Page 24 of Vivacity
Ethan’s teeth drag along my jawline. ‘So beautiful. Jesus, so beautiful.’ His voice is a rasp.
I ride out my climax, my entire body convulsing in my chair. Slowly, slowly, the waves ebb away, and I let my eyes drift open. The sight of his big, masculine hand clamped between my legs, my pink thong stretched tautly to one side, is filthily decadent.
Dreamily, I turn my head so that his lips skate closer along my jaw to mine.
But there’s no kiss.
Instead, he whispers in the fevered tone of a man driven to the brink of his control, ‘My turn now.’
CHAPTER 12
Sophia
He extricates his hands from my body and steps away from me, swivelling my chair around so I’m facing him. My dress is still rucked up around my middle, my thong askew and digging into my swollen flesh. God knows what my face looks like. My pupils are probably the size of saucers.
Just like his.
Because he may have roughed me up good and proper, but he too looks like he’s already gone a few rounds. A few locks of his sleek brown hair hang loosely, sexily, over his eyes, which are, in a word, wild. He’s breathing hard, and it would be remiss of me not to mention the actual, literal elephant in the room: that monster erection.
He glances down at the spoils of his handiwork between my legs and groans raggedly. I suppose this is a far better view than he had when he was touching me over my shoulders. ‘Undo my belt and unzip me.Carefully.’
‘Yes, Mr Kingsley.’ That boner of his probably feels like an unexploded grenade—lethal, and mere seconds away from unleashing havoc. I can’t wait to get my hands on it. It may have been inside my body last week, but I’m dying for an actual peek.
As directed, I unbuckle his belt and make easy work of his trouser fastenings without taking my eyes off him. I’m hyper-aware of every perfect nuance of our current situation. This beautiful, powerful man is paying me to suck him off in the icy splendour of his office. I bet every woman outside of this door would kill to get her talons into Ethan Kingsley—evenwithhis dubious personality. And not only has he chosen me, but he’s paying through the nose for the privilege.
Oh, and he’s seconds away from detonating at the singular experience that is the Sophia Petrakis Blow Job. (I really should trademark it properly.)
I push up his shirttails, and there it is: a beast of a dick peeking out of the waistband of his black boxer briefs. When I pull them away from his skin, the unruly beast rears up like a stallion, a perfect little pearl of precum beading at the tip. I feel like I should shoutwoah!like I’m on Yellowstone (I do not.)
But it’s gorgeous. Oh, dear Lord above, is it gorgeous. Long, thick, and as sleek and powerful-looking as its owner. No wonder it got me from nought to sixty in about three seconds last week.
I shove his boxer briefs down to mid-thigh and wrap my fingers around it.
‘Listen very carefully,’ Ethan grits out, with the intensity I’d personally reserve for talking someone through how to defuse a bomb. ‘I want you to do everything I say.’
‘Really, I’ve got this,’ I say, but he shakes his head, annoyed.
‘No. I want this my way.’
I’m being dim. This isn’t about whether my technique is up to scratch. Of course it’s not. Blow jobs are the ABC of the Seraph service offering.
No, this is about control. It’s about Ethan being able to make a woman suck his dick in exactly the way he wants. It’s about him knowing he can call every single shot.
‘Whatever you want.’ I lick my lips, and he blows out a breath. His dick is so hot, so hard, in my hand.
‘Okay. Lean forward, but don’t put your mouth on me. Yet.’
I’m still sitting, Ethan standing between my legs. I do as he asks, leaning forward and opening my mouth when it’s just a couple of inches away from his lovely, weeping crown.
He shoves one hand through my hair, as if to hold me in place, and presses the thumb of his other hand into the centre of my lower lip. I’ve been told by many men that I have a mouth made for fellatio, and the expression on Ethan’s face suggests he’s reached the same conclusion. Honestly, the poor guy looks more stricken than aroused.
I sit there patiently, the picture of dishevelled, wanton possibility, gazing up at him. I can feel him pulsing in my grip, can feel just how badly he needs this release. What I don’t know is whether he’s trying to control me or himself.
Finally, he removes his thumb and uses the hand entangled in my hair to pull my face closer. ‘Lick it. Just the slit. Very, very softly.’
I do exactly as he asks, running my tongue up his slit and through the precum, and he emits an unholy groan.
‘Good. That’s perfect. Again.’
