Page 70 of That Pretty Pucking Mouth

She stands before me in a simple black t-shirt and dark blue panties, her legs bare and goosebumped in the cool air of the chamber. She crosses her arms over her chest, an instinctive attempt at modesty that only draws my attention to the swell of her breasts beneath the thin cotton.

“The shirt too,” I say, my voice rougher now, desire making it difficult to maintain the cool control I need to show Noah, to show all of them, that she’s mine.

This time she doesn’t hesitate. In one fluid motion, she pulls the t-shirt over her head and drops it to the floor, leaving her in just her underwear—simple cotton panties and a matching bra, practical rather than provocative.

But that doesn’t matter. I would devour her in just about anything.

“Beautiful,” I murmur, and I mean it. She’s all soft curves and pale skin, the flush on her cheeks spreading down her neck to her chest. The bruises on her wrists from the restraints are already darkening, a visible reminder of her captivity, of her vulnerability.

Her arms remain crossed, a barrier between us. I step closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating from her skin, to catch the faint scent of her—fear sweat and something sweeter underneath, something uniquely her.

“Arms at your sides,” I instruct, watching her face carefully.

Her jaw tightens, but after a moment of internal struggle, she obeys, letting her arms fall to her sides. The action leaves her exposed, defenseless, and she lifts her chin in defiance, refusing to look away as I take in every inch of her.

I circle her slowly, a predator stalking its prey. Her breathing quickens as I move behind her, out of her sight once more. Ican see the tension in her shoulders, the way her hands curl into fists, then release, then curl again.

When I complete my circuit, I stop directly in front of her, close enough that our bodies almost touch. Her eyes meet mine, wary but unwavering. The challenge in them, even now, sends a fresh wave of desire through me.

“On your knees,” I say, the words barely more than a whisper.

She blinks, surprise flickering across her face before it settles back into that defiant mask. But she doesn’t move, doesn’t comply, and I can see the battle raging behind her eyes. This is the line she’s not yet willing to cross, the submission she can’t bring herself to offer.

I reach out, my hand curling around the back of her neck, fingers tangling in the soft hair at her nape. Not painful, but firm, a reminder of my control.

“I said,” I repeat, my voice dangerously soft, “on your knees, Dove.”

The use of the nickname seems to reach her, breaking through her resistance. Slowly, with a grace that catches me off guard, she sinks to her knees before me, her eyes never leaving mine even as she settles on the cold concrete floor.

The sight of her like this—nearly naked, on her knees, looking up at me with those defiant eyes—nearly undoes me. My cock throbs painfully, demanding release, demanding her.

I stroke her hair gently, a reward for her compliance. “Good girl,” I murmur, watching as her eyelids flutter at the praise despite her obvious determination to remain unmoved. “Now, show me how much you hate me.”

She understands immediately, her gaze dropping to the bulge in my jeans before rising to meet my eyes again. Something shifts in her expression—a decision made, a realization reached.

Her hands move to my belt, her fingers more sure now, less hesitant. The metal buckle clinks as she undoes it, then moveson to the button of my jeans, the zipper. Each action brings her closer to what we both want, to the inevitable conclusion of this dance we’ve been performing since that first night.

My jeans open, and she pushes them down just enough to free my erection. I’m already hard, achingly so, the head of my cock flushed and leaking. She stares at it for a moment, then back up at me, a mix of apprehension and something else in her eyes.

“Go on,” I urge, my hand still gentle in her hair despite the tension coiling through me. “Show me what that pretty mouth can do.”

Her lips part, and I have to stifle a groan at the sight. Slowly, so slowly it feels like torture, she leans forward and takes me into her mouth.

The wet heat of her engulfs me, and it’s all I can do not to thrust forward, to take what I want without regard for her comfort. But I hold back, letting her set the pace, watching as her lips stretch around my girth, as her cheeks hollow with the first tentative suck.

“Fuck,” I breathe, the word escaping me as pleasure courses through my veins.

She takes me deeper, her tongue flat against the underside of my cock, and I can’t stop my hips from jerking forward slightly. She gags, her hands coming up to brace against my thighs, but she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she adjusts, relaxing her throat, taking me deeper still.

My fingers tighten in her hair, not guiding, just holding, anchoring myself as much as her. The sight of her like this—on her knees, her mouth full of me, her eyes closed in concentration—is almost too much to bear.

“Look at me,” I command, my voice rough with desire.

Her eyes open, meeting mine, and the connection is electric, a current passing between us that transcends the physical act.In this moment, she’s mine completely, willingly, despite the circumstances that brought us here.

I watch her as she works me with her mouth, her movements becoming more confident, more purposeful. She’s learning what I like, what makes my breath catch, what draws those involuntary sounds from my throat.

The knowledge that Noah is watching, that he’s witnessing this ultimate surrender, only heightens my arousal. Let him see. Let all of them see that she belongs to me, that she submits to me, that she services me on her knees.

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