Page 103 of House of Cards

I try to pull back, to breathe, but his grip on my throat tightens, holding me in place. All I can manage is an angry, “Mm!”

I’m choking, gasping for air, and he’s just standing there, watching me, his expression never changing.

“Come on, kitten,” he says, sounding annoyed. “I’m barely halfway in. Relax, and open your throat.”

Relax?

I want to scream.

To fight.

His muscles tense under my touch when my hands find his thighs and I dig my fingers into his skin.

He lets out a low groan and finally pulls out enough that I can suck in a slobbery breath.

A surge of satisfaction fills me along with that burst of air.

I might be at his mercy, but I’m not powerless.

He thrusts back inside, head still tilted at an angle so he can watch me take every inch of him. I flick my tongue out to lick the underside of his shaft, trying to communicate that I’m not his enemy.

Smith jerks, a hiss escaping his lips. I’m rewarded with another inch of his cock each time I wriggle my tongue against his shaft until I well and truly can’t breathe anymore.

In seconds, his pulse quickens, his breath coming faster.

I’m doing this to him. Me.

And as much as I hate him for using me like a fucking cum rag, I can’t deny the thrill it gives me.

The power, the control, the sheer, raw desire.

I close my eyes, giving in to the sensation, to the taste of him, to the feel of his hands on me. I might be upside down, but at this moment, I’m not sure which way is up anymore.

All I know is that I want more.

I want him.

And I hate myself for it.

Hips rock forward and back, hard but controlled, as he thrusts deep into my throat. I try to match his rhythm, sipping for air at every chance, but he’s always one step ahead, keeping me off balance. It’s infuriating and exhilarating all at once.

My body responds to the friction against my tingling lips, the taste of him, the weight of his cock as he forces it deeper and deeper into my throat. The sound he makes with every thrust—a tight, low groan that sounds both frustrated and feral.

Heat builds between my legs, warmth soaking my underwear.

I squirm, rubbing my thighs together, but it only makes the ache worse.

Of course, he notices my movements.

Of course, he stops mid-thrust to taunt me.

“What’s wrong, kitten?” he asks, his voice laced with amusement.

I glare up at him, but with my mouth full, I can’t exactly snap back a retort. He chuckles, the sound low and dark, sending shivers down my spine.

“Don’t lie to yourself, kitten,” he states. “Every time I touch you, your body’s begging for more.”

He pulls out, allowing me just enough air to fuel a nasty, “I’d tell you to go to hell, but I’m pretty sure you’d feel right at home.”

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