Page 17 of Filthy Mouth (Obsessive Age Gap #2)

Poppy

The afternoon passed in a blur. Meetings came and went, but I couldn ’ t recall a single word.

Lunch might as well have been cardboard—I couldn ’ t taste anything past the throb between my legs, the sting of bruises blooming across my skin.

My fingers kept drifting to my mouth, tracing lips still swollen from his cock.

Every thought, every shift of my body circled back to Benedict ’ s filth.

He ’ d brought me coffee and fresh pastries, casual as anything, feeding me pieces with that dark laugh—as if it were the most natural thing in the world, as if we ’ d done it a thousand times before.

And that was the problem, wasn ’ t it? Every other man I ’ d ever known seemed like an amateur by comparison. Edmund and his oily smile. The endless stream of society-approved suitors. All of them faded into nothing.

I chewed the inside of my cheek and came to the only logical conclusion.

If lifetime dick options were on the table, Benedict ’ s was the one.

Tried, tested, devastatingly effective. No man had ever fucked me like that—and no one ever would again.

The sexy cherry on top was calling him Daddy.

It was an invisible slap to my father’s face each time I called Benedict Daddy.

By the time I was halfway through a design, I wasn ’ t even focusing on it when my brain had betrayed me. A dick pro and con list. For Benedict.

Pros:

·Large. No, massive. Stretches me in ways that should come with a warning label.

·Knows what to do with it. Uses every inch like it ’ s his job.

·Gives breakfast in bed—if you can call a mouthful of come breakfast. (Apparently, you can.)

·Beard burn. Which, shockingly, counts as a plus.

·Rich, powerful, annoyingly good at pulling my hair at the exact right moment.

·Filth levels off the charts. Man could degrade me until I ’ m smiling.

Cons:

·Might actually rearrange my internal organs.

·Gives me bruises in places I can ’ t explain to a medical professional.

·Has stamina no forty-five-year-old should possess. (Suspicious. Possibly black magic.)

·Calls the shots like he owns me. (…which, let ’ s be honest, is kind of a pro in disguise.)

I analysed the list in my head and realised with a sinking, shivery sort of clarity: Benedict Lancaster was endgame.

Of course, my brain didn ’ t stop there. It dragged Edmund into the equation, which was frankly insulting to Benedict ’ s dick.

Edmund ’ s hypothetical dick pros and cons:

Pros:

·Um… still attached to his body?

·Might be average enough not to cause lasting damage. (Though honestly, meh.)

Cons:

·Receding hairline so far back it looks like it ’ s retreating from the battlefield.

·The kind of man who says “ lady garden” instead of pussy.

·Would probably need a PowerPoint presentation before attempting foreplay.

·Definitely the type to come in his pants before getting the condom open.

·His biggest sexual fantasy is probably being congratulated for lasting longer than three minutes.

·Only after my inheritance, because without a wealthy woman, he ’ d be just another bore with a shiny car and middle-aged insecurity.

I smirked at my screen, the design a blur. Compared to Benedict? Edmund didn ’ t even make the reserves team. He wasn ’ t even a warm-up act.

Benedict ’ s cock was a life sentence I was already guilty of and happy to serve. A disgusting, nasty life sentence—and my pussy throbbed at the thought.

He wasn ’ t just good in bed—he was criminally good. Dangerous. Every filthy word, every brutal thrust, every wicked trick of his tongue had been deployed with lethal precision, like he ’ d studied the art of ruining women and chosen me as his final masterpiece.

His real danger was in how he treated his come, not as an ending, but as the start of another game.

He fed it to me like it was an elixir of life, rubbed it into my skin like perfume, and forced me to taste it until I was dizzy on him.

Filthy, degrading, addictive. No man should know how to use his come like that…

and yet he wielded it like a weapon I couldn ’ t fight.

Ugh. This was exactly why I hadn ’ t wanted to get involved with anyone.

Six months, my ass. He ’ d set me up from the start.

??

??

??

I lay in bed when my phone lit up, and I smiled, already knowing it would be Benedict. Time to admit it—he made me happy. I reached for my phone.

Baddy: My bed feels lonely . ??

Me: Mine too. I miss that ten-inch steel pole poking me all night .

Baddy: What are you wearing?

I chuckled.

Me: My Nana ’ s nightdress .

Baddy: sigh, You ’ d still look hot .

Me: I doubt it. It ’ s ankle-length with little blue flowers .

Baddy: Good. Easier to tear off .

Me: You wouldn ’ t dare .

Baddy: I ’ d rip it straight down the middle, spread your legs, and make you wear the scraps while I fuck you .

I squeezed my thighs together, grinning at the screen.

Me: What if I ’ m not wearing any knickers under it?

Baddy: Then my bed isn ’ t the only thing lonely tonight. Spread those legs and touch yourself .

Me: Bossy .

Baddy: You love it. Tell me—are your fingers as wet as your filthy mouth was last night?

I bit my lip, heat building low in my belly.

Me: Maybe .

Baddy: No maybe. Be a good girl and slide them in. Pretend it ’ s my cock stretching you .

The phone lit up again—it was a video call. My pulse jumped as I answered. Benedict ’ s face filled the screen, dark hair brushing his neck, brown eyes pinning me like prey.

“ Show me,” he said, voice low, no greeting.

I tipped the camera down slowly, teasing him with straps of silk sliding down my shoulders, the camisole clinging to my body. I tugged at my shorts, letting them slip lower until they gathered around my ankles. I kicked them off with a smirk, now bare beneath the flimsy silk.

“ That ’ s not Nana ’ s nightdress,” he hissed.

“ Oops,” I whispered, biting my lip.

“ Turn around.”

I obeyed, propping the phone against a pillow so he had the full view. I bent over, letting the hem ride up as I revealed everything. His groan crackled through the speaker.

“ Good girl. Stay like that. You ’ re mine, even through this screen.”

When I turned back, he was leaning close to his camera, jaw tight, chest rising hard.

“ Now—get rid of the top. I want you naked when you play with yourself for me.”

I peeled the camisole up, baring myself for him. His eyes darkened, lips parting as if he could taste me through the screen.

“ Touch yourself,” he ordered.

I trailed my fingers lower, circling but not giving in. “ Mmm. Maybe I ’ ll make you beg, Daddy.”

His jaw flexed. “ Careful, Princess. You ’ ll regret teasing me.”

“ Oh? You ’ re all the way over there.” I flicked the camera a wicked smile. “ What are you going to do about it?”

For a moment, there was only his sharp breath, the gleam in his eyes. Then he swung the phone, showing me his bare feet hitting the floor. His sheets rumpled behind him.

“ Where are you going?” I laughed.

“ Where the fuck do you think I ’ m going?” His voice was all gravel. “ Keep that pretty cunt wet for me—I ’ ll be there in twenty.”

My laugh came out shaky, heat rushing straight between my thighs.

“ Better hurry,” I purred, slipping two fingers lower with a moan. “ Or I might start without you.”

“ Don ’ t you dare come until I get there.” He was already pulling on trousers, stalking for his keys. “ If you do, Princess—I ’ ll make sure you can ’ t walk tomorrow.”

The line went dead.

Well, that escalated pretty fast.

??

??

??

Baddy: How’s my Princess’s pussy?

I scowled at his message. He damn well knew the answer.

Me: What sort of a sexual deviant keeps his dick inside a woman all night?

Baddy: Hey, you weren't complaining this morning .

I sighed and rolled my eyes.

Me: I’ve recently discovered that my pussy is a masochist .

Baddy: Good. She ’ ll need to be—because I ’ m not finished with her .

Heat coiled in my belly. Not ideal when I was parked outside a client ’ s house.

Me: You ’ re an evil man. I ’ m supposed to be professional in five minutes .

Baddy: Professional on the outside. Dripping slut underneath. Don ’ t pretend you ’ re not soaked already .

I gripped the steering wheel and groaned. Bastard.

Me: If I ruin these knickers, you ’ re paying for new ones .

Baddy: Send me proof first. I ’ ll decide if they ’ re ruined…or ready for me .

Me: You're impossible. I have to go, I’ll see you tonight .

Baddy: Okay, baby. See you and your needy pussy tonight .

I tossed my phone onto the passenger seat and dropped my head against the steering wheel. A deep breath, then another. My thighs pressed together, the lace of my knickers sticking to my skin. God, the bastard had me dripping before I ’ d even rung the client ’ s doorbell.

One more sigh. I adjusted my blouse in the rearview mirror, pinched some colour into my cheeks, and forced a smile. Totally professional. Absolutely not the sort of woman whose Daddy-issues-on-legs had been texting about her pussy two minutes ago.

I grabbed my portfolio, shoved the ache between my legs to the back of my mind, and finally opened the car door.