Page 10 of Wicked Spite
“Good. ‘Cause I’m in desperate need of some…stress relief.” I don’t give him a chance to respond before unzipping my fly. His knees hit the ground like he’s been waiting all day for this moment. The grimy floor of the office doesn’t seem to bother him one bit as he does like the good boy he is and sucks me down in one swallow.
“Fuck, yeah, that’s exactly what the fuck I need,” I murmur, tangling my fingers in his hair. The world narrows down to the wet heat of his mouth, the raw need coursing through me.
Weston’s eager, sloppy, and perfect for taking the edge off. I let out a low groan, feeling the tension along my spine unravel. My phone buzzes in my pocket, but I ignore it. Nothing matters right now except the sensation, the escape.
“You always know how to make my day better, don’t ya?” His muffled moan is the only response I get, but it’s more than enough. The slick, wet sounds fill the small room, echoing off rusted metal and broken machinery. My hand finds its way to the back of his head, guiding him, pushing him deeper.
“Just like that,” I encourage, my voice a husky drawl. “You’re doing great. Suck dick like a goddamn pro. Gold medal in the blowie Olympics.”
I hiss as the phone buzzes again, more insistent this time. I yank it out, glancing at the screen. Graham. Of course.
“What?” I mutter, flipping the phone open.
“Where the fuck are you?” Graham’s voice is sharp, cutting through my haze.
“Getting my willy tickled, if you must know,” I say, biting back a laugh. “You know I behave better once I empty my balls.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, why is it always me having to call you when you’re doing this shit?” Graham sounds exasperated, and I can practically see him rubbing his temples.
“Because you love me, Grammy,” I reply, winking at Weston who’s still working diligently. “And because no one else can handle my charming self.”
“Just fucking checking on you,” Graham snaps before hanging up.
“Always such a killjoy,” I mutter, tossing the phone aside. I refocus on Wes, tugging him closer. “Now, where were we?” Poor guy’s eyes are wide, mouth eager. He’s good—too good.
I tighten my grip on his hair, pulling him back into position. His lips wrap around me once again. My mind shuts off, allowing pure feeling to take over.
“Goddamn,” I groan, thrusting deeper. Graham’s voice fades away, replaced by the slick sounds of Weston’s devotion.
“You’re doing a hell of a job,” I rasp, feeling the tension coil tighter inside me. “Keep going.” My words are clipped, almost feral.
“Faster,” I command, pushing him deeper. He complies without hesitation, gagging slightly but never stopping.
“Fuck!” I snarl, releasing into the back of his throat. Wes swallows eagerly, a twisted sort of reverence in his eyes as hemakes sure to lick every drop off my half hard cock. I pull back, catching my breath, the intensity slowly ebbing away.
“Good job,” I say, patting him on the head like a well-trained dog. There’s a gleam of pride in his eye, sickeningly obedient. I tuck myself back into my jeans and he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, still looking at me. Almost expectantly, so I wave my hand, giving him a reward.
“You can jerk off now, if you want.” I tell him, as I tap his cheek condescendingly.
“Really?” he asks, his voice shaky but eager.
“Yeah, knock yourself out,” I reply, stepping back, already losing interest.
“Thank you,” he whispers, voice thick with gratitude.
“Don’t make a mess. Remember to clean up after yourself,” I add, flashing a grin before turning away.
As I speed down the empty roads back toward the house, thoughts of Reagan invade my mind like an insidious obsession that I can’t shake off.
I crave her honey-brown eyes on me, watching me, wanting me. Fuck, I’m hard again just thinking about her.
I picture her under me, moaning with pain and pleasure as I ruin her for anyone else. Her dark hair spread out like a halo against the rough concrete floor where I fuck her throat while her head smacks into the ground with each thrust.
Without realizing it, I’ve pulled up outside her apartment building. I was here less than twenty-four hours ago as I crept out from underneath her bed as she slept. The lights inside are dimmed, but I know she’s there; I can sense it like some animal instinct guiding me.
Chapter 4
Reagan
