and I did. But he likes it, and in case I needed confirmation, I peek up to see his eyes are closed, his head tilted back, and his lips open. The guttural moan he releases on an exhale encourages me to draw his pulsing tip in my mouth.
And I suck.
Hard.
Hard enough to make him hiccup on his next breath. I take in more of his shaft. Slowly. A tease that has him burying his hands in my hair to guide me closer. To swallow him deeper. The metal piercing tickles my mouth, reminding me of how good it felt when he fucked me. My womb clenches at the memory, and a rush of empty pressure pulsates between my legs.
“That’s it, Duchess,” Havoc growls out. “Suck harder.”
I open my throat and use my tongue to create a suction that presses his whole cock to the roof of my mouth. I feed on it and become the woman Havoc needs. The woman I want to be for him and myself. One who isn’t afraid to enjoy the taboo.
I devour him.
He thrusts his hips. “Christ, Kerri.” Slides out. Drives forward, fucking my mouth. “Feels so good.”
Good isn’t enough.
I stop supporting myself on his thigh and dance my fingers up his leg until I reach his balls. I cup them. Stroke them. Then I give them a gentle squeeze.
“Oh fuck,” he roars at the ceiling, and the hands in my hair tighten even more as I demolish the fence he’s straddling that separates pleasure and pain. As if a tornado rolled in and decimated his control. A few more thrusts in my mouth, and he detangles his fingers from my hair. He puts his hands on my shoulders and shoves me back to arm’s length. “Fuck, Kerri, what have you become?”
“Yours,” I admit simply.
He releases my shoulders with an expression of bewilderment on his face. It’s so abrupt. The only thing that prevents me from tumbling backward is my years of gymnastics.
“What’s wrong?”
“Say it again,” he demands through clenched teeth.
“Yours,” I repeat. “I’m yours, Havoc,” I vow, fully immersed in this moment, creating an important memory with him.
It’s not lost on me that I’m fully clothed, and, barring his boots and the pants pooled at his ankles, he’s completely exposed. His body, and the beautiful tragedy beneath, are stunning. What captivates me most is his acceptance of the dichotomy.
This is, I’m sure, Havoc’s point of no return. The man he once was, a man built on a foundation of trauma and destruction, no longer exists.
