Page 161 of Unleashed
I stroke myself slowly, just admiring the view. Tilting my head. Letting the silence do the talking. She watches my hand move. Her lips part. Her breathing changes.
"Okay. I can make you a deal, Goldie." I roll my thumb over the tip, watching her eyes track every movement. "You come and get it back yourself."
She frowns, probably working out the meaning.
"But the rules are that you crawl to me. And you can only use your mouth to get it off."
She blinks. "How?"
I shrug, trying hard to bite back my smile. "You want it, you work it out. Suck my dick well enough, I might lend you a spare hand."
Her eyes narrow into slits. That defiant little look she gives me when she wants to tell me to go fuck myself, but knows she's too turned on to mean it.
"Otherwise, this is where it stays. And I'll wear whats-his-nuts twenty-thousand-dollar ring on my cock for the rest of the week. Your call."
She holds my gaze for a beat, then her palms hit the floor.
I keep my feet rooted to the spot as she drops to all fours.
"That's my girl. Crawl to me," I murmur.
Her cheeks flood crimson. The blush spreads down her neck, across her chest. She moves across the hardwood holding eye contact the entire time, and the sight of her crawling toward me is something that will live in my head until the day they put me in the ground.
She stops at my feet and sits back on her knees. She looks up at me with those green eyes, and I swear the room gets smaller.
She lifts her hand toward me, and I tap it away with a tut.
"No hands, baby. Mouth only. Nice and deep. See if you can get all the way down to the ring."
She doesn't hesitate.
She takes me into her mouth slowly, working her tongue along the underside as she goes deeper. Inch by inch. The wet heat of her pulls a sound from the base of my spine that I couldn't stop if I tried.
I grab a fistful of her hair and squeeze my eyes shut.
"Fuuuuck," I groan.
This is heaven. This woman on her knees in my bedroom, her mouth doing things that should be studied by scientists.
I let her set the pace. Let her take her time. She's good at this. She's always been good at this. Knows exactly how to use her tongue, when to go deeper, when to pull back and tease the tip until I'm gripping her hair so tight my knuckles turn white.
I thrust my hips once. Pushing her deeper. She gags, and I feel it vibrate through every nerve in my body. I hold her there for a beat. Then I pull her off, a string of saliva connecting her lips to me, her eyes watering, her chest heaving.
"Good girl," I manage, only barely.
I angle myself so she can reach the barbell where Hudson's ring is threaded. I didn't screw it on tight. But trying to unscrew a piercing ball with nothing but your tongue and your teeth while it's attached to a man who's barely holding himself together is not a simple task.
Her green eyes lock on mine, and she goes to work.
I'll give it to her. She tries. Her tongue nudges the ball, her teeth close gently around it, and she twists. The sensation of her mouth working the piercing while I'm hard enough to crack granite sends lightning bolts up my spine, and I have to tip my head back and stare at the ceiling to keep from losing it.
She tries again. And again. Each attempt sends a new wave of friction through me that makes my legs shake. With each minute that passes, her frustration builds. I can see it in the crease between her brows, the way her jaw tenses, the little growl ofannoyance that vibrates against me and nearly puts me on the floor.
Her tongue flicks against my shaft in retaliation, and I hiss through my teeth.
"Alright, baby. Alright," I mutter. I reach down and unscrew the ball myself.
"Go on then. With your mouth." I raise an eyebrow. "Earn it."
