Page 96 of Reckless Obsession

I spin him around suddenly, pressing his chest to the door and grinding my dick against his ass. Then I drop my mouth to the curve of his neck and find the bruise I left five days ago and bite down hard enough to make him moan loudly and arch back into me.

He tastes like want. Like sin and heat and something I have no business craving this badly.

“Tristan—” His voice is already wrecked.

“Shut the fuck up,” I say against his skin, dragging my tongue over the fresh mark before pulling back to look at it with satisfaction I’m not sorry for. “I’ll give you exactly what you want, spitfire. Do not rush me.”

I spin him back around and kiss him again, deep enough that it feels less like kissing and more like trying to drag every reckless confession out of him by force. This time I pour everything into it. The frustration, the dark thrill of his obsession, the possessive heat clawing through my chest, and that unwanted thread of tenderness I keep trying to kill before it turns into something worse. He melts and fights in equal measure, all heat and defiance and need, and I take every second of it like a greedy bastard. My tongue fucks his mouth while my hand squeezes his throat just enough to make him dizzy with need.

When I finally pull back, we’re both breathing hard enough that the room feels smaller. I take his jaw in my hand and tilt his face up to mine.

“Clothes off,” I say, my voice low and rough. “Now.”

His eyes flare with heat, defiance, and hunger layered so close together they’re almost indistinguishable, but he obeys. He strips quickly, yanking his shirt over his head, kicking off his shoes, shoving his jeans down without ceremony. The sight of him stops something in my chest cold before it starts again twice as loud. He is already hard, flushed, the glint of his Dydoe’s piercing catching the low light, and he stands there and lets me look without flinching.

I watch him the entire time, slowly unbuttoning my own shirt, letting him feel the full weight of my stare.

“Get on the bed,” I command. “Lay on your back and let your head hang off the edge.”

His expression darkens instantly, lust tightening into something almost feral.

“Fuck,” he says, voice low and wrecked and completely without shame, “you’re fucking lethal when you get like this.”

The words land harder than they should.

He moves quickly, settling back across the mattress until his head tips off the edge of the bed, his throat stretched and exposed, eyes still on me even upside down. Still burning, still steady, still entirely too much. The sight of him completely surrendered yet somehow still defiant in the way only he can manage makes something in me pull possessive and dark.

I stand over him, taking my time.

My fingers work slowly at my zipper, drawing out every second while I watch him. I can see the pulse jumping in his throat and the way his hands fist the sheets like he’s barely holding himself together.

I love making him wait.

“Look at you,” I murmur, voice thick with dark possession as I finally free my dick. It springs out, heavy and leaking, and I slap the thick length against his flushed cheek once, twice. His tongue darts out immediately, chasing it desperately. “So fucking desperate for me already. You want this dick, don’t you?”

“Fuck yes, I do.” Maksim breathes, throat working on a swallow, voice already hoarse with need.

“Hmm. Good boy.” I grip the base and rest the swollen head against his parted lips, rubbing it slowly across them. “Now open that pretty mouth. I’m going to show you exactly who’s in charge here.”

He opens wide without hesitation, and I settle the leaking tip on his tongue, letting him taste me.

“Suck on it.”

He does so without hesitation, immediately wrapping his lips around the head, tongue swirling greedily around the sensitive crown. The wet heat of his mouth makes my jaw clench, and a deep, filthy moan vibrates from him like my taste is intoxicating.

“Shit, that feels good.” I hiss, hips twitching. “Do that again.”

He hums around me and obeys, swirling his tongue in slow, sinful circles while his lips stay sealed tight around the head. The pleasure feels so addictive that I start moving in shallow, teasing thrusts, not giving him everything yet, just enough to make him whimper and chase for more.

“Wider, spitfire,” I command, voice husky. “Open that throat for me.”

He obeys instantly. I push forward in one smooth, relentless thrust, sliding past his tongue and burying myself deep into the tight, convulsing heat of his throat until my pelvis meets his lips.

“Fuck… that’s it,” I groan, holding myself there, savoring the way his throat flutters and squeezes desperately around my dick. “Take every inch, baby. I know you can.”

He moans loudly around me, the sound vibrating deliciously around my dick, then I start fucking his throat with slow, deep strokes. Pulling back just enough for him to gasp for air before sliding back in to the hilt. The wet, obscene sounds of him choking and slurping fill the room as drool spills from the corners of his stretched lips.

“Perfect,” I groan, wrapping one hand around his flushed, exposed throat. I can feel the thick bulge of my dick moving inside it with every deliberate thrust, a visceral, obscene reminder of how completely I own him right now. “Relax your throat for me. You want to be mine, don’t you? You want to be my greedy, obsessed little slut?”