Page 28 of Taken Off Camera
“I’m strong enough for this.” My hand drifts lower, tracing the outline of him through his pants. “I want to taste you.”
A growl rumbles from his chest, the sound pure Alpha, and desire shivers through me. “You’re sure?”
“Yes.” I squeeze his throbbing cock. “Let me.”
With my hands on his thighs for guidance, I sinkto my knees, the carpet rough through my thin pajama pants. My hands find his belt, fumbling with the buckle before managing to undo it. The button and zipper follow, the metallic sound loud in the quiet room.
His hand cups my cheek, thumb stroking across my bottom lip. “You’re beautiful like this.”
Heat rises to my face at the compliment. With trembling fingers, I ease his pants and underwear down, freeing him. My breath catches as my fingers wrap around him, discovering his size.
“Oh,” I whisper, one hand not enough to encircle him. “You’re big.”
His laugh holds a note of self-consciousness. “Is that a problem?”
“No.” I stroke him slowly, learning his shape. “It’s perfect. I wish I could see you.”
“Another time, perhaps,” he groans as my thumb circles the head of his cock, gathering the moisture there.
Greedy for more, I lean forward, guided by touch alone. The musky scent of him fills my nostrils, masculine and intoxicating. Here, his pheromones are thicker, curling around my senses. My tongue darts out, tracing the vein along the underside before circling the crown.
Above me, his breathing grows ragged. His hand cups the back of my head, not pushing, simply resting there as if needing the connection. I take him deeper, hollowing my cheeks and drawing a moan from his throat that sends pride surging through me.
My own arousal strains the front of my sweatpants. Without breaking rhythm, I slide a hand down to palm myself through the fabric. The dual sensation of his hardness filling my mouth and the pressure of my hand on my dick sends sparks of pleasure racing up my spine.
“That’s it,” he encourages, fingers tangling in my hair. “Touch yourself while you take me.”
The instructions send a fresh wave of heat through me. I slip my hand beneath my waistband, wrapping fingers around myself and matching the rhythm of my mouth on him.
Time loses meaning as we move together, my world narrowed to the weight of him on my tongue, and the sounds of pleasure that escape him with each bob of my head.
Without sight, I focus on his reactions, to the way his fingers tighten in my hair, the way his hips flex before he forces himself to stillness, and the quickening of his breath.
My own pleasure builds, spiraling higher witheach stroke of my hand. Though I’ve performed countless times on camera, nothing has ever felt as erotic as being blindfolded on my knees, pleasuring this man I’ve been fantasizing about for months.
“Elliot,” he warns, my name coming out strained. “I’m close.”
I increase my pace in answer, taking him deeper, wanting to bring him over the edge. His hand tightens in my hair, the slight pain only adding to my arousal.
When he comes, his deep groan vibrates through my bones. His salt and musk flood my mouth, and I swallow without hesitation. The intimacy of the act pushes me toward my own release, my hand moving faster, pressure building at the base of my spine.
“Let go,” he commands, rough with satisfaction. “Let me hear you.”
His words tip me over the edge, and orgasm crashes through me, white-hot and overwhelming, tearing a cry from my throat. “Alpha!”
My body shudders through the aftershocks, his hand gentle in my hair as he guides me through the waves of pleasure. When the intensity fades, leaving me boneless and spent, I rest my forehead on his thigh, my breaths gasping out.
“That was…” Words fail me, my mind still floating in post-orgasmic haze.
His thumb traces my lower lip, wiping away traces of him. “Yes. It was.”
Strong hands grasp my elbows, lifting me from my knees with effortless strength. My legs tremble beneath me, weak from illness and the aftermath of pleasure. GentlemanX hugs me to his chest, his heart beating a rapid tattoo through our clothes.
His lips find mine in a deep, claiming kiss that contains the flavor of us, his tongue twining around mine, and if I were at my usual strength, I’d have been ready for round two by the time we break apart.
His forehead rests on mine, our breathing synchronized in the quiet apartment, and he traces my bottom lip with his thumb.
“We can do this again,” he murmurs, the words vibrating through me. “If you want to.”
