Page 30 of The Knight (Endgame 2)
He pulls me close until my cheek rests against his thigh. It’s like he’s blessing me, absolving me, but how could that be possible when he’s the worst sinner of all? He can’t save me.
“Little virgin, do you know why your father lost his business?”
I stiffen. “Because of you. You bought it from him, and then—”
“By then it was too late for him. Only a desperate man would try to cheat the devil. How did someone with so much money lose everything?”
The question has haunted me since the trial. I blamed Gabriel Miller for the form of retaliation, but why had my father cheated him? Why had he gambled with his largest business?
Gabriel’s rough fingers stroke my skin, back and forth, soothing me. “Do you want to know the answer?”
It’s a fair question, because even as I’m dying to know—I’m afraid that the answer will be the end. I’ve stood by my father this entire time. Through the trial and the horrible press. Trading in my college fund so that he could pay restitution instead of jail time. I auctioned my virginity so that we could keep the house and pay for his medical care.
He’s a good father, a good man. He doesn’t deserve what Gabriel has done to him.
The entire time a quiet question echoed in my chest. What if I’m wrong about him?
Gabriel leans down to whisper in my ear. “Please me, and I’ll tell you.”
He straightens, and I know what I have to do. My fingers feel numb as I work the fastening of his pants. He’s already hard inside, his cock leaning heavily from the placket once free. Impossibly hot, burning my palm. I stroke him with both hands, working him until his breath comes faster.
“Your mouth,” he says roughly.
And I need some semblance of power, so I lick at the tip. I mouth the hard length of him. I press a chaste kiss to the base, where coarse hair tickles my lips.
He growls low in his throat, the vibration running down his body, through his cock. “Suck me, little virgin. Take me inside. Let me fuck those pink lips. I need to feel your throat.”
His words spark a flame inside me, and it’s with humiliating arousal that I slip him into my mouth. Salt smooths over my tongue, the taste of his weakness. He may not care about me, but he wasn’t lying about the sex. He needs it as badly as I need answers.
He clasps his hands behind my head, murmuring, “Open for me. Open. Just a little bit. I need to use you like this. I need to—fuck, Avery.”
I relax my jaw and let his cock slide deeper, the ridge slick over my tongue, the head thick in my throat. My body jerks once, resisting, but he holds me still—taking my air—until I relax. Not exactly trusting. Accepting what he does to me. That’s the only kind of prayer I know.
His hips move against me, faster now, finding his rhythm, thrusting into my mouth the same way he would between my legs. His groans are an uneven symphony, cataloging his descent.
And that same animal instinct that made me run recognizes his power. His strength. I’m subservient to him in every way, desperate for his protection, submitting to his desires. My body readies itself to ease his way—saliva coating his shaft, arousal damp between my legs.
His smooth movements grow erratic, rough thrusts startling in the dark. I choke on the length of him, but he doesn’t ease up. Doesn’t give me room to breathe. I have to suck in air through my nose, panicked for a moment, eyes wide open.
When he comes, it’s not deep in my throat. It’s with the head of his cock against my tongue, pooling salt where I’ll taste it most, slick and warm. My swallow makes it disappear, but the flavor of him lingers even when he pulls away.
In the aftermath I pant, my forehead pressed to his leg, his trembling hand in my hair.
“I should hate you.” My voice is hoarse, still raw from his cock.
His leg presses between mine. “It’s all right, little virgin. You do.”
“Then why does it feel like this?”
“Because you need to come. Like this. No one can see you.”
My breath catches, because the top of his foot nudges between my legs. It’s horrifying to think of coming like this, rutting against him on the floor, the taste of his come in my mouth—but now that the idea has bloomed, I can’t think of anything else. My hips move on their own, rocking against him, every glance of my panties against the Italian leather of his shoes a sweet relief.
No one can see you. He sees me, every terrifying desire, every secret fear.
His hand fists in my hair, pulling me against him with the same rhythm he fucked my mouth. My body conforms to him naturally, accepting the heat and muscle of his leg in place of a real embrace, welcoming the crude stroke of his shoe in place of a caress.
