Page 183 of Violent Possession
And I want to.
“Griffin,” he says my name the way only he can: like a sentence. “Kneel.”
Fuck. Just that. And my body is already moving.
I drop to my knees in the middle of the living room, the cold of the marble floor against my jeans, and I laugh again. The whole room smells of alcohol, leather, and his expensive cologne.
“Not even a glass of water first? You’re going to make me swallow it dry, is that it?” I provoke, feigning bravado, butmy mouth is already watering, and my dick gives a single, uncomfortable throb under my jeans.
Alexei doesn’t answer. He just takes off his tie, rolls it up slowly. He could strangle someone with it if he wanted to. Maybe he does. I pray he does.
When he stops in front of me, I look up, my chin raised, trying to maintain my pride. He takes my face without rushing, with his strong fingers, and forces my gaze to meet his.
Alexei’s eyes aren’t really blue in the artificial light, but they always seem to be—two pieces of ice melting under the yellow lamp.
“If it’s too much,” he says, “you tap my leg twice. Understood?”
A glimpse of care in the middle of the hurricane. He always does this. I’m genuinely flattered before my dirty brain takes over.
“Too much for me, boss?” I whisper. “You’re going to need a lot more than that to make me tap out.”
He sighs. Alexei’s eyes gleam with a dark fire. “You don’t shut up,” he says, softly. “But…” he clenches my jaw until it hurts, and a crooked smile tears across his mouth. “I like that gutter mouth of yours. It’s all it’s good for.”
That solidifies my erection just hearing it.
I open my mouth, my tongue sliding over my teeth, ready to reply, but he simply shoves two fingers between my lips. He forces me to suck, to lick my own saliva, to swallow my pride. His taste is metallic, and I almost come just from that.
When he lets go, I’m panting. His self-control is an affront, because mine is already down the drain.
“Use my mouth,” I say, hoarse. “Give me work. I want to choke on you.”
He smiles. Cold. Controlled. He loosens his belt, opens his pants, makes a point of showing every step as if he were teachingme a lesson. His cock comes out rigid, semi-hard, already shining at the tip. And the smell is of sex, of power, of everything I need to run through me.
“Look at me,” he orders.
And I obey. I always obey when he uses that tone.
He holds my head, pushes in slowly, testing my reflex, and only stops when I feel the pressure in my throat, that delicious discomfort that makes me want more.
I don’t look away. I let him see every tear that runs down, every tremble, every time I swallow hard, trying not to suffocate. He goes deep, as far as he can, then pulls back, only to repeat, increasing the pace, always on the edge of humiliation. Every time I slide my lips over him, I feel my dick throb inside my pants, an unbearable pressure.
My hand starts to go down, wanting to unzip, to relieve myself, but Alexei notices before I do. He always notices.
He gives me a sharp kick to the thigh, not hard enough to hurt, but with enough violence to mark his territory.
“No,” he says. Just that.
I moan, muffled by his cock, and I almost cry with frustration and lust. My hand grabs his leg, looking for any contact, but he doesn’t even flinch. Motionless, impassive, he just watches as I swallow everything he gives me.
The tears are already flowing freely, and I hear the sound he makes—his breathing heavier, the low moan, a growl. Every time he pushes, I taste it, feel the heat, the brutality of possession. Alexei holds me by the hair, controlling every movement, and I lose all sense of time, of space, of who I am.
When he feels I’m about to pass out, he pulls out and makes me look up. I open my mouth wide, showing my tongue, because I know he likes to see, and I let him slap his cock against my face. The sound is obscene. The pleasure makes me dizzy.
“Alex,” I moan. “Let me touch myself, fuck…”
“You only come when I say so.”
He shoves back in, even deeper, until I feel my stomach turn.
