Page 26 of Until You Break
“And you’re stalling.”
The scrape of a buckle cut through the chaos. My chest heaved, breath sharp, too fast. The sound of leather sliding free, the slow metallic bite of the zipper, each noise deliberate, like he was orchestrating a verdict. He moved with certainty, as if introducing me to what I’d been pretending didn’t exist until now.
My throat closed when he freed himself, thick, veined, heavy. My body recoiled even as heat coiled low, wrong and desperate. The sight alone was a sentence passed.
His other hand tipped my chin until my neck strained. “Part those lips. Taste it, kitten. I want to hear what it does to you.”
I clenched my mouth, shaking my head until my neck ached. Terror surged up my throat, harsher than breath. “No, you can’t—” The words cracked, thin and furious, more rasp than voice. My chest heaved, ribs locked, teeth grinding against refusal.
His smile was slow, inevitable. For a dizzy second, raw fear tangled with something worse. The light caught his mouth, his eyes, too composed, too sharp, and heat flared low in me I didn’t understand, setting my insides alight even as I tried to deny it.
The yank in my hair sharpened, pain sparking over my scalp until my lips tore open on a gasp I couldn’t stop.
“That’s it,” he murmured, stepping closer, swallowing the sound of my resistance.
The blunt head of him pressed to my lips, hot, heavy, foreign. I twisted, tried to wrench away, but his grip clamped me still. My muffled protest scraped against him, lost before it left my mouth.
“Good,” he said, pushing forward, voice calm while mine broke into choked sounds. “Fight if you like. It only makes it tighter when I take what I want.”
My nails raked at his thigh, useless. Dread jammed my chest, choking me as much as his cock. I jerked my head, tried to spit him out, anything, but his hand only locked harder in my hair.
“First time,piccolino?” His voice slid like the flat of a knife.
I went still.
“That hesitation’s an answer,” he said, savoring it. “Good. I like taking what no one else has touched.”
The pull in my hair guided me forward, steady and certain. My mouth opened without permission.
He pushed in, thick, stretching my jaw until it ached. The taste hit immediately, salt, musk, something raw at the back of my tongue.
“Good. Hold me there. Feel what you’ve given away.”
The weight of him filled my mouth, the second push brushing my throat.
I gagged, chest seizing.
“That’s the edge,” he said, voice even as glass. “Stay with it.”
His free hand wrapped my throat, thumb pressing over my pulse.
Outside, metal screamed. Boots pounded closer.
I made a sound, half protest, half breathless.
“You feel that?” His tone was low, unshaken. “That’s you, stretching for me, inch by inch. No one else gets this.”
Another gunshot. I tensed.
He shoved deeper until my nose was against him, the heavy length filling my throat completely. Tears blurred my vision, my nails dug into his thighs.
“Breathe through it,” he said, calm as smoke. “You can. I’ll let you.”
He held me there, hips rolling slow, cock heavy against my tongue, each second dragging until my chest screamed. His command pushed me lower until my tongue dragged along the thick underside, slicking him with spit. He forced the head against my lips again, making me lap at the salt-slick tip before driving deeper. My throat clenched, eyes streaming, spit flooding my lips as the pressure built.
When he finally let me draw back, I gasped, air jagged.
He gave me one breath before thrusting again, harder, forcing a muffled moan from me.
