Page 99 of The Fire We Crave

Her cheeks go the loveliest shade of pink. Like she’s been in the sun a touch too long. “What if I wanted to know your opinion on cock worship and choking?”

I love the curiosity and uncertainty in her voice.

I undo the rest of the buttons on her dress and push it open. She stands, unashamed, in her underwear and cowboy boots. “Cock worship is exactly what it sounds like. You worship my cock. Everything about it. I like when everything slows down. I like it edged. You can verbally or physically admire everything about it. It’s an extension of me. It’s how I show you what I feel for you. Would make me feel like a fucking king if you degraded yourself to love it. Spit on it. Take it to the back of your throat and beyond. Gag on it. Get on your knees and crawl to it. Choke on it. End up a hot fucking mess because I stopped your air, but you did it for me anyway.”

She strokes a hand over my already hard cock. “I think worshipping you would be easy.”

I hover between a pleasure Dom and a primal Dom. I’ll happily dish the nastiest of punishments to wrangle a willing sub into line. But something tells me with Quinn, I won’t have to.

Something also tells me that I’ll find it hard to dish anything that would actually hurt her. There’s an ache in my chest that comes with the idea that someone who has already gone through so much in their life deserves more hurt.

“So, ask me,” I say.

“Ronan, would you let me…worship your cock tonight?”

“Fuck, those words sound pretty coming from your mouth.” The praise makes her smile, and I make a note of that. “Yeah, sugar. I’d like that.” I lead her back to her bedroom.

“Would it be okay if I started with washing it? Like, I think there was a Bible story, right? Didn’t one of the women wash Jesus’s feet with water as part of the ritual?”

I’m no fan of the old book, but maybe there is something kinky hiding in plain sight there. “You have my permission to wash it.”

She glances up at me, that mischief there again. “As long as I spit on it after, right?”

I put my hand to her throat and push her back against the wall gently. “Pray for it, first, and you can do whatever you like after.”

She bites down on her lip. “I’m sorry, I was only teasing.”

I kiss her soundly, using my tongue to dip inside those lips of hers. I want her taste tattooed on my tongue. I want to capture her every breath and puff of air. “Good. Now, go get water and come back naked.”

I step into her room and shuck my clothes. While it might be nice for her to learn how to undress me later, I feel like lastingthrough her tentative explorations might be enough of a sensory challenge as it is.

When she returns, she’s done as I said. The clothes are gone, and in her hand is a glass bowl filled with water. Bubbles dance on the surface, and the scent of citrus fills the room.

She places it on the table next to the bed, and I reach my hand out to touch the side of the bowl. It’s warm, but not too hot. There’s a chair in the corner of her room. It’s small, but it will work.

I sit on it, shuffling my ass forward so it’s near the edge, and lean back with my legs open. I want her to have as much room as she wants to work.

And I’m really fucking eager to see what she does.

She kneels in front of me and surprises the fuck out of me by bowing her forehead until it touches the floor.

My ego utterly gets the better of me. It might be Quinn’s bedroom in the most old-fashioned apartment I’ve ever been in, but the sight of her, head bent, worshipping me, worshipping my fucking cock, is utterly empowering.

She remains there, taking one breath after another. I see it in the rise of her narrow shoulders, the way her ribs expand and contract. She’s in no rush.

She’s making me wait.

My cock twitches in anticipation.

When she finally lifts her forehead, she looks up at me. “Thank you for letting me worship your cock. Because it’s the nicest one I’ve ever seen. I’d be honored if you let me wash it for you.”

I grab it and stroke it. “I think you should kiss it, first.”

Quinn crawls closer to the chair, places her palms on my thighs, and runs a row of the tiniest, lightest kisses along the thick vein that lies on the underside. There is nothing sexualabout them. It’s more like I’ve seen in historical movies, when people had to kiss the ring of the pope or king.

A reverent move.

“Like this?” she asks.

---