Page 55 of Violent Possession
My breath catches in my throat. Beneath all this discussion, I need to know.
“...Do you really want to… ?”
He doesn’t answer me with words. He looks at my mouth, and I’m no longer in command of my own muscles. I lean into that gravity and pull him to me.
My mouth crushes his, and he tastes of that expensive wine and some kind of violence. He doesn’t pull back. Doesn’t hesitate. He answers me in kind, his cold hand on my face, the other plunged into the fabric of my dress shirt.
I don’t give him time to think. I throw one leg over the center console, almost awkwardly and almost desperately, and sit on his lap. My hip bumps the steering wheel, the car horn blares. A mess.
I laugh, because it’s absurdly pathetic, two adults making out like teenagers in a luxury car, but he devours me back with a look.
I press my hip against his, rub until I feel his cock respond beneath his pants. My good hand grabs his face, but the rest of me is already asking for more—I feel his skin warm against mine and his soft hair tangling in my fingers, as I think of pulling hard just to hear the trapped groan he doesn’t want to let out.
The space is so tight that every movement rubs my cock against his abdomen. I grope for the seat lever with a trembling hand, panting, and nearly come just feeling the pressure of my hip scraping against his.
“What are you...” Alexei begins to say against my mouth.
I find and pull the fucking seat back hard, throwing us back and almost making me fall on top of Alexei. He smiles, satisfied; a crooked smile. I take advantage of the extra space to better fit my hip over his. I feel him hard under his pants.
His long, cold fingers slide up my neck. And then, he squeezes enough to warn me: the game has changed levels.
I know this game. In reality, it’s always been this—who gives in, who dominates, who goes all the way with open eyes. And, at this moment, I want to see if he can take it.
“Oh,” I provoke, “so you’re the choking type.”
Alexei accepts the challenge. “And you?” he asks, and squeezes. It makes me shiver all over.
“Fuck, yes...”
I take his hand that’s on my neck, guiding it to grab me tighter, dig his fingers into my flesh. His other hand goes up the side of my torso, testing the reaction. I let him, leteverything, because it’s been months since I felt like this. Sex has always been automatic. But with his touch…
“I spent the whole night thinking about these fucking hands…” I whisper, unfiltered, shameless. The confession burns to come out. “I only really got hard yesterday thinking about you on the other side of the camera, watching. Imagining what those hands of yours would do if I provoked you enough.” I squeeze his fingers hard. “I kept thinking about those cold hands of yours going down my throat… or jerking me off just to teach me my place.”
The confession hits its target. His hand, under mine, flexes, curving harder around my neck.
“Then pay attention,” he commands.
And as he speaks, his fingers, with a calm that leaves me breathless, undo the button and zipper of my pants. His hand remains steady, firm, clinical, as if undressing me were trivial. And that’s what destroys me—the naturalness with which hesqueezes me, exposes me, leaves me like this, made just for his hand.
I can’t look away. His hands, the same ones I fantasized about, are now here, real, pushing down the fabric of my underwear and exposing me to the cold temperature of the air conditioning.
He closes his fingers around my cock and starts slowly, dragging his palm against the sensitive head, spreading the moisture that’s already dripping. The rhythm is deliberately slow. It’s torture. Each rise makes me harder, more desperate.
“Fuck...” I gasp. “You’re good at this.”
He does better than answer: he adjusts the pressure of his fingers, alternates the rhythm, changes the angle at unpredictable intervals. I have no other function than to moan.
“Ah… have you done this a lot, boss?” I provoke with a half-smile. “To other guys?”
The image flashes in my mind—such a clean exterior for Alexei to be this good handling some cock.
“Does the idea of me having touched others excite you, Griffin?”
Fuck, yes. My cock throbs in his hand, so hard it hurts. I grab the back of his neck and pull him into a kiss—a hungry, idiotic one, that bangs our teeth together and makes saliva leak from the corner of my mouth. It’s my answer, my silent confession. He laughs against my mouth, and his hand moves faster.
The pressure of his fingers increases, and my hips are already moving on their own against his hand.
“Goddamn it, Alex...”
