Page 82 of Executing Malice
Emboldened, I close my lips over the cap. The metal cross spearing just beneath the edges kiss my skin as I suck. Theygraze all four corners of my mouth as I take him in. The bars along the bottom brush my tongue with every gradual descent.
I add my fingers, curl them at the base, grip him just hard enough to make his jaw clench. Without loosening up, I lift him and run the flat of my tongue up the studded path to the crown.
In the same motion, I balance the tip of my blade against the skin between his dick and balls.
“Have you lied to me?” I ask with my own edge. “The stuff you said, is any of it true or are you just some sicko who wants his cock sucked?”
He nudges forward.
He cuts a line of crimson just over his right nut that immediately starts to well.
“No.”
Without thinking. Without even acknowledging the fact that he could be the Petri Dish of every STD known to man, I lean in and lick the droplet. Taste the sweet copper across my tongue.
“Were you going to hurt me?”
His fingers fist into my hair and I’m guided back to his balls. I obediently pull the injured one into my mouth, careful with the pressure. My tongue traces slow, deliberate circles around the tender skin, loving the taste of him.
His hiss is sharp, a jagged sound that melts into a groan as I suck gently, giving him just enough without pushing the pain too far.
“Fucking ... yes,” he breathes, though I’m not sure if it’s out of pleasure or answering my question.
His grip tightens but doesn’t force. It’s a silent plea not to stop that fuels the pleased demon deep inside me. Beneath my palms, his thighs tense and I give just the hint of teeth to keep him on edge.
“I wanted you to hurt the way you hurt me,” he says, gruff and earnest. “I thought you left me after promising you never would.”
His confession wrenches at my heart. I start to loosen my hold but his hand comes down over mine.
“Don’t.”
The shaft is a vivid purple color, the veins bulging. Clear cum trickles over the slit and down the shaft in a slick sheen.
I tighten my fingers and suck the head with his sharp hiss. I draw back just enough to drag my tongue along the seam, teasing the sensitive flesh before slipping him deeper into my mouth, hollowing my cheeks as I suck with a careful rhythm. My free hand cups and massages his testicles while I hollow my cheeks and pull him further into the back of my throat. I work my tongue over and around each bar, coaxing a groan from his chest that washes over me with the hottest wave.
“Do you like it when it hurts?” I tease, nicking him again just next to the first cut.
His response is a slow, curling smile. “I like that you like it. I get hard knowing you’re soaked right now. That your pussy is ready to take every inch of me.” His every breath gets shallower, faster the more he says. The dick in my hands is practically vibrating. “Suck. Don’t stop.”
The command is given with a hard jerk of my hair. I’m yanked over and down his cock. There isn’t an ounce of mercy as he slams my back into the cabinets. I lose my balance and hit the wood hard with my shoulder blades. The thump reverberates through the kitchen as my legs slide out from under me and I hit the floor with my bare ass.
Still, he’s not letting up. He’s dragging my head, pumping his hips. He’s using me like I’m nothing more than a hole to fill his pleasure.
“You were always so good with your mouth. Sucking my cock like it was your God given talent.”
I believe him.
His cock in my mouth is so familiar, so precise. Like I’ve done this a million times and loved it. My teeth and tongue know exactly when to nip, to lap, to stiffen my lips at the exact right moment to make him gasp and shudder.
It’s probably an insane indicator to use cock sucking as a lie detector, but I know he’s telling the truth. I know I know this man and I know he won’t hurt me — unless I ask him to. I trust him with a clarity I haven’t shown anything since that morning in the woods.
He is my person.
He’s the one I’ve been waiting for all this time. The reason no other man felt right because even with no memory, my body and some part of my brain always knew I belonged to him.
The overwhelming assault of emotions take me by the throat. It wells up in my chest. When tears burn my eyes and tumble down my cheeks, they have nothing to do with his grip pulling out strands by the root, or the metal bars slamming into the back of my throat. I’m suffocating on a weight I can’t control, can’t swallow.
He jerks back when I sniffle. His expression, still a mask of raw desire, twists into one of concern as he peers down at me.
