My eyes are watering, but I keep going.
His head falls back, neck straining, jaw tight as he fights the edge.
His cock fills my mouth, thick and heavy. I can feel every pulse, every salty bead leaking from the tip. My hand works the base, stroking what I can’t fit.
He groans, low and ragged, hips rocking forward. I swirl my tongue around the head and he jerks in my mouth.
“I’m going to push in more,” he pants. “Relax your throat.”
I try.
I really try.
But the second he thrusts deeper, I gag. My eyes water as I choke around him, lips stretching wide.
He groans, pulling back just enough for me to breathe.
“Such a good girl,” he praises, tilting my head back and stroking himself with his other hand. “Now I’m going to fuck your throat just like I fuck your little pussy.”
Heat rushes between my legs. He guides my head back down, and I part my lips eagerly. He starts thrusting, his pace controlled but relentless, fucking my mouth with the same deep, claiming rhythm he uses when he’s buried inside me. Every push forces me to take more, his grip in my hair holding me exactly where he wants me, making me feel every thick inch until my throat tightens around him.”
I moan, still sucking. I look up at him and dig my nails into his thighs.
He twitches hard.
“Here it comes,” he grits, his cock swelling even more in my mouth.
I moan again, nodding.
And then he snaps—thrusts fast and shallow, abs flexing.
He explodes.
“Fuck,” he growls through gritted teeth.
His cock jerks hard in my mouth, hot streams spilling in. I swallow fast, desperate to take it all, but it’s too much.
He keeps coming and I’m choking, gagging, tears streaking down my face as he uses my mouth.
I swallow the last of him and pull back, panting. His hand cradles the back of my head as he tries to gain his breath.
Then he looks down at me, wipes a tear from my cheek, thumb dragging through the spit on my mouth and smearing it across my bottom lip.
“Such a good girl,” he groans. “You did so fucking good, baby.”
Then he leans in to me, lips brushing my ear.
“Now pack your bags,” he whispers, voice low and dangerous. “Your brother’s waiting for you.”
Chapter nineteen
~JACE~
The truck rumbles to a stop in front of Dom’s mansion, tires crunching over the gravel.
We’re home.
And I already fucking hate it.
