Page 79 of Stolen Harmony
I looked up, spit pooling in my mouth, cock leaking onto the sheets below. He grinned, triumphant, and then kissed me—filthy, hungry, making me share the spit between us, tongues tangling, teeth clashing. He bit my bottom lip hard enough to leave a mark, then shoved me back down.
Victor stroked his cock over my face, across my cheeks,painting me with precome and spit. “You look fucking obscene.”
He kept me on all fours, one hand tangled in my hair, the other smacking my ass, spreading my cheeks, sometimes dipping fingers between just to tease but never giving me what I wanted. I could feel how hard he was, the way his cock jerked against my lips, the way he groaned when I moaned for more.
He spat in my mouth again, watched me swallow, then rewarded me by thrusting deep, holding my head in place while he fucked my throat rough and unforgiving. “I could do this all day—make you my little toy, use you however I want, keep you leaking and desperate and filthy for me.”
I tried to answer, but he muffled me with his cock, letting me choke and drool, spit and tears running down my face and chest. Every time I thought I couldn’t take more, he pulled out and praised me—dirty, filthy words that made my cock ache, that made me want to be even better for him.
“Such a good boy,” Victor crooned, “taking it all for me, letting me mark you inside and out. That’s right—let everyone see who owns you. Let them see you ruined and happy about it.”
He pressed his cock against my lips again, feeding me inch by inch, spit and precome running down my chin onto my chest, making a filthy mess of both of us. “Swallow it all,” he ordered. “Every drop. Don’t waste a fucking thing.”
I obeyed, desperate for his approval, throat sore, body trembling, briefs still clinging to my thighs, cock leaking helplessly onto the sheets. I was lost, owned, happy.
Victor drew me upright, using the grip on my jaw like a leash. His cock, flushed and wet, rested against my cheek as he surveyed the mess he’d made of me—spit shining on my lips, chest heaving, hair stuck damp to my forehead.
“Good boy,” he said, thumb tracing the raw edge of my mouth. “You look wrecked. You want to thank me, don’t you?”
I nodded, mindless for him. “Yes. Please—let me.”
He grinned, all teeth and mean pride. “Show me.”
He sprawled back against the pillows, spreading his arms behind his head, body a landscape of muscle and dominance—chest heaving, biceps flexed, pit hair exposed, the scent of him suddenly stronger. He held my gaze, daring me to worship.
I crawled up, mouth watering at the sight. His pits were dark and inviting, the musk deep and masculine. I buried my face there, inhaling him, tongue flicking out to taste sweat and salt, lips pressed hard to the warm skin. Victor watched me with lazy satisfaction, one hand fisted in my hair, guiding me to nuzzle and lick deeper.
“That’s it. Get your tongue in there, boy,” he ordered, voice gone hoarse with approval. “Want you filthy for me. I want to see spit everywhere.”
I licked and sucked at the hollow of his pit, making it wet, my own spit mixing with his sweat. The flavor was intoxicating—pure Victor, raw and masculine, making my cock twitch with every breath. He raised his other arm, exposing the other pit, and I obeyed instantly, worshipping with my mouth, my tongue, my need.
Victor grunted, hips shifting, cock thick and pulsing against my cheek as I mouthed at his skin. He let me suck and lick, spit trailing down his side, glistening in the low light. “You love the way I taste, don’t you? Love being my filthy little worshipper. Make a mess. I want to feel you begging for it.”
“Please, Victor,” I gasped, mouth full of him, “I need all of you. Let me—let me worship your whole body.”
He shoved my face down to his chest, then to his abs, making me lick a path down the line of muscle, tongue tracingevery ridge, leaving a slick trail of spit. “Lower,” he growled. “You want to thank me, do it properly.”
I worshipped my way down, pausing to mouth at the line of hair leading below his navel, tasting the sweat and salt, breathing in his scent. He pulled me back up suddenly, forcing me to his mouth, kissing me with spit-slicked lips, tongues tangling, filthy and perfect.
Then his hands went to my hips, rough and demanding, and he yanked my briefs the rest of the way down, leaving me naked and open on my knees for him. He grabbed my ass, spreading me wide, thumbs digging into the flesh. “Look at you—pretty little hole all exposed for me. You want me to play with it? Want my fingers inside?”
“Yes,” I begged, shameless. “Please, Victor, anything—need you?—”
He spit in his palm, rubbed it between my cheeks, then pressed a slick finger to my hole, circling, teasing but not giving in yet. “So fucking tight,” he taunted, voice low. “Bet you’d take me so well, but you’re gonna earn it. Open up for me, boy. Show me how much you want it.”
I arched my back, pushed into his hand, desperate for the friction, the pressure, anything to fill the ache inside me. He slid a finger in, slow and deliberate, the stretch making me gasp. He added more spit, then another finger, fucking me open with rough, practiced thrusts.
He growled, eyes drinking me in as I writhed on his hand.
“Victor, please—” I was begging, drooling, lost in the sensation of being opened and filled, desperate for more.
He withdrew his fingers, spit again, rubbing it over my hole, then slapped my ass, the sting making me moan. “You’re filthy, Rowan. Filthy and perfect. Worship my body. Show me how grateful you are.”
I dove back to his chest, licking and sucking at every inch—shoulders, pecs, the curve of his neck, leaving trails of spit and red marks. I licked into his pit again, loving the taste, the way he grunted and arched into my mouth. He pushed my head down, grinding his pit into my face, making me breathe in deep and moan for him.
“Good boy,” he crooned, “you’re learning. Get your tongue deep. Make it wet. Make it fucking filthy.”
I did, spit running down my chin, mixing with sweat, my body aching, cock leaking precome in sticky strings down my thigh. Victor’s hand never left my ass—he spread me open, slid a finger back in, then two, scissoring me, making me ride his hand as I worshipped every inch of him.
