Mymarks.
All over him, from ankles to shoulders and down to his damn elbows.
Includingmarking him inside—because I get a blow job from him first. And as I hold his head still in my hands I fuck his throat deep and hard, loving the look in his eyes.
More.
Wanting more.
He’s not pleading for me to stop, not pleading for mercy.
In fact, when I pause for a moment and ask if I need to dial it back, he grins.
“Don’t you dare, Sir.”
Game on, motherfucker.
There’s something evenmore satisfying about that orgasm, when he sucks it from me and I pour myself into him, than any of the others before.
Something…more.
And the victorious look in his eyes after he does it starts building me up again.
While I’m scening with him, drowning my anger in his flesh, I work up a second load that’ll go in his ass as soon as I’m ready to put it there.
Casey usually wears a plum shadeof lipstick that drives me fuckingcrazynow and I don’t know why.
Maybe because instead of seeing it smeared on marks she’s left in Declan’s flesh, I want to look down and see it on her lips, preferably while wrapped around my cock and leaving messy smears of purple againstmyabs as I force her to choke every inch of me down her tight throat, until tears stream down her cheeks.
I beat thosethoughts out of my mind by using Declan’s flesh.
Every time I think about stopping, Declan begs for more.
More.
Even more.
I give it to him.
And more.
I never used to be like this.
I never used to be…mean.
Not like this. About politics and in the professional arena? Oh, absolutely. Totally cutthroat there.
Personally? Especially in bed? I used to be scared to go too far. I never wantedto hurt Ellen, not seriously.
Iwantto hurthim.
Ienjoyit.
What does that say about me?
What does it say about me that it doesn’t scare me anymore?
What does it say about him that he won’t stop me?
