Page 92 of Adam
He jerks his hips again, deeper this time. I gag around him, throat clenching, spit all over my lips, and he just groans, his fist yanking my hair tighter like that sound fuels him.
He’s not holding back.
And I don’t want him to.
He tightens the belt harder. My vision pops at the edges, black creeping in, and my lungs are useless, but it doesn’t matter. I’m already drunk on him.
“Fuck,” he groans again, voice breaking. “What are you doing to me …”
His cock throbs against my tongue, hips jerking forward. He’s in deep—so deep I gag around him, and the sound makes him shudder.
“I can’t—Jesus. I can’t think when you—” His words cut off in a growl, his forehead dropping forward, eyes locked on mine.
His grip in my hair tightens more, hurting me. The belt pulls again, enough to make me dizzy.
His hips jerk, rough and impatient. He’s not even trying to control it anymore.
“God,” he chokes out. “You don’t even know what the fuck you’re doing to me.”
He thrusts deeper and shudders, like he’s going to come undone right there. My throat clenches, tears run down my cheeks, and still, he doesn’t ease up.
“I’ve never—fuck—I’ve never wanted anything like I want you.”
His voice cracks, low, hoarse and shaking, and I feel his restraint crumbling as he fucks my mouth.
“Look at me,” he demands. “Eyes on me while I fuck that throat. Show me how desperate you are to be ruined.”
My gaze snaps to his, blurry, and the second he sees me like that, something in him shatters.
“I’d kill for this,” he whispers, ragged. “I’d burn the fucking world down if anyone else ever saw you like this. You’re mine.”
Another hard thrust, reaching deeper, as if punishing me. I gag again, and he groans like the sound alone could make him come.
And then …
He stops.
He just pulls away and stops.
“Enough,” he pants, flushed and wild-eyed.
“What?” I gasp, breathless.
“That was enough,” he says, zipping up, slipping the belt from my throat.
He turns away and simply leaves.
What the fuck?
He didn’t come. He just stopped. He fucking stopped!
I stay kneeling, spit on my chin, heart pounding like I’ve been slapped.
He didn’t even want to finish.
I feel sick.
I know men—when they come, they’re done.
