Page 73 of Pose for Me
He picks up the pace, coming down hard on my length, his thick cock bouncing in the air. I grab onto his shaft, stroking him from base to tip to match his strokes.
He throws his head back, showing me the column of his throat and his Adam’s apple. Letting his cock go, I sit up, one hand on his back and the other gripping his ass as I lick along his throat.
“Oh fuck, Daddy,” Lane moans as he wraps his arms around my neck. “I’m coming, oh fuck, I’m coming. Ryell!”
His warm seed sprays across my belly, his dick pulsating between us. His ass contracts on my cock, pushing me into my own unexpected release. I bite down on the soft skin of his throat with a groan as I come, painting his inner walls and claiming him as my own.
Lane trembles in my arms as I gently rock him back and forth over my dick, wanting to drain every drop of his cum from his balls.
With a long sigh, he collapses against me, soft mewls leaving his lips as I continue planting soft kisses where my lips can reach.
“I can’t move,” he says after he tucks his neck to cut off access to my searching mouth. “I was supposed to serve you dinner after your long day at work.”
I chuckle and pull back so I can kiss him. “It’s okay, baby boy. Let me clean you up, and I’ll carry you downstairs. Still want to eat outside?”
He nods tiredly. “Yep, you owe me a date.”
Smiling, I kiss his nose and slide off the bed, my dick still half hard inside of him. “Shower, then I’ll take you on a date.”
Lane sighs and places his head back on my shoulder. “Best Daddy ever.”
Twenty-Six
Lane
“You lookbeautiful with my cock in your mouth,” Ryell murmurs, and I preen under his attention but don’t release his dick. He’s letting me suckle at his cock so he can sketch me. I love suckling him and feeling this closeness. Cockwarming Ryell keeps me calm, keeps the thoughts of leaving at bay.
Since the first time in the dungeon, I’ve become addicted, not knowing it was something I needed until he gave it to me. I’m not sure how he knew, but I’m glad he did.
The sound of Ryell’s charcoal pencil over his thick sketching paper and the feel of his warm dick against my tongue has me so relaxed that my eyes grow heavy, and I’m close to sleep when I hear my name.
But not from Ryell. From the television.
Letting his cock drop from my mouth, I turn toward the news that Ryell left on for some reason. He picks up the remote as if to change the channel, but I stay his hand. Ryell sighs but drops the remote.
There on the television is Brock. He looks awful, his eyes sunken, cheeks pale, his red hair standing out in sharp relief and his lips a thin slash on his face as he stands in front of a poster board with my face on it.
All the sound is sucked out of the room as I watch Brock point to my picture and say…something. It’s like my ears are stuffed with cotton balls, the words muffled.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck,fuck.
I’ve been here, living my life—albeit as a captive—carefree and not thinking about deaths, crime scene photos, evidence, witness or testimonies. I’ve forgotten everything because, for once in my life, I haven’t had to beon. I haven’t had to remember to do anything but justbe, relax under my Daddy, and rest.
But one of my only friends has been searching for me, likely while working a full caseload. He’s probably run himself into the ground trying to figure out if I’m alive or dead.
I wrap my arms around my middle, feeling as if I’m improperly dressed to watch Brock break in front of my eyes, as I sit around in just a pair of panties.
I’m a fuckup. I fucked up. I allowed myself to push FBI-agent-Lane so far back that I almost don’t know who he is, so I can be Ryell-is-my-Daddy-and-he’s-all-that-matters Lane. Heisall that matters. Ryell is everything to me. But I used to be someone else. I used to have other people. But I let my whole world become Ryell.
My Daddy’s hand on my back jolts me out of my thoughts and sound returns to the room as he calls my name.
I look over at him, at his handsome face—his electric blue eyes, his plump lips, and his serious expression. It hits me like a ton of bricks.
I love him.
I fucking fell in love with a serial killer, and I’m not even sorry about it. I’m … a fucking fool. There’s no way this ends well, especially with what I’m thinking.
“Lane,” Ryell says again, his eyes shuttering, making him look…blank. Not like the man I’ve fallen for but the man I met atthe bar. So unlike the man I’ve been slowly getting to know over the past…I don’t know how many weeks.
