She fuckingdoes.
No hesitation, no comment, no smug grin.
Just lips parting, mouth hot, tongue sliding over me and taking me deep into the back of her throat like she means to suck every ounce of sadness, pain, and regret out of my body and replace it with the best. fucking. head. of. my. life.
Just when I think this is all too good to be true—that Tori’s actually submitting to me, swallowing my cock without a fight—I flinch.
This salty bitch pinches my fucking taint.
Andholy shit.
I bite down on my knuckle to keep from screaming, the pain sharp and blinding—right behind my balls, precise and punishing—and I can't fucking help it.
I have never been more turned on in my life.
This shouldnotfeel good.
Why does this feelso fucking good?!
I glance down and look at her.
She’s got her other hand under her skirt, between her legs, but she’s fumbling. Frustrated. Uncoordinated.
She finally pulls it out, bracing that left hand against my thighs—heaven forbid she relinquish the death grip on my goddamn taint.
That’s fine, Tote. Two can play this game.
She’s whimpering now. Struggling. Shifting on her knees.
Still sucking my cock like her life depends on it, relaxing her throat, swallowing around my head, using her tongue and her teeth to play with my piercing each time she draws her mouth back to the tip—my God—but she willnotlet go of that pinch.
This woman is driving me insane.
“Fuck—Tori?—”
Isnap.
Gripping her hair with both hands, I thrust into her mouth the way I’ve wanted to for weeks—brutal, ragged, raw.
She moans like she’s starving, takes everything I give her, the burn between her thighs practically vibrating in the air around us.
And when I come, it’s violent. Fast.
Her nails dig in. My vision whites out.
And I lose every last shred of composure I have.
She finally pulls off me, her lips swollen, spit slick on her chin, eyes glassy and wild and so goddamnbeautifulI almost forget how to breathe.
But I can’t let her have the last word.
Not afterthat.
She’s still on her knees, thighs clenched together in obvious arousal. I brush a strand of hair off her sweat slicked forehead—gentle, almost reverent—and murmur, “Did that turn you on, Tote?”
Her eyes go wide, electric. Is that… hope of reciprocity?
“Tell me,” I say, tracing my finger from her hair down her jawline. I use my pointer finger to tip her chin slightly more upward. I want to see her fire. “Are you desperate enough for me to touch your wet pussy that you’d let me stick a needle through it? Because I don’t think you deserve to get off after talking shit like that.”
