“I’ve never—”
“It’s a king’s crown,” I cut her off, in case she’s about to mention other cocks, which I cannot handle.
Vertical curved barbells, pierced through the coronal ridge, adorn the entire circumference of the head, like a platinum crown. On my dick.
“Fitting,” she sings, and if I’m not imagining things, she’s nearly drooling.
Jesus.
“May I?” she asks with a saccharine warble.
That’s all for my benefit, and I don’t need it. The allure of her strength outweighs my appetite to dominate, but it feels like a gift, like a seed of trust that I’m so desperate to watch flourish. I want her to lay her fierceness at my feet, with her hunger for me, eager to please. Because then I’ll be free to worship her in all the ways I imagine.
This woman is lethal.
I gather her tousled mahogany mane and coil it twice around my hand, tugging on it to offer her scalp a prickling tingle that I think she’ll appreciate. “Yes. Use your mouth now.”
The instant her tongue laves the precum leaking from the head and trickling down my shaft, we share a collective moan. She plays for a beat—swirling the barbells, teasing the slit, sucking and retreating—and I allow it. But my restraint has been tested too much tonight, and every swipe is pure agony. So, I shove myself inside the wet warmth of her mouth, and she opens for me.
Using my thumb, I massage the hinge of her jaw to loosen her a bit. “Wider for me, Zar. Relax.”
That enables me to press further, and while I can’t fit my entire length in her mouth, her tonsils tickle my tip, and she swallows. Like a damn fantasy. I mutter a string of curses, and my balls draw up with a heavy ache.
“There you go,” I encourage, retreating to let her catch her breath for a beat, and then without any other warning, I ram in and out of her divine mouth.
She takes it with the same elegance she carries in a conference meeting or sipping cocktails. Her chin is held high with her determination to hollow her cheeks in victory. One hand kneads my balls, her index finger dusting my taint, while the other clutches my hip. Desire paints her face, but she’s fully devoted to sucking me off, her attention fixated on me. And only me.
Before I tell her to seek her own satisfaction, I repeat what she couldn’t comprehend a little while ago, each section of my confession punched out with my thrusts. “No woman … has ever been … in here before. Only you, Zara.”
It’s dangerous to tell her that because offering her more than this night is reckless. There are things I need to set in motion. But I’m sure she’s heard rumors about me. I felt it weighing on her when she was nestled on my lap and when I was tasting her—that decadent sweetness still coats my tongue. Dying of thirst and starvation is a real possibility because I don’t want her flavor to ever leave my mouth. And I can’t bear for her to believe she isn’t special. To not grasp that she’s worth it. Whether I can keep her or not, she’ll be with me forever.
A tear tracks down her cheek, and I’m not sure if it’s from my admission or the fact that I’m being anything but gentle.
I gather it on my thumb, depositing yet another piece of her on my tongue. “Even your tears are fearless, my little Thorn.”
She purrs, peering at me, utterly transfixed as tremors rack through her thighs. She’d be begging me if she could speak. It nearly has me withdrawing just so I can hear her zealous entreaties, but her mouth feels too good.
“Move, baby,” I order, holding her head so she can’t divert her attention or seek relief for her throat. “That mouthwateringpink cunt is probably aching and swollen. And so fucking wet, like you were before.”
So goddamn wet.
Her hips rock, and the vibrations of her unleashed whimpers encircle my dick, jolts of electricity zipping up my spine.
“That’s my girl,” I praise before I sprinkle in the degradation she clearly feeds off of. “Such a greedy slut for me.” Fisting her silky hair tighter, I pump into her more vigorously. “You had my fingers and tongue in that delicious pussy. Now my cock is in your throat, but you’re rubbing yourself raw on that pillow, fucking the leather and fantasizing about me filling you up with my cum.”
Another groan wraps around my length as her eyes flutter. Humiliation is her undoing. Maybe a breeding kink too. She’s fascinating. I want to learn her, mold myself into the man she’s always dreamed of, and etch myself on her until she can’t even fathom someone else touching her.
We find our rhythm, and she rides that pillow with abandon. The more worked up she gets, the frothier her mouth becomes. The more aggressive her squeezes on my balls grow, the more her glorious tits bounce. And her noises—her fucking noises—turn that wet and wild mouth into shuddering waves of pleasure.
I can’t fucking see straight or think. My orgasm builds at the base of my spine, low in my abdomen, and heavy in my limbs. I won’t succumb to it until she’s ready though.
She’s almost there. Her cheeks are tear-streaked. Pupils blown. Nipples taut. I’ve never witnessed anything more enthralling. She is the quintessential representation of danger in beauty, the suffering that can only arrive if you’ve held something spectacular in your hands. And it spears you.
My perfect Thorn.
The humiliation keeps spurring her on, fueling her greed. She’s recklessly teasing her clit, stealing every twinge she can capture. Desperate and voracious.
And I want her like this all the time. Owning whatever shame lurks inside her and twisting it—the regrets, the torment, the fear of never being liberated—until it elevates her to embrace all she was meant to be.
