“Don’t,” he mumbles. There’s that dark want in his voice that makes me flutter.
I nestle my foot against his length. “Mm. Don’t what?”
“Don’t be a bitch.”
My hand moves to his face. I cup his cheek, yanking it up.
His lips are swollen and shiny. Those eyes are bright and vibrant. The second his eyes meet mine—I feel it. We’ve switched.
“What did you just say?” I ask. I push my thumb into his mouth. He lets me. I slide it against his rough teeth and that hard-working tongue.
He corrects himself: “Don’t,boss.”
I push my knee into his chest. He rolls onto his back and I flip on top of him. Perched on my knees, I lower myself back on his face. He grips my hips and nestles between my legs.
I slip my fingers through that thick, curly hair. His groan vibrates through me and makes me shiver.
“Stick out your tongue,” I tell him, “and let me grind.”
He flattens his tongue against my cunt and then goes still. I position myself so I can rub my swollen, achy clit against that sweet tongue.
“Good boy.” I hear myself sigh. I tighten my fingers in his curls. “Good fucking boy.”
The moans he makes is unholy. I know I’m playing with fire—teasing myself against his mouth—but I can’t help it. It feels too good to stop. I ride the wave of my own pleasure, body clenching, clit throbbing against his tongue. I push myself to the very edge, my thighs quivering, tightening around his head.
But even there, there’s the voice in my head—I’m not allowed to come like this.
And I better stop before I do.
“Take off your pants,” I tell him, breathless.
He shifts underneath me. I slide off his face and shimmydown his body, onto his lap. He sits up. He looks insane—lips and cheeks wet and shiny with me. His hair all askew from the way I’d been twisting it. His eyes have a lust-fueled film over them.
I dip down and catch his lips in mine. Our kiss is messy. He tastes like me. As I kiss him, I slide my hand down to that hard muscle. His cock is so stiff, it pulses in my hand. He groans in my mouth as I give him a couple languid strokes and guide him between my legs. I tuck his cock between my lips. But I don’t take him inside. Instead, I grind against his hard length. I’m so wet, he’s immediately slick with me. The friction makes the both of us shiver as I ride him, up and down, sliding myself over his length.
“You said I could come on your cock, right?” I ask.
“Yes, but?—”
“Please.” My voice is a sweet whine. I nestle against the side of his face. I kiss the edge of his mouth. “Can I please come on your cock?”
I rub myself over him. The muscle swells, throbs, drips onto his stomach.
He’s not the only one who can be a brat. But, I mean, look at me. I’m fucking adorable. A sweet, needy little brat. The muscle in Dorian’s jaw flexes. He’s having a hard time sayingnoto me. He has a hard time denying me anything like this.
“Fuck,” he swears. His voice is rough. “Bad girl.”
I whimper. Each time I slide myself over his cock, it sends me inching closer and closer to the edge of relief. I’m desperate for it now—can a woman die from hanging on the edge for too long? It feels like I might. I lick up his neck. Nip his earlobe. And beg: “Please, sir.”
He breaks. “Cum,” he says. “Do it. Now.”
A cry of relief escapes me. The second he gives me permission, my body takes it. My hips buck forward in tight little jerks. I cave forward, the orgasm too intense, butDorian grips my hair, using his strong grip to hold me up. I hear myself whimpering, I can hear littleoh gods, and I drop myself into the crook of his neck. I inhale him—the smell of a leather-bound journal, well loved—and ride out my orgasm with desperate little mewls.
I’m reeling, twitching, my heart pounding. Dorian grounds me. He presses a single kiss right under my ear. There, his voice comes—that heavy, smooth tone. “You’re so fucking horny, you couldn’t wait.”
I whimper. My voice doesn’t work yet. That doesn’t stop him from filling my ear with his filthy words: “Look at you,” he continues darkly. “Pathetic. What a mess you’ve made on my cock.”
Oh fuck.
