“Do you want to know what I got you?” He nods, and I tut. “Use your words,mon ange.”
“Oui,” he murmurs, his lips flirting with mine. “I want to know.”
Grinning, I lead him over to the stack of hide beside the chest freezer. “Sit.”
Watching him obey my command is an aphrodisiac more potent than any drug.
“Good boy,” I purr, fingering his top layers. “Take these off.”
His jacket and shirt form a pile on the floor.
Fuck,those muscles could feed an entire army.
“Free yourself.”
Brontë goes rigid. “You’re hurt, Poppy. We can’t; not yet.”
I flick my knife open, pressing the blade to his throat. “That wasn’t a request.”
Hazel eyes flaring with fire, he unbuckles his belt and tugs himself loose. I salivate as beads of gleaming precum slide from his broad head and down the steeled length of his thick, swollen cock. Its curve is deliciously wicked. A weapon of pleasure.
“Fuck yourself,mon roi.”
Brontë leans back on his elbows and pumps himself with long, slow strokes. A feral grin curls my mouth up. He groans like a starved animal.
I remove my top. My hair slips over my peaked nipples as I sink to my knees. He takes care to adjust his feet so my joints are cushioned by his boots.
“Such a gentleman.”
“Only for you.”
My smile widens, nails raking his powerful thighs. “I’ve been wondering if you’d feel like velvet or silk on my tongue.”
“Only one way to find out.”
I lick my lips. “Let me taste you.”
Brontë obliges, fisting himself at the root and nudging my lips. I kiss his crown then lick a single line from his knuckles to the seed leaking from his slit.
“Fuuuuck, ma reine.” His hips buck, his hands curling into my hair. I suckle on the tip, and his head kicks. “Mmm, your mouth is fucking divine.”
I groan, taking him deeper and swallowing him down my throat. He grips me tighter, his tenderness gone. My hand delves under my waistband, fingers circling my clit. I’m lapping him up like I’m the desert and he’s the rain. He’s panting, gripping my nape, and pinching my nipples between his fingers.
He’s close, but I don’t want him to go without me.
I tap my blade against his neck, and he immediately lets me up for air. “You come when I say you can come.”
“I can’t just—” I bite his dick, and he growls, “I don’t come until you say so.”
“That’s my good boy, Scythe.”
He visibly freezes, and it takes me a moment too long to realize why.
Scythe.His old alias. It just slipped off my tongue as easily as his name.
“Kuso.Forgive me, I—”
“Say it again.”
