She parts her lips, showing me the cum pooled on her tongue.
My dick twitches at the sight. “Fuck,” I groan. “The only place my cum would look better is dripping from your pussy.”
At those words, she nearly chokes.
I wrap my hand around her throat. “You can swallow now.”
Her throat bobs beneath my palm. And when she licks her lips, my dick is ready for round two.
“Can I kiss you?”
She angles in, her tongue darting into my mouth.
When my own taste registers, I nearly black out with need. Hands on her ass, I tug her closer. “Jump, baby.”
She pulls away, her brow knitted with apprehension. She’s thinking I can’t hold her weight, but I don’t let her get away with brushing off the command.
“When I say jump,you jump,” I growl. “Now go.”
We bend together, and I effortlessly lift her off the floor. With her legs wrapped around my waist and my cock wedged between us, I carry her to the bedroom.
Carefully, I set her on the bed and take a step back. “On your hands and knees, honey.”
26
Millie
WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING?
One minute I’m ready to drop-kick a bitch for hooking up with my fake husband, the next I’m falling to my knees, eager to suck the man off.
I’ve had some heated hookups, including one with him, but none like that. His authoritative stance and the way he told me exactly what to do had me weak in the knees.
I’ll take stage direction from him anytime.
Now, standing over me, he growls, “On your hands and knees, honey.”
I instantly obey.
The bed dips behind me, and then Ezra gathers my hair at my nape and brings it over my shoulder. Slowly, he trails his fingers down my spine, eliciting a shiver from me, and stops at the strings tied in the middle of my back. When he tugs and the fabric gives way, my breasts hang free and my nipples immediately harden to points. He unties the strings at my neck as well and tosses the top to the side.
In tandem, he releases the bows at my hips, and the bottomsfall to the bed, leaving my ass on display. The mattress gives, as if he’s backing off.
Heart in my throat, I peek over my shoulder. Hovering beside the bed, Ezra pulls his hair back with the pink scrunchie I left on the nightstand, his biceps flexing.
When he steps forward again, he curls over me, his bare chest brushing my back, and grinds his piercings against my ass.
“When did you get those?” I ask, the question escaping with a gasp.
“Shortly after that night.”
That night. The evening we found out we’d both been played by the same woman.
“I cut my hair really short too.” He laughs against my ear.
I lock my arms, stiffening. “You did not.” I cannot imagine Ezra without his signature locks.
He hums. “I did. The hair was on a whim, but I got the piercings to mark turning a page in my life. I hated what she did to me—to us—and I wanted a way to signify anafter. Maybe it’s silly, but?—”
