Page 85 of Cruel When He Smiles

He obeys, and I slide into the heat of his mouth, just the tip at first. Then, I slam into his mouth, and he gags when I hit the back of his throat.

“Breathe through your nose,” I whisper. “C’mon, take it. I know you can.”

He moans around me, and it’s fucking filthy. Desperate. Sounding every bit like surrender and revenge in one. He coughs when I pull back, a thin string of spit catching from the corner of his mouth to the head of my cock, and I watch it stretch and break. I tap his cheek with my fingers before I slide those same fingers into his mouth again.

“Show me you can take more,” I say, as he glowers up at me, then seals his lips around my fingers and sucks like he wants to spite me by being better than I asked for.

I pull my fingers free and spit into his open mouth, thick and hot, and the way he swallows without being told makes my cock throb.

“Again,” I tell him, and he opens again, tongue out, jaw loose, pupils blown like he is drunk on this. I reward him with another deep push into his throat, my hips rolling once so he feels the promise of what I will do to him when I finally stop playing with his mouth.

I hold him there for a beat, just long enough to feel his throat spasm, then pull out, letting him gasp and cough, spit pooling at the corner of his mouth as he drags in a breath.

I cup his chin, tilting his face up. “Still hate me?”

His lip curls. “More than ever.”

I hum and close my eyes. “Your hate makes me hard as fuck, baby.” I let my smile curve slowly, knowing it will needle him, knowing it will make him bite back harder, even as his throat keeps working around a breath he can’t quite catch. “Strip for me. Let me see that gorgeous body.”

He stares up at me, chest rising, jaw clenching like that’s the only control he has left. With a sigh, he pops the buttons on his jeans before sliding them down. My brain blanks out.

He’s wearing them again.

Black lace briefs that ride high on his hips, tight enough to make my mouth go dry, sheer enough to show the outline of his cock straining against the fabric.

I groan, and my cock pulses at the sight of it against the panther tattoo that runs from his upper thigh to under his ribs.

“You wore this for me,” I breathe, almost reverent, almost ruined. “You fucking knew I would corner you, didn’t you?”

“I was counting on it,” he says, biting his lip as he shimmies out of his jeans, then looks up at me with that guarded expression like he’s waiting to see which version of me shows up tonight.

And unfortunately for him, it’s the one that snaps. I’m on him before he can blink.

Pushing him onto the bed, hands on his thighs, spreading him open like he’s a gift I didn’t earn but am absolutely going to take, anyway. I grind my cock against the front of that perfect fucking lace, making him gasp.

“That’s it, Pup,” I murmur, dragging my tongue up the side of his neck. “Give me all those little sounds I crave.”

His hand slides up my chest, curls around the collar of my shirt, and tugs. “You’re disgusting.”

“You’re hard for disgusting,” I growl, nipping at his lips. “You’re fucking soaking through your panties for disgusting.”

He shivers, and I lift up to drag my fingers down his stomach teasingly and cup him over the lace. He jerks in my hand, a broken sound punching out of his throat.

“I could come just from this,” I admit, voice dark and rough. “Just from watching you fall apart in something so fucking obscene.”

“Then do it,” he snaps. “Come in your pants like the pervert you are.”

I squeeze him, fingers curling around the damp, lace-covered heat of him, and he chokes on a moan. “You want me to tear them?” I ask softly. “Or should I fuck you in them first?”

He glares at me, lips parted, cheeks flushed, and I see it—the moment he gives in. The moment the fight turns into an ache. “Don’t rip them, please,” he whispers. “They’re my favorite.”

I hum and kiss him all the way down his chest until I get to those fucking panties. I flick my tongue over his lace-covered crown, and groan when the taste of him hits my tongue. He arches from the bed and lets out a moan.

I keep my eyes on him as I pull them down, then start kissing him like I want to consume him. His hips buck, and I grind down, matching him thrust for thrust, making him moan against my lips, turning those sharp words into breathless gasps.

“You feel so fucking good against me,” I whisper, dragging my teeth along his collarbone.

His head tips back, eyes squeezed shut. “You gonna just kiss my neck and whisper praise until I fall asleep, or were you actually planning on fucking me tonight?”