Page 44 of Fallen Rook

When his dick was depleted between my lips, I released him and stood up. “Your turn.”

He took one look at my serious face and started laughing. I fought back a smile. I wasn’t sure if he was laughing with me or at me, but I was positive the effect on me should send me running to the fucking hills.

At what point do you start asking hard questions about the Camorra, asshole? a shred of my former, sane self inquired in the back of my head.

“Can I have one second to catch my breath?” He reached to roll his thumb across the corner of my lips, tucking in a stray drop of cum.

“You can have two, but you need to find my glasses first. I can’t see shit without them.”

“Really?” He tucked himself back into his sweatpants, trying to regulate his breath. “I thought they were a front, to make you look like Henry Cavill’s Clark Kent and drive innocent women and gay men to the brink of horny psychosis.”

I shook my head gravely. “You’re an idiot.”

“You’re not denying it.” He offered me a hand, and when I grabbed it, he pulled me to my feet. “Fine, I’ll go find your nerdy glasses, you blind old bat. Stay here.”

I poured myself a glass of tap water, listening to him dragging furniture in the living room. It was the first time I became aware of my surroundings. Though my eyesight wasn’t the best without my glasses, I could still make out the modestly sized, obscenely expensive Manhattan apartment, with all the telltale signs of a swanky skyscraper like the one I lived in—cookie-cutter, modern kitchen in neutral colors, herringbone, slat walls, and one floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the city.

Enzo came back a few moments later, sliding my glasses along my nose and snatching the water mid-sip, tossing it back in one gulp. “All right, I’m ready for your cock now.”

Chapter Fourteen

Enzo

Lies.

I wasn’t ready for his cock.

What was I thinking, coming into this experience with my usual grit and gumption?

The only cock I’d ever touched was my own, and no matter how many Pilates classes I hit, I still couldn’t give myself head. I’d never sucked dick, and I didn’t want to fall short after Tom had hoovered a heart-attack-worthy orgasm out of me.

Now we were in my bed, with him propped against my pillow. I’d torn the rest of his suit off him in the span of our frantic, messy way here. His dick was out now, me holding it and kneeling between his legs.

The tip was glossy, and he was thick and hard, veins snaking beneath pale, smooth skin.

I felt so incompetent and stupid. I didn’t want him to be disappointed and decide to call this entire thing off. I could barely believe he’d actually come here after the disappointment earlier. I knew this hookup meant jack shit to him, but for me, it was a form of liberation. A way to claim something I’d been brought up to ignore and suppress.

“What if I suck?” I looked up at him.

I could tell by his flat, blasé stare that he wasn’t happy that his dick wasn’t tickling my tonsils yet.

“I’m counting on it,” he said dryly.

“That’s not what I mean. It’s my first time.”

“I know.”

“I might be bad at it.”

He put a hand on my cheek. I fought every fiber of my body that begged me to lean into it. I already behaved like a pathetic little puppy around him.

“We don’t have to do this if you’re not ready,” he said.

I was ready. I just wasn’t ready to disappoint him. In fact, the very thought made a violent rash spread across my chest.

Push it down.

Shove it away from your thoughts.