“Sit on the chair, like in therapy?” He finally asks. “Come in. Sit on your couch and let your therapist… Shit,” he mumbles. Not a second later, he plops in the chair. His eyes track as my tongue nervously darts across my bottom lip. I reach forward, grabbing his zipper. His icicle suddenly shatters in his grip.
“Oops,” he whispers, eyes darting from the ruined murder weapon to me. I hold his eyes as I finish unzipping his pants.
“You do remember we’re trespassing, right?” He sucks in a sharp breath as I reach into his pants. He’s warm and growing hard.
“I know.” I pull him out and swallow thickly. He’s as big here as everywhere else. It looks deceptively normal against his body but alarmingly big in my hand.
“Is this you helping me, Doctor Moore?” He asks softly, a raspy edge to his words.
“I don’t want you to lose yourself.”
“I won’t,” he says. I snort.
“I know.” I lean forward on my knees. My other hand grips his upper thigh to balance. It’s daunting because he’s uncircumcised. I don’t really know what to do. He watches me silently, looking at me, observing him as if he expects me to change my mind now that I’ve seen him.
I lean closer, my breath fanning over him. Finally, I run my tongue over the top while rubbing my thumb in gentle circles. He breathes heavily, his muscles tensing under my hand.
“Do I pull your skin back?” I ask. He rips his gloves off with his teeth. A moment later, he wraps his hand around himself. His other hand gently grabs my chin, his thumb rubbing my lips as he gives himself a few gentle strokes.
When he pulls his hands back, his massive erection sticks straight up in his lap, the head of his cock on full display. I waste no time. I can’t. I’ll lose my nerve, or he’ll shoot up the stairs to murder a man. I take him in my mouth, and Soren groans, melting into the chair.
“My ex,” he panted, “she wouldn’t—” He shuts up when I grip him tighter in my hand. It’s not very professional as his therapist to encourage him to shut the fuck up about his ex, but I think we passed the normal rules when his cock slipped past my parted lips. I slide his tip down the length of my tongue, tracing the shape of him.
“Doctor Moore,” he groans, gripping the chair’s arms. “Fuck.” I pull off of him, and he looks down at me with a desperate plea in his pale eyes.
“You won’t kill tonight?” I ask. He drops his head on the back of the chair with an annoyed groan. I lean forward and flick my tongue over his head.
“I won’t,” he growls. I suck the tip into my mouth, working my hand up and down his length. I keep my attention on his body, listening to it. He likes me concentrating on the tip, sucking and licking on it until his hips are struggling to remain still.
I take my time to enjoy the feeling of him in the mouth. The taste of his skin. The salty hint of his precum. I grip his thigh, and his muscles tense. His groans start soft, hidden beneath long sighs of pleasure.
“You really care, don't you, Doctor Moore?” He asks, resting his hand on my head, gently petting my hair as it bobs in his lap. His legs spread a little more, relaxing into my work.
“Fuck,” he groans, dropping his head again. His hand moves to the back of my neck, squeezing it as I suck on his tip. “I really want to murder the man upstairs.” My tongue flicks his head, tasting more precum. It’s an addicting taste of his pleasure.
“Lucky for him, my therapist gives amazing blowjobs,” he rasps. As I give him long strokes with my hand, his skin slips back over the head of his cock. I keep sucking as it slides over and back.
The soft groans grow louder and more persistent. The deep rumble of his pleasure travels directly from his chest down to me, burying between my thighs.
I’m turned on. The slickness between my legs is collecting. My chest is tight, and my neck tingles.
As his pleasure grows, his body strains, the muscles bunching. He grips my nape tighter, and I remember the way he caught me that first night. How his long legs made him eat up the space. How his body pinned mine down. His breath was on the back of my neck.
“Doctor Moore,” he groans above me. I remember the way he picked me up. The grip on my neck is the barest hint of his strength. I’ve seen it in full action. The way he lifts corpses in his arms, hefting them over his shoulder. I've seen the corded muscles in his arms strain as he lifts an ax and chops bodies like wood for the fire.
He feels the groan in my mouth and shudders in response.
“Keep going, Sophie,” he pants. Keep going, or he’ll kill someone. March up those steps, probably grab a light cord and wrap it around a full-grown man’s neck. A brutal battle he’ll win. He always wins.
I like the way his foreskin moves back and forth over his head. I like the feel of his thickness in my hand. I like the taste of his precum when I gently suck it from the tip. His groans bury between my legs like they wish to penetrate me. The hitches that catch his breath keep me on the edge of my heels, anticipating his orgasm.
I never thought my career would lead me here. Giving a serial killer a blowjob in a potential victim's house. I’ve dropped to my knees to keep my client functioning.
Soren chuckles breathily as if thinking about the same thing. How ridiculous this is. But a half second later, he swallows the laughter, and a long stream of groans releases from his lips. I take him as deep as I can. My lips sink down his length, and Soren fills my mouth, sliding in deep to paint the back of my throat.
He suddenly grabs my throat. His thumb rubs gently, feeling the subtle movements of me swallowing his cum.
“That’s a good girl,” he groans, hips rocking up, searching for more depth.
