Page 107 of Manic

I lifted my brows. He was definitely loud. “A hundred bucks says you make noise first.”

“Fine. You have a deal.”

Well, shit. I wasn’t expecting that.

My stomach somersaulted at the thought of not crying my makeup off. The moment his cock hit the back of my throat, my eyes would be watering.

“My lipstick—how can I not ruin that?”

“Your lipstick is about to be around my cock. The only exception.”

I groaned before glancing at the tile beneath our feet, my face already hot. “Give me your jacket.”

“No.”

His mouth tilted up as he worked his belt, panic seizing me at the sound of his zipper cutting through the air. Then he plucked a purple lilac from the basket, placed it behind my ear, and dragged his finger from my jaw to my chin. My nerves burned.

“I want your knees screaming in pain, baby, especially with my cock in your mouth. If you even think about using teeth⁠—”

“You talk too much,” I hissed, and sank to my knees, a rush of adrenaline taking over. He laughed quietly as the hard, cold floor bit into my skin, but I refused to give him the satisfaction of letting him know it hurt.

His pants lowered just enough to free his cock, hard and ready as he gripped himself. My mouth watered as I recalled just how good he tasted. With his focus on me, he slowly worked himself from base to tip. Then he extended his hand and my brows furrowed.

“Spit,” he ordered.

My nostrils flared, and heat crept to my ears. He wanted me to spit in his fucking hand? My cheeks burned hotter, but I leaned over anyway. Saliva flooded my mouth before dripping off my lips.

I spit into his hand.

His pupils dilated, swallowing the blue of his irises, and he wrapped both hands around his cock, roughly working his length mere inches from my face. Just the sound had my heart pounding. I fucking squirmed.

Manic guided his hips forward, and my lips instinctively parted. Anticipation thrummed my insides as I closed my mouth around his cock and ran my tongue over him in a slow circle. Manic hissed quietly, then grabbed a fistful of my hair.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

I lifted my eyes, and the corner of his mouth turned up.

Fucking asshole.

That only made me work faster because I wanted to watch him break. My head bobbed roughly, my lips gliding effortlessly over his shaft until the heady taste of his pre-cum coated my tongue.

He hit the back of my throat, and I fought the gag, fought the tears collecting in my eyes as he fucked my mouth.

In public.

Public.

He was fucking my mouth in a god damn greenhouse.

Desire bloomed in my core as I worked up and down his length, taking him deeper and enjoying every inch of his cock.

If I had been allergic to anything, I would have eaten it just so my throat could be tighter for him.

I blinked hard, willing those tears not to fall while simultaneously fighting my arousal and the urge to rock my hips. My clit pulsed and throbbed, the ache driving deeper.

I was on the verge of coming.

“Don’t you dare cry,” he grunted, pumping into me over and over again. “Your lipstick looks so pretty on my cock.”