Bound to Cruelty

The light is low, but I take a moment to stare at him. He’s thick in my grasp, long and hard, with a slight bend at the tip. Even his damn cock is gorgeous. Figures.

I readjust my grasp and trace the head of him over my lips. He tastes salty, and I lick the slit and then suck him down as far as I can get in my throat.

I can’t hear his words above the table, but his voice falters for a second, his friend’s tone turns questioning.

A little zip of pride bursts in my chest like a sparkler. A tiny spark flares brighter, and I push my boundaries, taking him down my throat so far, I almost gag.

His knees quake around my biceps, his thighs tense. I brace my hand on one thick muscular thigh and bring my hand up from the base of him to meet my lips with each deep slow suck.

I’ve always been so indifferent about blow jobs, but this one is different. It makes me feel powerful in a way I’ve never felt before. I’ve reduced this stunning man to quaking, and I want more.

So much more.

I lean into him, tilting my head to take him deeper, relaxing my jaw. His legs shake under my hold, and his hand comes down to tense on my shoulder.

I freeze for a heartbeat, waiting. If he pinches me again, he’ll regret it.

Instead, he curls his hand behind my head and into the hair at the nape of my neck. To his credit, he doesn’t push or try to move me. It’s like he just wants me to know he’s with me.

For that, I try to take him deeper and faster. Something’s changed. If this is meant to be a punishment, I’ll take it any day. The taste of him is intoxicating. The sense of power I feel is a drug all its own.

There’s some shifting by the other man. I can’t see him, but his knee nudges the base of the table, which is hiding me. Then silence.

I stop and lift my lips from Michail. Just in time for him to tuck himself away and then drag me up into the booth beside him.

“You can manhandle me a little less. That would be nice,” I manage as I wipe my mouth on my forearm.

His eyes are dark with fire, his lips turned down as his strong jaw flexes. “Let’s go.”

I’m tempted to lean back in the booth, move slowly, and deny him. But the wicked hot pulse in my body, in my nipples, in my clit spurs me out of the seat beside him. He takes my hand, weaving our fingers together, and leading me out of the club to the elevator.

The shift in noise is jarring, but I keep my focus on him. What’s going to happen now? Will he lick me? Fuck me? Do I want that? I don’t even have to pretend in my mind. I want his hands on me more than I want to prop up my pride.

We stand in tense silence, his hand still tucked with mine. Nothing but the soft whine of the elevator between us.

He drags me out of the elevator to our door, opens it with a jerk and shoves it hard, as if he wants to slam it. The piston at the top whooshes, but slowly closes the door.

Now that we are alone, doubt creeps through my chest as I tug my hand from his grip. “What was that all about? Were you putting on a show for your friend, or...”

His back is to me, only the city lights outside cut the darkness of our shared living space. It glances off his curls and the hard edge of his shoulders.

I study his back, waiting for him to answer, or murder me, or hell, throw me back to my knees and shove his dick in my face again. I know which one my traitorous pussy is voting for.

A heartbeat passes, then he turns, grabs my forearm, and once again drags me behind him toward his bedroom door this time. We enter, and I stare around the space I’ve barely had a glimpse of since we checked in. The room is the mirror image of mine, except his is tidy in a way mine won’t be unless I actually make an effort to clean up.

I indulge my curiosity and keep looking around. There are stacks of books on most flat surfaces, all neat, ordered by size. Even his bed is perfectly made, and I know for a fact the maids only drop off towels. They don’t actually clean anything.

He drops my arm and spins to face me, then flips on the lamp beside his bed.

With rough jerks, he strips his suit jacket off and lays it over the armchair in the corner. Then he works the tie at his throat to strip it off, adding it to the jacket.