Page 12 of Filthy Mouth (Obsessive Age Gap #2)

Benedict

The more Poppy drank, the more amorous she became.

Four shots and a cocktail later, I was guiding her to the car.

As soon as I sat down, her hand was wrapped around my tie, and her leg flung over mine.

She reminded me of a playful kitten I couldn ’ t wait to cage.

I calculated how long it would take us to get home before placing my hand on her thigh.

“ Mmm. I needed those drinks,” she said, resting her head on me.

“ Why?” I asked, stroking higher.

“ My family stress me out, and now they keep pushing Edmund on me. He ’ s my stepmother ’ s brother. So fucking gross.”

Over my dead body. No one would touch what was mine—not in any way.

This was something the PI missed. I would need to get back to him. Dig into this Edmund character.

“ Typical elites—they like to keep it in the family,” I murmured.

“ You don ’ t know the half of it,” she snorted. “ I left my own home because I just couldn ’ t bear living with them any longer.”

My hand paused.

“ You inherited it from your mother?”

“ Yes, along with what my grandmother left me. They ’ re dying to get their hands on it all,” she said with a weary sigh.

I slipped my arm around her waist, claiming her in the only way I could in public. Now I realised why Isaac hadn ’ t sold me the land. It wasn ’ t his to sell—not yet.

“ Do you know why they want you with Edmund?”

“ Probably for an heir so that they can claim the inheritance.”

My jaw tightened. Poppy was young, but most definitely not naive. And there was no way I ’ d let another man put a child in her. This was fucking entrapment. If anyone was going to baby-trap her, it would be me.

I frowned. What the fuck was I thinking? I didn’t even want children. Perhaps when I was young and clueless, but at my age? The time had passed, hadn’t it? Magnus was almost a year younger than me, and he was on his second baby. I guess his first son was a failure.

“ Greed is a terrible affliction,” I murmured when I noticed Poppy staring at me.

She giggled. “ Yes, you ’ re so wise.”

I smiled at her cheek, but as we drove through the busy London evening, my mind was already plotting how to dismantle her wretched family—piece by piece—until there was nothing left but her, right where I wanted her.

The remaining journey was in silence as I held her, mulling over the information Eric had compiled for me.

Poppy might have a family, but what good were they when they didn ’ t have her best interests at heart?

The files implied many aspects of neglect, especially after Grace Winborne passed away.

Poppy left her own home to get away from them, and that spoke volumes.

My arm tightened around her waist, and she leaned into me, placing her hand on my chest, toying with my tie.

Perhaps I could be both her prince and her villain.

??

??

??

Food could wait. I needed Poppy. When we got home, I took her small case and escorted her to the front door. She was steady on her feet now, her eyes clear.

Excellent.

I wanted her to remember every detail of tonight.

“ Why don ’ t I show you the master bedroom?” I said, guiding her to the elevator.

“ That sounds… interesting.”

I pressed the button for the second floor. The entire level was dedicated to the master suite—an open bathroom, two large dressing areas, and more than enough space to keep her here far longer than six months. I hoped she liked it. She would be living here.

We held each other ’ s gaze, the air tightening between us, the hum of the lift almost drowned out by the sound of her slow, deliberate breathing. Her eyes dipped briefly to my mouth before flicking back up.

“ I hope you ’ re prepared to go into work late tomorrow,” I said as the doors slid open.

She stepped out, heels clicking, then turned her head just enough for me to catch the glint in her eye.

“ I hope you can walk tomorrow,” she murmured with a sniff.

I watched that sexy ass sway down the hallway toward the bedroom door, the tight black skirt hugging her curves just enough to make me imagine what was underneath.

Mrs K would have left the champagne ready for me.

I rolled her suitcase behind us, pausing as she pushed the door open.

Her soft gasp told me she liked what she saw.

“ Wow. I can see why you ’ d want a red room with this layout,” she said, stepping inside.

The suite was open plan, a single partition in the middle offering access to the bathroom from either side.

Light poured in through the windows, catching on the dark wooden furniture—a deliberate contrast I ’ d always liked.

The rest of the bedroom was full of light with the white, cream and flickers of gold throughout.

She moved slowly, her blouse pulling against her chest as she turned her head, eyes lingering on the couch, the table, the chair, and finally the bed. My mind stripped away every layer of that conservative suit, piece by piece, until I had her naked and waiting there.

She drifted toward the bathroom, and I set her case beside the chair, taking the champagne. The cork popped with a sharp crack. I poured us each a glass, already imagining how I ’ d have her by the time it was empty.

“ Come here, Poppy.” My patience was gone, and my voice left no room for refusal.

Her hair caught the light as she turned, swirling like a lure in dark water.

She took her time crossing the room, slipping off her jacket and tossing it over the chair without breaking my gaze.

I tracked every calculated sway of her hips, every rise of her chest—already imagining my hand fisted in her hair while I drove into her.

I handed her the champagne flute.

“ To a new beginning,” I said, the words low and deliberate as our glasses touched.

“ Or an old continuation,” she murmured, lips brushing the rim before she took a sip.

I set my glass on the nightstand with a muted clink and stepped in behind her, closing her in until her spine met my chest. My hand traced the curve of her waist, fingers finding the fastening of her skirt with slow precision.

My mouth lowered until my lips grazed her ear, my breath searing her skin.

“ Tell me the truth,” I murmured, voice curling around her like a leash. “ Did you like being my whore that night? Did you go home with your pretty cunt still aching for my cock?”

“ You know I did,” she said in a sultry voice that made my cock twitch.

I made quick work of the button and zip, and when I let the material go, her skirt slid down to pool at her feet. Black lace clung to her hips, stockings tracing the length of her legs. I lifted her silky grey blouse, revealing the perfect curve of her waist before moving around to unfasten it.

She sipped her champagne, eyes on me as I stripped her layer by layer.

“ I thought I was a pretty good prostitute,” she murmured. “ Something to fall back on.”

I paused on the final button, catching the wicked curl of her lips.

“ I think you enjoyed letting go—embracing your filthy desires,” I said, sliding the blouse from one arm.

She switched the glass to her other hand, and I took the last of her covering away. I stepped back, taking in the view—black lace, bare skin, and heels—while my mind catalogued every way I planned to take her apart tonight.

I took the glass from her hand and set it aside.

My zipper rasped down, and I freed my cock, thick and heavy, the head already flushed. Her tongue darted over her lips again, and I chuckled darkly.

“ Hungry little slut,” I murmured, stroking the length slowly, letting her watch every inch. “ On your knees. I want those pretty lips stretched around me.”

She sank down, champagne glass still in hand, but I plucked it away and set it aside.

“ Hands behind your back. Don ’ t touch unless I tell you to. Tonight, that mouth is mine. You understand?”

Her eyes burned as she nodded.

“ Say it,” I growled.

“ This mouth is yours,” she whispered.

“ Good girl,” I said, brushing the swollen head across her lips. “ Now open wide and show me how much you ’ ve missed Daddy ’ s cock.”

Her lips parted, but I didn ’ t let her take me yet. I dragged the thick head across her mouth, smearing her lipstick with my pre-come. It was just like the last time, only this time she was mine.

“ Not yet,” I murmured, watching her tongue twitch like she was starving. “ You don ’ t get to swallow until I say.”

I cradled her chin, tilting her head back so she was forced to look up at me. The sight of her on her knees, stockings biting into her thighs, blouse discarded in a heap—damn, it was a picture I ’ d fantasised about since that filthy night.

“ You want it, don ’ t you?” I asked softly, almost tender, before letting the roughness creep back into my tone. “ You want me to fuck your mouth until your mascara runs, until you can ’ t breathe without tasting me.”

Her breath hitched, lips brushing the head. I pushed just enough for her tongue to flick against me, then pulled away.

“ Patience,” I warned, stroking myself in front of her, letting every drop glisten. “ Look at this cock. You ’ ll choke on it before I ’ m done. You ’ ll drool all over yourself and thank me for it.”

She whimpered, thighs pressing together.

“ Ah-ah,” I said with a sharp smile. “ No touching. I told you—your mouth is mine tonight. The rest of you can suffer.”

Her lips stretched around me, glossy and wet, as I slid further in. The heat of her mouth was enough to make my head swim, but I held her still, controlling the pace. She whimpered as I nudged the back of her throat, spit already dripping down her chin.

“ That ’ s it,” I growled, brushing my thumb across her cheek. “ Take it deeper. I want every inch buried down that throat.”

Her lashes fluttered as she tried, gagging softly before pulling back. I didn ’ t let her retreat far—just enough to smear her saliva over her lips before I pressed forward again, slow and unrelenting.

“ Look at you,” I murmured, my hips rolling as she worked her tongue around the thick length. “ On your knees, messy little mouth wide open, drooling all over yourself. You were made for this.”

A shiver ran through her, and her eyes lifted to mine. Glassy. Willing. Desperate. My cock throbbed against her tongue, begging me to break the rhythm and drive in hard. But I wanted the slow burn. I wanted her on edge, needy for the inevitable.

“ Hands on your thighs,” I commanded when her fingers twitched. “ You don ’ t touch. You let me use you exactly how I want.”

She obeyed, nails digging into her skirt as I fed her another inch, then another, until her throat strained around me. Her muffled moan vibrated against my cock, and I let out a harsh groan.

“ Fuck, yes. That ’ s the sound I ’ ve been waiting for. Don ’ t stop now—I ’ m not letting you up until your throat remembers me every time you swallow.”

I gripped her head, pulling back just enough for her to snatch a breath before slamming myself back inside her willing mouth. My eyes rolled shut as I fucked her throat hard and fast, her gurgling, choking sounds spurring me on. Nothing compared to the way her neck strained and stretched around me.

“ Stand up and bend over the bed,” I ordered, pulling out.

Her mouth glistened, spit dripping down her chin as she staggered upright. She bent forward, palms flat on the mattress. I yanked her knickers down and waited until she lifted her feet, freeing the damp lace.

“ Back on your knees,” I growled, clutching the sodden fabric in my fist.

She sank obediently to the carpet, chest heaving, eyes glazed.

“ Open.”

Like the good whore she was, she parted her lips wide. I slapped my cock across them, smearing spit and precum across her swollen mouth.

“ Your knickers are dripping, Poppy. Your filthy little cunt soaked them through.”

Her wide-eyed nod made my cock pulse with heat.

I rammed the head back between her lips, stabbing deep until her throat convulsed around me. “ Not wet enough,” I rasped, dragging free to smear her spit across her chin before driving back in. “ I ’ ll make them wetter for such a greedy slut.”

When I finally tore out, her lips glistened, a web of spit hanging from her mouth.

I shoved the balled lace against my cockhead, grinding until the fabric clung heavy and sodden with my spend.

Hot streaks seeped through, soaking the delicate black.

A guttural grunt ripped from my chest as the last of my come painted her underwear.

I managed to catch all of it in the lace, wiping the tip for any remnants.

I plunged the ruined lace into the champagne flute, bubbles fizzing over silk, spit, and seed. Holding her chin tight, I pressed the dripping gusset against her mouth.

“ Taste it.”

Champagne and filth spilled down her tongue, running over her lips. I stuffed more of the wet lace past her teeth, watching her cheeks hollow as she sucked obediently.

“ Suck every drop of Daddy’s come. Lick your knickers clean for me, Princess.”

When she ’ d sucked and licked them, I inspected the lace, then tossed it aside. Fisting her hair, I shoved my cock back into her mouth, forcing deeper until she gagged on all of it—her taste, mine, the sharp burn of champagne fizzing in her throat.

“ Lick me clean,” I snarled, dragging her head forward on my cock. “ Learn to savour what ’ s yours to swallow.”

I watched her bob her head diligently, dragging her lips up and down my length. It wasn't a fluke. Poppy was the real deal. I noticed the cloudy come at the bottom of the champagne glass.

I eased out of her neck.

That wouldn’t do. I needed every last drop inside of her.