"On your knees for me," he growls.
I gaze up at his honey brown eyes, my throat suddenly dry, and I'm certain it's not from the alcohol.
Refresh my memory,he’d said.
Maybe a better man would walk away, know his worth, or some stupid shit smart people say, but I'm not a better man and I’m not known to be very smart. Not when it comes to Jordan Mackenzie, anyway.
I'm toast.
“You didn’t say please,” I bite out.
His free hand finds my hair, and he pushes me down with a growl.
“And I’m not going to,” he says bitterly. “Now get on your fucking knees, Alex.”
It’s not the words that make my brain glitch; it’s how he says them.
With authority. Like he owns me.
Suddenly everything in me changes, pushing forth from where I buried it.
I hold his gaze as I do as he says. My knees hit the tile floor with a thud. I slide my hands up his thighs, expertly working to slide down his pants to free his cock.
The minute it bobs free, I don’t hesitate. The door clanks as Mack braces his arms on it, holding himself up. His legs shake from the motion, head falling back in ecstasy the moment I take him into my mouth.
“Fuck…” His strained, gravelly whisper is full of drunken ecstasy. I love the way it sounds.
I pop off him and he curses.
“No, please don’t stop,” he begs in a husky tone. Fuck, it’s so hot.
I nudge his legs apart the best I can before sucking his balls and licking him all the way up his thick length.
“Your mouth feels so good,” he whispers.
I grin from his praise as one of his hands finds my hair. He slides his fingers through my locks and tightens his grip as he shoves my head down further, making his cock hit the back of my throat. I gag, my cock throbbing in my pants. Mack doesn’t let up; he fucks my mouth without concern for me—my favorite way. Drool collects under my chin as I double my efforts, sucking and licking him while I use my hand to massage his balls, my thumb brushing the outer edge of his hole. I wonder if maybe one day he’ll let me inside.
“Coming. Fuck—” He hisses as his grip tightens in my hair and he pushes me against the wall, shoving his dick as far as it’ll go.
He comes down my throat, holding me there, with nowhere to go. I can’t breathe. All I can do is hope he finishes before I suffocate.
I swallow every drop, glancing up at him to watch the expression of satisfaction on his face.
Our eyes meet, and there is a moment of undeniable pleasure there, but it’s soon replaced by something I know too well. Something I expected, but am still disappointed to see.
Panic.
“Fuck—” He stumbles back, slamming against the opposite wall as he hurries to put his dick away. “Don’t fucking look at me like that.”
“Like what?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper as I run my hands down my now-wrinkled shirt.
“What the fuck are you still doing down there?” he growls, panic in his eyes as they dart from me to the door. I’m blocking his escape.
The words tumble out of my mouth without thought. “You didn’t tell me to get up.”
I blink, realizing how ridiculous that sounds, but the alcohol is hitting me, making me say shit I shouldn’t say.
“Y-you need to tell me.” My voice is far away, tinged with sadness. Guilt. Turmoil. Fucking fear, because this isn’t how I am with people. At least, not likethis.But I need him to understand. I need someone to understand because explaining it is difficult. How do I make him understand?
