Page 19 of Beg Me
He laughs, low and dangerous. "That's not begging, pretty thing. You can do better than that." He steps closer, close enough that I can smell his cologne, feel the heat radiating from his body. "Try again. And make me believe how desperate you are."
I swallow hard, fighting the last shreds of my pride. But something about being on my knees, naked and vulnerable while he stands fully clothed above me, makes the words come easier.
"Please, Sir," I say, my voice stronger now. "I need you to fuck me. I've been thinking about it since I first saw you. I'm so empty without you."
He tilts his head, considering. "Better. But still not good enough."
Frustration and arousal tangle inside me. I'm wet, aching, desperate—exactly what he called me earlier. A needy little slut. And right now, I don't care. I just want him inside me.
"Please," I try again, my voice breaking. "I need your cock so badly. I'll do anything. I'm yours to use however you want. Please, Sir, I'm begging you."
I reach for his thigh, needing to touch him, but he catches my wrist.
"Did I say you could touch me?" His voice is sharp with warning.
"No, Sir. I'm sorry." I drop my hand immediately.
"Hands behind your back."
I comply, clasping my hands at the small of my back. The position thrusts my breasts forward, makes me feel even more exposed.
"Now," he says, his thumb tracing my lower lip, "tell me exactly what you are and what you need."
The last threads of my resistance snap. "I'm your toy," I say, the words tumbling out in a desperate rush. "Your filthy little slut who needs to be used. Please fuck me, Sir. Please use me, fill me up, make me yours. I need it so badly I can't think straight."
My cheeks burn with humiliation, but it's mixed with something else—relief. Relief at finally saying these things out loud, at admitting what I truly want.
Colt's eyes darken as he looks down at me. "Look at you," he murmurs. "So pretty when you beg. So honest now."
He runs his fingers through my hair, then tightens his grip, tilting my head back further. "Is this what you wanted all along? To be on your knees, begging to be fucked like the desperate little toy you are?"
"Yes," I whisper, past caring how pathetic I sound. "Yes, Sir. Please."
Colt's eyes narrow as he studies me, still on my knees before him. "If you want my cock so badly, prove it," he says, his voice dropping to that dangerous register that makes everything inside me liquefy. "Show me how much you want to worship it with that pretty mouth of yours."
My hands tremble as I reach for his belt, but he stops me with a sharp click of his tongue.
"Did I say you could use your hands?" He unzips his jeans himself, pushing them down just enough to free his cock. "Hands behind your back. Use only your mouth."
I clasp my hands behind me; the position making my back arch, my breasts thrust forward. The vulnerability of it sends a fresh wave of arousal through me.
His cock stands thick and hard before me, and my mouth waters at the sight. I lean forward, maintaining eye contact as I take him between my lips. The salt-musk taste of him floods my senses as I take him deeper.
"That's it," he murmurs, one hand tangling in my hair. "Show me what a desperate little cocksucker you are."
The degradation hits me like a physical touch, making me moan around him. I hollow my cheeks, taking him deeper until he hits the back of my throat.
"Look at you," he says, his voice rough with desire. "So eager to prove what a good toy you are."
I work him with everything I have—swirling my tongue, sucking harder, taking him deeper with each bob of my head. Saliva drips down my chin, but I don't care. I want to be messy for him, want to prove to him how much I need this, just like he said.
Colt's grip tightens in my hair, guiding my movements. "You were made for this," he growls. "Made to be on your knees, worshiping my cock like it's the only thing that matters."
And in this moment, it is. Nothing exists but the weight of him on my tongue, the sounds of pleasure rumbling from his chest, the ache between my legs as I get wetter with each thrust.
"Look at me," he commands.
I raise my eyes to his, still working him with my mouth. The intensity in his gaze nearly melts me.
