Page 19 of Hostile Bond
“Or perhaps I should thrust my dick into your mouth to fish them out.”
Sparks catapult through my chest when she drags her gaze from my mouth, all the way down to my rock hard dick.
“I’ve already said I would tell you, but that doesn’t mean I can’t—”
Her fingers jump to my balls, the rough pressure visibly making my abdominal muscles clench. She knows how I like it and has an effortless, hocus-pocus, conjuring effect on my dick even when I’m pissed off.
In a hypersonic movement, I seize her regally poised neck and lean into her pretty face. The tips of our noses meet, our hot exhales mingling.
With her warm hand still on my dick and mine cuffing her throat, we stand in the wet sand as foamy, cool water washes over our bare feet.
“Get on your knees, Wifey, and give me something to replace the truth you’re hiding. I’m not happy about waiting… and my patience has a short fuse. So, suck my dick. Compensate me for the delay.”
Those exquisite eyes that mimic the ocean drill into mine. The challenge accepted when she lowers, never once breaking our mutual gaze. But her plan isn’t instant gratification––she wants to tease the fuck out of me until I suffer a heart attack. I exhale in a gust when she runs her nails over my balls and then squeezes them. Hard.
Windswept sable strands cascade over freckle-dappled shoulders, sexy and wild like a fuckable mermaid who’s found herself on the seashore.
The buzz surging through me, so horny and filthy, could easily make me blow my load all over her tits. Except a quick release wouldn’t be enough and we both fucking know it.
“Don’t keep me waiting or we’ll skip to the hardcore bit without any foreplay.” I warn her when she licks my balls with her naughty little tongue.
The warmth of her hungry exhales caressing my thighs shoots tingles all over me. Dainty fingertips skim my inner thighs while the other set clamps the base of my stony dick and squeezes.
“Is this how you like it, Hotshot?” she baits, her raspy Irish accent a snare of seduction.
It’s impossible to hold in the filthy grunt my throat makes in response. The firm compression ignites greedy chills all over me and steals my ability to vocalize anything, let alone praise. Shivers multiply when she sweeps the crown of my weeping dick back and forth against the flattened tip of her tongue, the hypnotizing motion an aphrodisiac.
Her eyes glitter up at me, more treasured than a chest full of rare jewels. Testosterone pumps through my blood, driving my arousal off the cliff of bearable, but when she engulfs my dick and stuffs her throat until she gags, I can’t help myself.
“Good… girl,” I manage to grunt out, my breathing shallow and my fingers fisting the hair at her scalp to lock her head in place while I thrust in deeper.
Standing here, on a billion-dollar island where rainbow colored parrots dart from the treetops and graceful dolphins frolic on the horizon, I could easily call it paradise. However, the impressive villa, staff housing, powdered beaches, and lush jungle can’t compete with the paradisiac thrill of my woman’s mouth sucking me off.
Sharp nails dig into my thighs, the bite only making my pulse thrum harder and my desire for her more aggressive. Saliva leaks from the corners of her stretched mouth and dribbles down her chin. The vision before me kick starts the animalistic urges within me. I’m thankful for the respite, the fleeting minutes where it’s just the two of us on a fantasy island and the prospect of a brutal war is only imaginary.
“I’m going to come down your throat, Wifey.”
When she hums around my dick, the reverberation scatters goosebumps all over me, and in that second my balls lift. The onslaught of a raging release hits me like a monsoon on a summer's day. My ass tightens and my muscles brace, every drop of cum spurting into her throat. The sound of her swallowing only adds to the mania.
And when I withdraw, panting and weak-kneed, she stares up at me, wiping the corners of swollen lips and says in her captivating Irish accent, “I want my own gun, Dré.”
8
ANDRÉ
“Don’t lose your shit, Dré.” Tomás shoots me a stern smile. “I’d strangle the fucker with my bare hands if he hurt Carina, but we need to act smart.”
“I get it, boss,” I mutter sardonically, watching Sapori’s tender boat leave his yacht. “Play nice. Ignore the shit talk. Don’t be like Papá. Have I missed anything?”
“Patience, Dré,” Tomás laughs low and natural, his hands pocketed in his pressed suit pants.
Since he had announced his engagement to Carina, I’ve witnessed a difference in him. To an outsider, the evolution would be hard to detect. He’s not softer, or weaker. No, he’s more self-assured and confident on the throne he was molded to fit.
Next to every powerful man stands his queen, and mine is pacing the villa's marble floor, chewing her nails and cursing the man I’m about to greet. That fact alone has me antsy as fuck.
“Stick to the plan.” Tomás continues. “He has answers. Sapori needs to stay alive, Dré.”
“For now.” I rake my fingers through my hair, hating how it doesn’t settle my bubbling temper.
