Bossed Around

Thea, breathing hard, goes down on her knees.

As I stare in disbelief, she kisses the throbbing head of my cock. “Not a monster.” I grip the nearest shelf, nearly snapping it in my fist when she slides her saliva-glossed lips down a third of my veiny sex, so coarse and vulgar compared to her delicate, feminine mouth. She doesn’t suckle me. She just lets me feel the perfect drag of her tongue, the light scrape of her teeth. All along my most sensitive nerve endings. Turning me into a live wire of sensation. A shuddering mass of gratitude. Is this really happening? Is this perfect angel really taking me into her mouth? “Not a monster, Duncan,” she whispers, licking my shaft long and slow. “A God.”

I can’t stave off the hoarse moan that leaves me.

Prolonged when she takes me to the back of her throat.

I was already her servant. I would have already followed her to the ends of the earth, into hell if she wanted to visit, but now…perhaps I have transcended into something more than a man. If this golden angel wants me, if she has chosen me for this exquisite pain, maybe I am more than a monster. Or a man. After all, isn’t she more than a girl? She’s fallen from heaven. I knew it the moment I laid eyes on her.

I will show her I’m worthy of her treatment. Her attention.

I’ll live for her. I’ll live for this.

Determinedly, I bite down hard on my bottom lip, grinding my wrists together behind my back as if they are in handcuffs, and watch her lips travel up and down my cock, her mouth enveloping me over and over again, leaving slickness behind on the pulsing flesh. Her eyes remain on my face the entire time, as if judging how much torture she can inflict before I reach the point of no return—and that point is swiftly approaching.

“Thea,” I moan raggedly, my abdomen twisting viciously with the need to release. “It’s starting to hurt too bad, baby, baby, angel. Please.”

The sympathy in her eyes almost finishes me.

My soft, little princess is in there, too. I’ll get to hold her as soon as I’ve been treated to the queen and the harlot. There are so many layers, so many dimensions to this girl, and I am starved for them all. I am in love with them all, through and through.

Very slowly, she lets the substantial weight of me fall from her mouth.

She stands, tapping my cock once with her index finger. “Put it away.”

At her breathy, girlish command, precome drips from the tip, splattering onto the floor, and she pouts at me in reaction, turning me on more. More. Needing to pleasure her. Make her happy with me, not perturbed. I’m grunting and trying to get a decent breath while putting my painful erection back in my pants, all the while devouring the sight of her bare shoulders, the slopes of her tits, the swollen quality of her mouth.

When I’ve finally accomplished the task of zipping my pants over the rigid mountain of flesh she created, Thea grips my cock through my pants and leads me out the emergency exit toward my car, a deafening rush blowing in my ears.

I won’t have to ask permission.

I won’t have to ask permission.

Chapter 8

Thea

I’m running.

Sprinting through the grounds of the gallery, sunset turning the sky to fire around me, my hair carrying on the summer wind behind me. This is freedom.

Today was freedom.

I finally have to accept it—I’ve been a prisoner at the hands of my uncle for six years. There’s no denying it to myself anymore. He did wrong by me, just like my parents. Keeping me from a world that might have dark spots, but also has so much beauty to offer.

I don’t have to live in bitterness, though, over what has been done to me.

I can move on. I can move on just like this. Free.

As soon as Duncan put the car in park, I threw open the door and dove out, his menacing growl lifting goosebumps on every inch of my skin. Satisfaction and excitement and desire are living things inside of me, so heady that I’m gasping, bombarded by need, my legs turning so jelly-like, they barely carry me around the stone structure, through the trees that surround the place I’ve called home for so long.

I throw a glance over my shoulder, equal parts nervous and exhilarated, but there is no sign of him. Somehow, though…I know he’s near. That he’s watching, waiting to pounce, and I want to scream from the anticipation.

The whole way home, I massaged him through the fly of his pants.

Kissed his neck.

Let the strap of my slip fall down to my elbow, baring my breasts.

By the time we pulled down the lane, Duncan’s eyes were burning, his expression reminding me of ancient berserkers I read about in school. In a furious, trancelike state. I’ve never felt anything so hard as what I held in my hand, stroking, torturing, stopping just as he reached the edge, ready to fall off.