“Okay, foolish mouse. Open wider,” he murmurs.
I obey. My breath shakes through my nose.
“Good.” His voice drops lower. “Now look at me while you suck.”
I do.
I see it. A flash of surprise in his eyes. He likes it.
His breathing grows rough. He watches me as if he is memorizing every tremble of my lips, every flick of my tongue, every tremor that rolls through my body. A dangerous hunger flares behind his eyes.
And then, just when my pulse becomes a wild drum, he slides his fingers free, letting it trail down my chin in a slow, humiliating streak.
“Pretty little mouth,” he says. “Made for obeying... and fucking.”
I feel dizzy, aroused, terrified.
I grip his wrist with both hands, keep eye contact, and lie.
“I’m not scared of you.” I deep throat his fingers as far as they will go. “I’m ready baby. Enough practice.” I open my mouth and glance from his cock to his eyes.
I can’t believe I just said that. Him too. But I did. Why am I pushing him? I was just scared of this. I guess, I’m either competitive or this man has an effect on me.
I must affect him as well, because his eye twitches.
Yes, I’m getting to him. It’s working.
Not so powerless.
I grab his length like I know what I’m doing. Wow. It’s heavy and smooth. Real heavy.
I place the tip in my mouth. A bead on the tip coats my tongue, warm and salty. I didn’t expect that. It makes my mouth salivate. I cradle his length and feed him past my teeth.
This is way harder. Way thicker. My eyes flick up. He’s watching, stunned, but curious.
Don’t let him see you struggle.
I keep going, inch by inch. The back of my throat spasms when the crown touches. I gag. Fight it. Look up.
And smile with his cock in my mouth.
His eyebrows draw together, defiant. Challenge accepted. His hand cups the back of my head and his hips lean forward, his girth presses forward, stretching my tender throat.
It hurts, but I don’t waver. I’ll be as arrogant as him. I beat him to it and lean in until my nose touches his front.
The scent of body wash and a uniquely masculine aroma fills my nostrils, and I love it. I glance up, eyes curving with mischief.
“I told younotto fucking enjoy this,” he growls.
Too bad.
I suck. I bob. I stare. Defiant.
My throat is also on fire and apparently, my gag reflex can be turned off with serious willpower. This time, I keep my eyes on his, showing him my determination.
For a moment he watches me, gaze darkening, pupils swallowing the gray until they look almost black. Because damn it, I know he likes it and he’s fighting not to admit it. Fighting to stop me and take over in a much cruel fashion.
Then something changes.
