Page 35 of The Rival's Obsession
His voice is low and sharp, smooth as black silk.
“Get your mouth on my cock and suck. Deep.”
God. The way he says it.
Commanding. Controlled. No hesitation.
A fresh gush of arousal slicks between my thighs at the sheer authority in his voice. That rough edge. That tension he never loses.
I fist him in one hand, holding him still as I look up at him. I want him to see it—the way I obey, the way I enjoy it.
Then I lower my mouth.
My tongue circles his head first—slow and teasing—flicking around the ridge, collecting the bead of arousal already gathered at the tip. I hold his gaze as I lick it up, making sure he sees every second.
He curses, the word a whisper ripped from his throat.
I work him for a moment, lips wrapped tight, cheeks hollowing, tongue dancing beneath the head and down his shaft. I can feel how much he loves this. How he’s losing pieces of himself in the feel of my mouth.
This man—so powerful, so put-together, so utterly in control—groaning because of me.
I pull off with a wet pop, keeping my fist tight around the base of his cock as I reach for the deck and draw.
I win.
But I don’t ask my question yet because I know this will end the game.
And I want another moment with his cock in my mouth.
I lick up his shaft again, watching him the entire time. I finally look down while I take him deep, inch by inch. My hand squeezes, guiding him as I slide lower.
He groans. Fists my hair. The sound he makes is feral—deep and primal.
Then he growls, voice wrecked and full of need:
“Così brava per me, piccola… così perfetta con la bocca piena del mio cazzo.”?*
And fuck, I throb at the praise. I don’t know everything he said, but enough to know he fucking loves my mouth on him.
Every filthy word vibrates through me like permission.
Like reward.
And I don’t want the game to end—but I’ve earned my question.
“Does he know you love him?”
I punctuate my question by taking him deep into my mouth once more—slow, unrelenting, sucking hard until his thighs tense beneath my hands. Then I release him with a wet pop, licking my lips as I look up.
“Grant. Does he know?”
I wait and watch.
But I already know the answer.
This thing between him and Grant—it’s not about a woman. It’s not about money. It’s not some petty power play in a boardroom, no matter how convincing their performance might be.
It’s deeper.
