Page 110 of Honey Cut
The last word is bitten off as his whole body seems to clench and he gives a ragged curse. White ropes, thick and hot, erupt from the slit at the end of his erection, and paint my chest and stomach. He leans forward a little, not purely out of mindless pleasure, I realize, but so that his seed lands on my own erection, so that my sex is glazed white with his orgasm.
He strokes every last drop out of himself, not wasting a single bit, even the very last pearl, which he wipes free with the pad of his thumb and then makes me suck clean.
My erection jerks in the air, untouched by anything except his semen, and I whimper around his thumb. The pressure between my hips is torture, and even though I’ve already come tonight, my body is primed like I’ve been deployed for nine months.
Mark lets go of himself, zips back up. He looks down at where my hips are stuttering, like I’m trying to fuck the air. And then he lifts his knee, so that the underside of my dick is now rubbing against the top of his dress shoe.
His lashes go even lower as he watches me buck against the gleaming leather, and he says my favorite words.
“If you can come like this, you may.”
I waste no time, stroking my cum-wet frenulum against his shoe, gasping, garbling I don’t even know what kind of fucking nonsense, that I love him, that he’s everything, that I want to come for him whenever he wants. That he can do whatever he wants to me, please will he do whatever he wants to me, please will he give me his wife to fuck too, because I’ll be so good, I’m always so good for him. I’ll treat her right, she’ll always come so hard, I’m such a good puppy, please, please,please?—
The orgasm is rough and long and messy, all over his shoe and the cuff of his pants and the floor, and still he holds his shoe up, and still I rub my needy cock against it, needing to empty myself completely, fully, needing to show him what a good boy I am?—
The last dry pulses of it have me shuddering, slumping, and then he sets his shoe down.
“I think you know what to do now,” he says kindly, and I do, I do know. I lean forward on my hands and lick every last drop off his shoe and the expensive wool cuff of his trousers.
When I finish, I look up at him, my vision static-filled and my fingers and toes tingling. Adrenaline and norepinephrine. Oxytocin and dopamine. I’m flying high and about to crash fast.
He gets to his knees too, unheeding of the cum on the floor now staining his trousers, and he presses his lips to mine. He doesn’t waste time mapping my lips or sharing air—his tongue seeks mine right away. He tastes like whiskey, and it’s so novel, and I moan into his mouth, my fingers curling into his jacket. I never want him to stop kissing me. I never want this night to end.
He pulls back with closed eyes and a heaving chest. “Go to bed, Tristan,” he breathes.
“Sir—”
“Drink water and get an extra blanket and then go to bed.”
“But—”
He’s getting to his feet and stepping back. Going to the box and putting it back in the safe. Closing it. “We will have a long night tomorrow with the Samhain celebration. We all need to sleep.”
I’m getting to my feet too, tucking myself back in my pants and feeling foolish. Like I’ve misunderstood something.
“Mark,” I say, and that stops him. He swings the magnolia picture closed and looks at me.
“Yes, Tristan?”
“I meant what I said on the roof. Punish us. Give us cruelty since we deserve it. But don’t make this the end.”
He looks away, his throat working, his entire body a bowstring of tension now. His hand flexes by his side. And then he turns away, to the door that leads to the elevators outside his office. I think Dinah was right earlier. He’s going to sleep in one of the rooms below.
“Good night, Tristan,” he says, and he shuts the office door behind him.
forty-one
ISOLDE
“…and that’s about it,”Tristan finishes. I can’t see his face because I’ve set my phone on the bathroom counter while I finish doing my makeup, but I don’t have to look at it to know that slashes of red have appeared on his cheeks. Describing how he ejaculated all over Mark’s shoe and then licked it up is hard to do with any shred of dignity.
But it’s not what Mark and Tristan did just a wall away from the apartment that sticks in my mind. No, it’s the casual detail Tristan mentioned in the middle of the story, about how Mark unlocked his safe with his watch.
His watch.
Why hadn’t it occurred to me that his watch could be a key? He always wears it, and when he doesn’t, he always keeps it secure and close. And if it’s a key for the safe, it could be a key for the server room as well…
“Ah, he’s texting, I need to get down there,” Tristan says. Mark is welcoming all the hedonists to Lyonesse tonight, giving them Samhain greetings and letting them know what wickedness is in store for them. Each room at Lyonesse has been claimed and then transformed into an otherworldly miniature playground, and while there will be dancing and partying in the hall, guests are also welcome to come do kinky trick-or-treating in the various rooms. They might get swats from a witch’s broom or get mock-kidnapped by a band of cheerleaders. There will be a little something for everyone tonight, if they want it.
