Page 43 of The Queen (Masterpiece Duet 2)
I curl my fingers into the waistband of his briefs, tugging downward. His cock springs forward, even larger once it’s released from its confines. My throat feels thick at the sight of it. The dark head and the smeared wetness at the tip. The vein running along the smooth length.
The scent of him makes me lightheaded—salt and faint sweat. I turn liquid inside. For once my mind falls silent from its calculations and its worry. There’s only his maleness, his beautiful selfishness.
There’s only making him feel good.
Grasping him at the base, I tilt his cock toward me. And press a single kiss to the tip.
He makes a startled sound, like he didn’t expect this. Couldn’t have predicted this. And maybe that’s true. He’s pushed me away so hard and so often that maybe I should have gone. Except for the way his hips push out, reaching for my mouth even as his back presses against the door.
“Tell me if I’m doing it wrong,” I whisper again.
His breath shifts. “I’m going to hurt you, sweetheart. Don’t let me hurt you.”
But it doesn’t hurt to slick my tongue over the tip. It doesn’t hurt to wrap my mouth around the thick knob of him, to stretch my jaw to take him deeper. It isn’t quite pleasure either, nothing like when he forced my thighs apart and made me cry out. This is something different, the act of service, the feeling of surrender as I use my body to please his. Selfish, selfish, and how is that a good thing? How is that sexy and alluring? I don’t know the math behind it, but that’s okay. My body understands. It makes me warm and hot at my core. It makes me clench my thighs in helpless anticipation.
I take him into my mouth again and again, using the same rhythm he used on me, feeling it in every throb of my body. A small spurt of saltiness appears on my tongue, slicking the way as he pushes in deeper. “Fuck,” he says. “No. I can’t. I shouldn’t.”
It suddenly seems like the worst kind of tragedy. Not even every scar on his body, as terrible as they are. It’s this, the way he can’t let himself feel pleasure. The way he can’t even undress in a room full of undulating bodies, the way he can’t let one of them touch him.
A sense of urgency overcomes me, and I put my other fist on his cock. They’re both there, holding the part of him that’s too far down for me to reach with my mouth. Even with both hands around him, there’s enough of his cock to fill my mouth. To bump gently against the back of my throat.
My throat convulses, and the sound of my gag fills the room. My eyes water. Humiliation sweeps up my chest, for not being able to do this right, for being so bad at it, but he makes a helpless groan.
He wants that, I realize with a soft exhalation. Those fists against the door. They aren’t about protecting himself from pleasure. They’re about protecting me from pain.
Don’t let me hurt you.
I lean back until he’s not in my mouth, until my lips rest against the silk-smooth tip. And then my hands fall to my side, loose and defenseless.
“Hurt me,” I whisper.
He stares down at me, struggling with himself. With his impulses. His past.
And then he grabs me in a sudden, terrifying rush. He turns me so that it’s my back against to the door. My fists against the wood. Somehow I keep from pushing him away from me, even when he presses his cock to my lips. He probably expects me to do that. He probably would stop if I did.
Instead I open to him, letting him press into my mouth harder and faster and deeper than I ever would have done it myself. He goes far enough that I’m gagging on the very first thrust, the back of my head knocking gently against the door.
One of his hands cups my jaw, holding me steady so that he can pull out and push back in.
There’s no exploration like before, not tasting him or feeling him with my tongue. It happens too fast for that, too forcefully. I can only stare up at him with wide eyes, struggling to breathe.
“Is this what you wanted?” he says, sounding breathless. Sounding angry. “You wanted me to push my cock between your gorgeous, fuckable lips? You want me to make you choke?”
My eyes widen, but there’s no time to protest. No time to do anything but suck in a breath as he pushes in deep enough that it feels like he’s splitting open my throat, stretching tender flesh beyond its boundaries. Blocking the only path to air. My lungs burn, but nothing happens until he decides to pull out again. I’m completely at his mercy.
