Page 112 of Wicked Spite
His dirty words send a thrill through me. I brace my hands on his chest and start to move faster, bouncing up and down on his rigid length. My fingers trail over his chest, tweaking his nipples as he hisses in pleasure and pain. The ropes cut into his wrists with each jerk of his body. Our eyes lock, his burning with lust and a semblance of submission.
“That’s it baby, just like that,” Penn grunts through clenched teeth. “Milk my cock dry, I wanna fill up thattight pussy.”
I can feel his control slipping away, his movements becoming more erratic and desperate beneath me, jerking his hips up to shove himself as far inside me as he can manage. I can tell he’s on the edge, and a wicked thought crosses my mind.
I slow my rhythm until I come to a complete stop. His eyes widen in surprise, dark with longing, as I slide off of him and get on my knees in front of him.
“I know what you need, baby,” I say with a wicked smile, leaning in to run my tongue teasingly up his shaft. Penn’s hips arch forward, but the ropes hold him in place. He groans, his eyes squeezing shut as I continue to tease him.
I circle my tongue around the head of his cock before taking just the tip into my mouth, flicking my tongue against his slit and savoring the salty pre-cum that leaks out. Penn’s breathing becomes ragged, his chest heaving as he tries to control himself.
“Oh, fuck, Reagan,” he moans, gritting his teeth. “More.”
I look up at him, batting my eyelashes innocently before wrapping my lips around him and bobbing my head up and down his shaft. Penn groans louder and thrashes against the ropes that bind him to the tree. He tastes salty and musky, and the knowledge that it’s all for me undoes me. I deep throat him as far as I can go before pulling back up with an audible pop, ensuring he can see every inch of his cock disappear and reappear from my mouth.
“You like that, huh?” I ask, running my tongue along his length before cupping his balls in one hand and massaging them roughly.
“Fuck yes,” Penn groans, his abs flexing with each gasp of air he takes.
I know what Penn Blackwood likes.
“Fuck, your mouth feels so good,” he groans as I pick up the pace, my head bobbing up and down. I moan around him, the vibrations making him shudder.
I pull back slowly, strings of saliva still connecting my lips to the head of his cock. “You like when I suck this big cock, baby?” I ask hoarsely, my hand pumping up and down his slick shaft.
“Fuck yes,” Penn growls. “Suck it nice and sloppy. Just how I like it.”
I swallow his cock again, taking him as deep as I can. The head hits the back of my throat, and I fight my gag reflex. I want to take all of him. I hollow out my cheeks and suck hard, my tongue massaging the thick vein on the underside of his shaft.
“Shit, just like that,” Penn encourages through clenched teeth.
Saliva drips down my chin and his thighs as I worship his cock with my mouth. I’m addicted to the smooth velvety feel of him on my tongue, the musky scent filling my senses.
I feel him swell and pulse. He’s close. I double down, my hands working his shaft as my mouth bobs feverishly.
“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he groans. His body goes rigid, and I feel the first hot spurt hit the back of my throat. I swallow every drop. I continue sucking him through his orgasm, determined to milk every last bit from his perfect cock.
When he finishes, I release him with a pop and lick my lips. His half-hard cock glistens with saliva and residual cum. I can’t resist taking him back in my mouth for a few more sucks, craving the taste of him.
“Damn, baby. No one sucks cock like you,” Penn says, breathless.
I feel powerful knowing I can undo him like this. I climb onto his lap, his spent cock nestled between my thighs. I grind my hips, coating him with my slick arousal. I’m so fucking turned on from sucking him off.
“Did you ever doubt me?” I ask, smirking up at him.
“Hellfire.” He breathes almost reverently, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath.
“Now you. I want you to cum,” he pants, “I need to taste you.”
I raise an eyebrow, intrigued by the almost desperate tone in his voice. But I’m not one to make things too easy for him; where’s the fun in that?
“I’ve got something else in mind,” I purr, tracing my fingers along his jaw.
His gaze watches me as I walk over to our discarded clothes and I reach into my jacket pocket, pulling out a pendant with an R engraved on it. He watches intently as I take his lighter from his discarded jeans and ignite the flame.
“Trust me?” I ask, my voice soft but commanding.
“Yeah, baby. I do,” he replies without hesitation, his voice thick with desire. He knows what I’m going to do, and he loves it.
