Page 13 of Filthy Mouth (Obsessive Age Gap #2)

Poppy

He swirled the glass he ’ d dipped my underwear in and handed it back. I didn ’ t hesitate. With my eyes locked on his, I downed the champagne and everything laced in it. He smiled as he tucked his cock away.

“ I suppose I should feed you something other than cock before I see to that wet little pussy,” he murmured, taking the empty glass from my hand and helping me up. “ Don ’ t clean your face. I like it messy.”

I shook my head at him while he passed me my blouse. If this was the starter, I could only imagine how devastating the main course would be.

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The dining room was set as if for royalty—polished silver, crystal glasses, the faint glow of candles. He pulled my chair out, and when I sat, I caught my reflection in the glass of wine waiting for me. Red lips swollen, chin still sticky from him. He hadn ’ t lied—he liked it messy.

An older lady appeared with the main course: poussin glazed in herbs, skin crisp, vegetables roasted until their edges caramelised. The aroma filled the air, but I swallowed carefully, my throat tender from being used.

“ Eat, Poppy,” he said smoothly, taking his seat across from me. “ You ’ ll need the strength later.”

I cut into the delicate bird, the juices running clear, but every bite dragged against my sore throat. His gaze never left my mouth. He watched me chew. He watched me swallow. I shifted in my chair, thighs pressed together beneath the table, wet heat gathering again.

“ My knickers tasted better,” I joked, but my voice cracked, and I winced at how raw my voice sounded.

He chuckled low, pouring more wine into my glass. “ Don ’ t worry. I ’ ll give you plenty more practice until your throat learns to take me properly. For now, eat.”

I obeyed, each mouthful a battle between hunger and the awareness that he was feasting on me with his eyes.

The crisp skin crackled against my teeth, juices slick on my tongue, but all I could think about was the champagne fizz on lace and come.

My fork trembled as I lifted another bite, his stare making me feel as though I was feeding him instead of myself.

Dessert was brought out before the main was finished, and I knew Benedict was eager to return upstairs. I took my time, savouring the light chocolate mousse. Benedict ’ s eyes grew darker with each spoonful.

When I was finished, I licked the spoon from front to back until he snapped. He stood up and walked around, yanking me out of my seat and dragging me out of the dining room. I was still chuckling by the time we reached the elevator doors.

“ Don't you ever use the stairs?”

“ There are too many, and I want you now.”

My laughter echoed against the lift doors, but it caught in my throat when his hand slid down my spine and cupped my arse through the thin fabric of my skirt.

“ You liked licking that spoon, didn ’ t you?” he murmured against my ear, voice low and dangerous. “ Thought you could get away with taunting me?”

I grinned, breathless. “ You looked like you wanted to snatch it right out of my mouth.”

He slammed the button for the second floor, caging me in with his body as the doors closed. His hand slipped lower, fingers grazing between my thighs.

“ I should ’ ve bent you over the table and fucked that mousse off your tongue,” he said, grinding his hips into me so I felt the hard line of his cock.

My pulse skittered, knees weakening, but I still dared to lick my lips slowly, as if tasting the last trace of chocolate. “ Mmm. Maybe I wanted you to lose control.”

He growled, pinning me against the mirrored wall as the lift climbed. His reflection glared back at me, dark and feral, his hand tightening at my throat.

“ You ’ ll regret that little show,” he said, lips brushing my ear. “ Tonight, you ’ re my dessert.”

The lift chimed, and the doors slid open. His grip didn ’ t loosen. He dragged me down the hall, my heels clicking against the polished floor, until I was shoved into the vast bedroom.

He spun me toward the bed, eyes dark and hungry.

“ Strip,” he ordered, loosening his tie with one hand.

My pulse raced, heat pooling low in my belly. I obeyed, blouse slipping from my shoulders, skirt pooling at my feet. Lace clung damp between my thighs.

“ On the bed. Spread those legs.”

I crawled onto the sheets, reclining back against the pillows, heart hammering. When I parted my thighs, his gaze burned hotter than any candlelight.

“ See?” I whispered, voice husky. “ Already sweeter than mousse.”

His smirk was wicked.

“ Then I ’ ll lick my plate clean.”

He shoved my knees wider, dragging me down the bed until I was flush with the edge. His shoulders slotted between my thighs, broad and unrelenting, and then his mouth was on me.

I cried out, back arching, as his tongue carved a hot, slick path through my folds. He licked like a man starved, like every filthy tease I ’ d given him had only sharpened his hunger. His beard rasped against my tender skin, the rough drag a filthy contrast to the wet heat of his mouth.

“ Oh, fuck,” I whimpered, fists tangling in the sheets.

He didn ’ t stop. His nose nudged my clit, his tongue plunging deep, then up to circle again. Every flick of his tongue made the wetness gush, and he groaned into me, swallowing greedily. His beard was drenched now, glistening with my slick, every stroke scraping my thighs raw in the best way.

“ Better than mousse,” he rasped against me, lips glistening, before fastening his mouth back over my cunt and sucking hard. My hips bucked, but his strong hands pinned me down, holding me open for his feast.

The sound of him eating me echoed obscenely—slurps, groans, the wet drag of his beard smearing my arousal everywhere. He wasn ’ t just enjoying me; he was revelling in it, face buried deep, feasting until I was writhing helplessly under him.

“ Messy little dessert,” he muttered between licks, voice muffled against my dripping folds. “ And I ’ m not leaving a single drop.”

I was still trembling when he finally lifted his head, beard shining with me. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes blazing down at me as though he hadn ’ t just devoured me alive.

“ You like to tease,” he said, voice rough. “ So let me show you what you ’ ll be begging for.”

He stood, slow and deliberate, tugging at the knot of his tie. The silk slid free, a dark ribbon dangling from his fist before he tossed it onto the chair. My chest tightened as he worked open each button of his shirt, one after another, exposing hard muscle beneath crisp white cotton.

I licked my lips, throat dry, as he shrugged the shirt off his broad shoulders. His chest was sculpted, dusted with dark hair, his skin bronzed against the pale fabric. He watched my every reaction, every hitch in my breath, feeding on it as much as he had fed between my thighs.

“ Shoes, socks, trousers,” he muttered to himself as if reciting a ritual. He kicked them off one by one, until all that was left was the heavy bulge straining against black briefs. My eyes locked there, unable to look anywhere else.

“ Go on,” he teased, hooking a thumb beneath the waistband. “ Say it.”

My mouth was dry, but the words slipped out, a needy whisper. “ Take them off.”

His grin was wicked, pure sin as he eased the briefs down inch by inch, freeing his cock in a slow reveal that had my pulse hammering. Thick and heavy with veins that stood out along the length as it sprang against his stomach.

He stood naked before me, arrogance carved into every line of his body. “ You ’ ve had your meal,” he said, stroking himself once, lazily. “ Now it ’ s my turn to feed you properly.”

Those dark brown eyes gleamed with hunger, his straight dark hair falling forward as he tilted his head, like a wolf deciding which part of the lamb to sink his teeth into first.

I barely had time to draw breath before he moved. One knee pressed into the mattress, then the other, the bed dipping beneath his weight as he prowled over me. He clambered forward until his shadow swallowed mine, his cock heavy and hard, brushing the inside of my thigh as if by design.

I gasped as his hands caught my wrists, pinning them flat to the sheets above my head. His legs forced mine down, pressing them into the mattress until I couldn ’ t move, couldn ’ t resist, could only feel him spreading me wide, inch by inch.

“ Look at me, Poppy,” he demanded, his voice a low growl.

I couldn ’ t look anywhere else. His eyes were molten, burning through me, his dark hair grazing my cheek as he lowered himself closer. His cock dragged against my slick folds, hot, thick, deliberate. My breath hitched, the pressure stealing every word from my throat.

“ Every inch of me,” he rasped, grinding his hips, “ is going to open you. Stretch you. Fill you until you forget your own name.”

Pinned beneath him, legs forced flat, I felt it—the heavy, relentless push as he began to spread me open. A slow, claiming glide that made my back arch and my mouth part in a broken cry.

He kissed me then, devouring me with the same hunger he ’ d feasted with below, his beard scratching my skin, his body pressing me into the bed like I was his conquest, his prize, his possession.

His cock slid lower, nudging at my entrance, thick heat teasing me with shallow drags that made my whole body ache. He didn ’ t push inside—he hovered, tormenting, letting me feel just how much he was holding back.

“ Say it,” he growled, his mouth brushing my ear. “ Tell me you want it.”

“ I—I want you,” I whispered, hips writhing against him, desperate for more friction.

His weight pinned me flat, immovable. “ Not enough. Beg for it. Beg for me to tear that little cunt open.”

A shiver wrecked me. My nails dug into the sheets where he trapped my wrists. “ Please,” I gasped. “ Please, Daddy, I need it. I need you inside me.”