Page 44 of Secrets That Bind Us
But all I want… is more.
Dean is an addiction I can’t shake.
I don’t want to.
I need to.
Ican’t.
God, help me.
“Know what this means, Verity?”
I blink, chest still heaving.
“You’re mine. In every way. There’s no shaking me. When you’re in New York, sitting in your little studio apartment writing… when you’re thinking of sexy little scenes to put in your books, you’llalwaysthink of me. All your thoughts will always come back to me. I’ll be your ghost. I’ll always haunt you.” He laughs darkly, sending chills down my spine– but God, I want more.
I can play his game. I push away from him, grab my backpack, and from over my shoulder I look back at him, quirking my brow up. Just like when I threw myself at him, I don’t think about the next few words that fly out of my mouth.
“Then give me something to write about.”
What have I done?
For the next few weeks, it doesn’t matter where we are– the library, behind the school, under the bleachers, an empty classroom– if he finds me, he drives me to the brink of insanity with his lips, his tongue, or his fingers. Never asking for more, but always pushing me a little farther, finding ways to make me come for him throughout the day.
But if he wants to drive me wild, I can do it, too.
I catch him following me into the empty library, stalking me like a predator stalks his prey, but this time, he’s mine. It’s Friday, a home game tonight. I know he doesn’t need to be on the field for another two hours. He knows where I’m going, and I know exactly where I want him to catch me. It’s been fun, this cat and mouse game, but now I’m hungry. For adventure, for the experience Dean is offering, for Dean in general.
When he turns to the left, I go right. His soft footsteps thud behind me, and my heart picks up its pace. I know the repercussions if we get caught. I hide in the groove between bookshelves, excited, because in my mind, he’s not just Dean. He’s the Dragon shifter in my book.
He’ll be every main male character I will ever write.
The good, the bad, the ugly, and everything in-between.
We will both die one day, and live on together, trapped between pages, in black and white. I will make him immortal.
I’m not surprised when my tormentor finds me– dark, ripped, bootcut jeans tucked loosely into his tan Timberland boots. My eyes travel to his belt and I reach out, slowly unfastening it, hauling him closer. By the time I have him unbuckled and his zipper down, he raises his shirt just a smidge. The dark hair on his happy trail that descends into his boxers has me curious.
“Baby…” he whispers, and sparks shoot everywhere, “what are you doing?”
Before I can lose my courage, I reach into boxer briefs and tug him out. Thick, hot, and heavy in my hand. Is my mouth supposed to be watering? He inhales sharply, and when I look up, his head is tilted to the side. His usual piercing blue eyes are dark, lids heavy with lashes that cast shadows along the fading freckles on his face. With the silver chain hanging from his neck over his black T-shirt, and black diamond studs in his ears, he looks like a king missing his crown.
I lick my lips and swirl my tongue over his crown, which earns me a soft hiss, and his hand comes down to cup the underside of my jaw. He smells and tastes clean– like mint and lemon, and Irish Spring, and I want to ask why he tastes so fresh after a long day at school, but I’m otherwise preoccupied.
“Wider, baby. Stick out your tongue a little more. Mmhmm.”
I wish I knew what was running through his mind.
“Do you know how much I’ve dreamed of this? You, on your knees for me, taking my dick deep in your mouth – fuck, that’s perfect. A dream, baby. You’re a goddamn dream. More. No, keep your hand there. Jerk me off. Fuck, Verity. This is a dream come true, I’m not gonna last… and I don’t want to.”
It’s all whispered words of praise and directions that have me wanton, curious to taste more of him, to suck him deeper, and please him the way he does me. So when he shoves a little deeper, I pretend it’s like when I’m brushing my teeth and hold my gag, which makes him groan.
“Stroke me a little harder, baby. I’m almost there.”
My jaw hurts, but I lift my mouth a little, wet my hand with my spit, and go back to stroking him. I take him as deep as I can, hollowing my cheeks and sucking him greedily, like I need his cum in order to live. I can feel his thighs shaking. He breathes for me not to stop, doing his best not to thrust forward, but he clamps his palms at my temple and holds in his breath. I look up at him, keeping eye contact and then-
“Fuck, I’m sorry.” Is the only warning I get. He shoves forward harshly, baring his teeth, pistoning his hips. My lips are slick and stretched to their capacity when I taste his salty, warm, thick cum as it coats the inside of my mouth. I drink it down– licking the remnants of his essence as he softens– like a kitten lapping up cream. Dean leans over me, placing his forehead on the wall behind me, jerking with each swirl of my tongue.
