Page 27 of Manic

Even though my heart thumped beneath my ribs, I smiled and leaned forward with parted lips, holding his gaze. Without warning, I roughly took his cock in my mouth.

“Fuck,” he grunted.

Then a rumbling groan escaped him, his head falling back, so all I saw was the underside of his sharp jaw. An unnatural amount of satisfaction ran through me.

His length hit the back of my throat, and I immediately gagged, my throat constricting. My eyes watered, and he grunted when I dragged my tongue over him and sucked harder, putting every ounce of my hatred into it.

My head bobbed roughly, my lips gliding with ease.

The heady taste of his pre-cum coated my tongue, and my pulse roared. He fucked my mouth. Hard.

I realized then that I was mindlessly rocking my hips, my clit swelling as it ran over the seam of my sweats. My face grew hot, and sweat trickled down my temple.

Why was I enjoying this?

As my pleasure built, I moaned around his cock, opening my throat to take him deeper and deeper. I hated how good he tasted, yet I wanted more.

“Christ,” he hissed, his lips parting.

Then he whimpered, the sound entirely unhinged, which only made me work harder. Faster.

His breaths turned wild as he thrust into me, and he braced his free hand against the windows. I pushed my palms into his thighs as he robbed me of air, my lungs burning with each wild drive of his hips. My head banged repeatedly against the glass.

“I should have fucked your mouth years ago,” he grunted and stared down at me. Sweat ran down the bruised bridge of his nose, his red cheek. From where I hit him. Twice. “Look at you, taking all of me. So pretty.”

A second later, his gun fell with a clank, but he quickly kicked it aside. He gripped my head with both hands, driving his cock into my mouth over and over, consumed with pleasure.

Saliva slipped from the corners of my mouth. I cried around him and pressed my hand against his torso. His abs constricted beneath my palm, his cock tensing in my mouth.

“You’re going to swallow every fucking drop,” he demanded, then groaned again. Like the idiot I was, I moaned in agreement. He echoed above me, his hands tightening their grip in my hair.

Eager to hear him shatter, I pressed my lips down and swirled my tongue over his crown. My own release built, my clit swelling with tight pressure, building lower and lower.

Don’t fucking cum, don’t fucking⁠—

I moaned wildly around him, fisting his shirt, my body convulsing as my climax tore through me in violent trembles. Within seconds, Manic exploded, grunting his release with one final thrust. His cum shot down my throat.

Tears lined my cheeks, and I panted heavily through my nose, still searching for fucking air.

But as his thrusts slowed, he braced both hands on the windows as he caught his breath. After a few seconds, he eased out of my mouth, tucked himself away, and carefully secured his belt.

“Did you just cum?” he asked breathlessly, tilting his head to the side.

I blinked and brushed my fingers over my numb lips, tingling with returned feeling. His cum dripped from the corner of my lip. I just came with my kidnapper’s cock in my mouth… without touching myself. Because I liked it. My stomach turned.

“Interesting,” he said.

Then he yanked me up by the collar of my shirt with a feral growl. I stumbled and gasped when he trailed his tongue from my chin to my mouth, tasting himself. His eyes fluttered and he stilled, his chest heaving two long breaths as he stared at the ceiling.

I had no idea what to do at this moment—kick him? Fight more? Stand here and wait? I took in his features, mesmerized by the lines of his throat as he swallowed, the lump of his adam’s apple, and the stubble along his jaw. For a moment, all I saw was a complex person ripped apart by mental battles I couldn’t comprehend and wondered if he hated his life.

My breath hitched when his hand clamped around my shirt.

Manic exhaled, as if he were pondering something that was hard to grasp in his mind. His piercing eyes fell to me, and nothing but a roaring hunger settled within them. Whatever he’d sorted through caused him to forcefully back me toward the bed and push me onto the mattress, like something in him had snapped.

I blinked. “What are you doing?”

I rose to my elbows, eyes wide, and fought the urge to pass out as my head continued to spin. Years ago, in my early months of college, I had taken a few drugs at a party. The feeling was similar to now—like I was floating in the clouds, consumed by a violent wave of whole body euphoria. I feared Manic Mortaine was the type of drug I wouldn’t be able to quit now that I’d had a taste. And knowing that irritated me.