Page 91 of Darling
He makes some ‘fuck it’ noise and yanks open my belt and the button on my pants, then I turn and fold myself over the desk, looking over my shoulder at him. He’s looking at my ass and then at my face, conflicted.
“If you say the word lubricant to me I’m going to laugh, and it will only ruin the moment,” I pant. “Spit on it. It’ll do.”
He doesn’t love this idea, I can tell. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You could never hurt me,” I say as sincerely as I can. “Please, I need to feel you stretch me open. I want to go back out therefilledwith your cum. I want you to know I’m out there, walking around with it running out of my stretched-out hole. Please,daddy.”
Something feral comes over his face, and he drops to his knees, eating me out for less than ten seconds before spitting into my hole. When he stands again, I brace myself against the desk, which is a good thing because there’s no warning before he pushes into me in one quick, hard thrust, and I have to bite down on my hand to stop from screaming. The pain is something else, and I’m certain he’s torn me open, and in the moment, I couldn’t care fucking less. I’ve never felt as full, not even with Cole Sanders’ ten-inch dick inside me. Christian pushes into every single bit of available space, so totally that I’m sure I can feel him in my stomach.
“Breathe, sweetheart,” he says against my ear. He’s right, I hadn’t been breathing. I forgot to fucking breathe. When I begin to breathe, he begins to fuck.
Fast and hard and deep, and all I can do is hang on, not scream. After his third or fourth thrust, it starts to feel like sex, like pleasure, like desire, like intimacy. His weight on my back, his mouth at my ear, hot whispered words being bitten and kissed into my skin.
“You’re perfect,” he says. “My perfect, beautiful boy. Asher… I can’t… I…”
And then he’s coming deep inside my body, warmth spilling into places no one else has ever been. My heart thunders against my ribs as the feeling expands white and loud and warm in my chest. After, he flips me over and fingers me again as I jerk myself off. At the point of orgasm, he closes his mouth over my dick and sucks out my climax into his whisky-soaked tongue. I have to bite the words into my hand.I love you. I love you. I love you.
My legs tremble as we dress, my hole deliciously sore and wet and open. When he’d not been looking, I’d slid a hand between my cheeks just to make sure what was running out of me had been free and clear of anything red, so sure I was that he’d torn something. It had been cum, nothing else, nothing for him to feel guilty about. It only makes the deep ache of the sex feel more delicious.
He looks at me, eyes a little uneasy. “I didn’t hurt you?”
“Of course not. I’m a professional, remember.”
His body language softens. “You’re wonderful. Thank you for that.”
I grin. “Anytime. So, a lot of important people out there, huh?” I gesture toward the door.
“Not as important as the one in here.”
“True, you should get back out there, then.”
He reaches out and snakes a hand around my waist, pulling me against his heated body. “I meant you, sweetheart.” Hepresses a kiss to my head. “But you’re right, it is my party, and I should get out there. But mingle, there’s a man called Jacob Fordyce here, the one I told you about. He owns a string of Galleries in New York, San Francisco, and LA. I mentioned your name earlier when he arrived. I’ll try and introduce you.”
“You did that? Why?”
Christian smooths a section of my hair back and gives me one of his charming smiles. “Because you’re an exceptionally talented young artist, and Jacob loves those.” With a peck on the lips, he releases me and heads for the door. “Wait five minutes after I leave, all right? That should be more than enough. You really do look beautiful, sweetheart.”
Dazed, I give him the most simpering smile. “So do you.”
With a grin, he pulls open the door and slips out into the bustling hallway. I wander his office for about ten minutes, no one giving me a single glance when I finally exit. I find Amata in the bar area with Gael, both looking extremely interested in whatever the other has to say, so I go order a drink at the bar, though I hesitate over what to order. In the end, I go for a vodka with soda, lots of ice, and a wedge of lemon, and quench my thirst with a few large gulps.
“Large glass of rosé,” says a guy who’s just materialised to my right. The voice is very English and very distinctive.I cannot stand the stuff. It’s Felix’s favourite, and even the smell turns my stomach.I turn my head to get a look at him: he’s average height, though a little taller than me, tanned, with a long, straight nose, full mouth, and a head of dark golden curls. He’s wearing some kind of lace jacket with nothing beneath, nothing to hide what is undoubtedly a ballet dancer’s physique. He catches me staring from the side of his eye and turns a sharp green stare on me, assessing me very quickly before he realises something.
“Oh, you’re bloody Asher, aren’t you?”
“And you’re Felix.”
He smiles, and it’s fucking blinding, maybe the most perfect smile I’ve ever seen on another human being. He’s gorgeous. Not the type of guy I’ve ever been into, but I’m having a hard time telling my body that as I look at him. Christian used to fuck him.
“Oh, he told you about me?” Felix sounds surprised, but not annoyed.
“You came up in conversation.”
He looks almost pleased now, smug. “My boyfriend went to our room for a bit because he hates this kind of thing: too many people. He won’t be back for a while. You wanna go somewhere quieter?”
I blink at him.
“I meant to talk! Fucking hell, I’m not propositioning you.” He laughs at this and shakes his head before taking a sip of his wine.