Page 48 of Eternal

Her head bobs up and down, and I hit the back of her throat over and over. She takes me deeper, sucks me harder. Her spit drips down her hand, and she soaks my cock.

“Do you want my cum, pet?”

She lifts to the tip, holding the head between her beautiful lips, and nods before sinking over me again.

“Good.” I grab the back of her hair and pull her off me.

“What—”

“Open.” I cut her off, standing and pulling her hair to tip her head back.

Fear floods her gaze, but she does what she’s told, opening her mouth for me.

“Tongue out.”

She obeys.

With one hand, I angle her head back, and with the other, I stroke my cock.

“Did you learn your lesson tonight? Did you learn your place?”

She tries to nod but can’t with my grip on her hair.

“Good. Because you’re mine until I say otherwise. And I’ll remind you of that until you break.” I stroke my cock, and the sight of her submission has pressure building at the base of my spine. “Don’t swallow.”

I hold her in place and plant the head of my cock on the tip of her warm tongue, stroking until the pressure is too much. My body tenses, and ropes of cum shoot into her mouth, over her tongue, and on her lips.

I paint her like she paints the canvas.

She flinches but doesn’t try to pull away, and when I’m done, I press the underside of her chin.

“Remember what I said.” I close her mouth. “Hold it for me. Taste me on your tongue.”

Tears leak from her eyes, but she doesn’t swallow. She waits with my cum in her mouth for me to direct her because, as irritating as she is, she’s perfect for me.

“I’m going to mark every inch of your body, Teal. Slowly, painfully. I’m going to make you sit with everything I inflict. All that noise in your head… we’ll quiet it. You’re going to feel me, take me, taste me. And you’ll obey until you give me everything I want. Isn’t that right?”

She nods.

Such an obedient girl.

“Swallow.” I grip her throat, and she swallows me down, not taking her eyes off me. “You’re mine now.”

15

Mine

Teal

Mine.

It’s a territorial word for a man who is known for his conquests. But as Declan looks down at me kneeling before him, demanding I claim him as much as he claims me, I accept this sick arrangement.

I let him be the bandage on a wound that’s been seeping for so long there’s no stitching it back up.

With Declan, I don’t have to pretend. I don’t have to be in control. He spins a careful web to trap me, and in it, I don’t want to see past the cobwebs.

Declan stares into my eyes, and for a split second, I question why I’ve spent all these years hating him. Is it that he’s the mirror I’m afraid to peer through when all I find there is the sickness I’m terrified to face within myself?