“Wait,” my hands find his chest, questions battering against my mind and I need answers before I can relax.
He breaks the kiss, breath hot against my ear. “You want to ask me something else.”
“Yes.”
His cock is rock hard, swinging right in front of my face and I bite back the urge to lick the precum beading at the tip.
Opening my mouth to ask was a mistake.
He shoves my head forward, his monster cock slamming into the back of my throat.
A gag rumbles around his shaft, and he chuckles as he watches my eyes water, holding his dick against the back of me, cutting of my air supply. Then he lets me adjust, taste him, feel the shape and the need. Then he takes my head in both hands and fucks my mouth hard.
The tip pounds the roof, the back, then the soft give of my throat. I gag, and he doesn’t stop. If anything, it excites him, makes his hands shake on my skull. He keeps going until tears stream down my face and my jaw aches, then pulls out just long enough for me to gasp a few lungful’s of air before plunging back in.
I’m rock hard. The ache in my balls is exquisite. My hands clutch at the couch, searching for leverage, but all I can do is let him use me. Every breath is his, every movement dictated by the flex of his arms and the grind of his hips.
Every slurp, every strangled gasp, every thrust is loud. I love the sound of my breathless gasps, the snarl in his breath as heloses his composure, the wet choking noises I make as he spears deeper each time.
His grip tightens until I think he’ll snap my neck. My scalp burns. My eyes water, nose running. I try to keep up, to match his rhythm, but there’s no point—he’s using my mouth, and that’s all I am right now.
He’s relentless. He doesn’t soften, doesn’t slow, just drives in, again and again, until the whole world is just the stretch and fullness and the musky taste of him.
I realize, dimly, that I want this. That I want to be ruined by him, to have my voice stolen, to be emptied and left gasping.
He slams home, cock bottoming out in my throat. I gag hard, but he holds me there, rocking tiny increments, not letting me go.
When he finally pulls out, spit and pre-cum slick my lips. I suck in air, desperate, and he shoves himself back in before I can say anything.
This time, he holds my gaze as I stare up at him. His eyes are wild. The mask is gone—just raw hunger and something like worship.
“Fuuuuuck, pet. That’s it. I’m going to cum down your throat and you’re going to take it like the good boy you are.”
He fucks my mouth until he can’t anymore. Then he shudders, pushes to the back of my throat until I’m sure my throat explodes, and cums so deep I almost choke. The salt and heat flood my throat, and I swallow it all because there’s nothing else to do. It’s endless, and I don’t want it to stop.
He tastes so fucking good.
When he finally lets go, I collapse forward, arms shaking. My cock is rigid, leaking down my legs, but I’m too wrung out to care.
Briar leans over me, both hands on the armrests, knuckles white. His chest heaves. His cock twitches, glistening with spit and cum. He stares at me, and for a moment, he looks afraid.
Not of me, but of himself.
I watch him. I want to say something, but my jaw is numb, tongue thick with the taste of him. The only sound is our uneven breathing.
He bends down, lifts me from the floor like I weigh nothing, and carries me to the bedroom. He lays me on the bed, gentle now, fingers tracing the raw line of my jaw, the bruises on my hips, the marks where his hands held me in place.
He climbs in beside me, wraps an arm around my chest, and pulls me tight against him. His breath tickles the back of my neck, and I shiver, not from cold, but from the shock of feeling safe.
His hand settles on my hip. I cover it with mine, holding him there.
We stay like that for a long time, tangled and wrecked, neither of us speaking.
I know I’m his now.
All I’ve got to do is figure out if he’s playing for keeps, or if one wrong word will send me back to sender in pieces.
Chapter Six: Briar
