Page 7

Lyric sat in the middle of the lecture hall, surrounded by the dim glow of laptop screens and the low hum of King Lore’s recorded lecture playing through the room’s speakers. Now that she knew more about the bat bite, it explained why he no longer delivered them in person. If his gifts had lust attached to them, he might accidentally give the entire class an orgasm. Something all the females probably already fantasized about while masturbating.

King Lore was one of the pretty Kings. The girls had them divided up into three kinds. The Pretty Kings. The Hot Kings. And the Scary Kings. Some claimed more than one category, some claimed all. Nidev had been all three to her. And now he was so much more.

Her fingers curled around her pen as she absentmindedly tapped her notes, fighting to retain the boring facts regarding resonance of sound frequencies in ancient rituals—a subject that once captivated her.

Her phone vibrated next to her and spiked her pulse. She pulled the phone under her desk, away from wandering eyes then tilted the screen.

Nidev: Lyric,

Your training begins today.

My lessons are designed to

strip away who and what

you think you are and

replace it with what

I demand you to become.

Each day, you will receive a text from me.

You will obey it.

Every evening, you will

tell me why I chose the test.

If you are correct, you will

spend the night with your King.

If you are not, you will spend

the night with your Dominus.

Your King desires your excellence.

Your Dominus demands it.

Oh dear God.

Her King and her Dominus ?

Her breath held as she re-read the text slower, making sure she didn’t misread any of it.

She swiped the screen and closed it, releasing her breath slowly through the dizzying excitement. It was beginning. It was happening. It was actually happening.

****

Lyric took a bite of her sandwich, pretending to be busy with notes while her friends giggled and whispered rated X theories about their favorite Kings. They either didn’t care or didn’t believe the story she’d given about the Kings. With the help of her gift she’d informed them that the changes were connected to the stuff happening in the world, not the bat bite. Clearly they preferred the lust reasons.

Her phone buzzed and she nearly vomited on the spot.

She quickly put away all her stuff and hurried out of the lunchroom and dashed into the bathroom. Once in a stall, she locked the door and pulled out her phone, fingers shaking.

Nidev: Go to the library.

Take the book from the top shelf on the far right.

Open to page 42 and write down the first paragraph exactly as it appears.

Then, remember it.

Her grip on the phone tightened as heat pooled in her stomach, a mixture of anxiety and something darker. Something that made her squeeze her thighs together. She reread the message, trying to decipher a deeper meaning. She dared a glanced at the crack in the stall when the door opened. She returned to the text, eyes locked on Then , remember it .

Then she wouldn’t know if she’d passed or failed until she faced him later and gave the answer to why he chose that assignment.

Her fingers trembled as she tucked her phone away.

And whether or not she’d spend the night with her King or her Dominus.

Your King expects excellence.

Your Dominus demands it.

Dear God, her Dominus.

Was that supposed to make her want to get the answer wrong?

****

The library was quiet, the hum of the overhead lights the only real noise aside from the occasional rustle of a turning page. Lyric slipped inside, eyes scanning the space automatically. A few students were scattered at tables, heads bent in study, absorbed in their own worlds.

She exhaled slowly and weaved through the aisles, following the memorized instructions exactly. At the last section of shelves, she went to the one on the far right and paused, retrieving her phone. Which one on the top shelf?

She pulled out the last one with the deep navy spine, eyeing silver embossed title: The Veil and the Voice – Benedict Calloway.

No recognition. She turned to page forty-two, first paragraph.

"Myth survives because it is felt before it is understood. It is not history, yet it shapes history. It is not truth, yet it defines what we believe to be true. A single story, told the right way, can outlast civilizations, alter the course of empires, and make the impossible feel inevitable."

Hmm. She closed the book and eyed the others on the shelf. She went through each one, debating if she should text and ask which book. No. He wasn’t prone to mistakes. Maybe he wanted to see which she’d pick.

She went with the first one and took it to one of the tables and sat with it, pulling her notebook out to copy it. She read it again then carefully wrote it down, her handwriting neat and deliberate. After three times, she sat back and stared at the words, waiting for something to reveal itself.

Was this about belief? About perception? Something felt before it was understood? Was that supposed to mean instinct? Trust? Or was it about power? The way a story could alter the course of everything?

She tapped her pen against the page, brows pulling in thought before flipping to the back of her small notebook and designated a section for these assignments.

Assignment #1

The Veil and the Voice – Benedict Calloway Page 42, first paragraph (copied) Possible meaning: ???

She underlined the question marks three times.

She checked her phone for any new messages. Particularly the time she was supposed to report to him in the evening. It was so unlike any of the Kings to give assignments without every single detail regarding it.

A sudden fight-or-flight reflex hit her bloodstream so hard it made her dizzy.

She took in several slow breaths, closing her eyes. He’s Nidev. He’s always taken care of me. He’s always been a friend. He’s always protected me.

I trust him.

****

Lyric stood before the mirror, a curl-pick in one hand, her notebook in the other. Her pulse thrummed beneath her skin as she fluffed her curls, flipping to the page she’d filled with scribbled attempts at unraveling Nidev’s test.

She exhaled slowly, tilting her head as she met her own eyes in the glass. What the hell was the lesson here?

Her gaze dropped to the three possible answers she’d written . Submission is felt before it’s understood. Maybe he’s trying to teach me that I don’t need to know where he’s leading me—I just need to follow.

Power isn’t about truth—it’s about belief. Maybe he’s showing me that reality isn’t what’s real, it’s what he decides is real. And what I believe is real.

The way he tells me to do something matters more than what he tells me to do. Was this about obedience? Was the test about whether I’d follow his command without question and not about the book at all?

She bit her lip, chewing lightly as she reached for her lipstick, her mind moving to other critical things like what he wanted her to wear tonight. He hadn’t said. Did he want her sexy? Or still in her uniform, his perfect little student?

Mr. Nidev.

Her breath trembled at the memory of saying it, of the way it had slid from her lips, how it had felt to say it. She liked calling him that. She liked how filthy it made her feel, like a bad girl in a secret game.

Her thighs clenched as she smoothed out her skirt, eyeing herself critically. She’d applied a little gloss, kept her makeup light. Just enough to look presentable. Innocent.

Her nails tapped against the notebook. Which answer? She’d rehearsed all three in the mirror, whispering them, testing the way they felt on her tongue.

What would her King do if she got it right? What would her Dominus do if she got it wrong? The thoughts sent an electric thrill racing up her spine.

Her phone vibrated against the bathroom counter and she froze. Her stomach flipped as she reached for it.

Nidev.

She swallowed, unlocking the screen with a quick swipe.

Nidev: Come now.

Oh God, this is it. This. Is. It.

She grabbed her backpack, shoving her notebook inside. She was still in her uniform and was glad the choice was practically made for her. She hoped it was right.

****

Lyric hesitated outside the door, tugging at the hem of her skirt, second guessing everything. Too short? Too long? Too much? Not enough?

She quickly undid the top two buttons and smashed her lips together. The gloss was for looking soft. Eager. Like she wanted to be corrected.

She forced herself to knock and the second she did, panic flooded in. Oh God, what was she doing, she should’ve worn something else, something that didn’t scream fuck me, Mr. Nidev, I’m desperate and weak--he did not like weak or desperate people!

Her breaths came in micro-gasps as she reached up to fasten the top buttons then jerked her hands down when the door opened.

Her breath vanished. Black slacks, white shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms, collar open just enough to reveal ink and all the sinful things she craved beneath.

His gaze raked over her in a single, precise sweep. Calculating. Collecting. Then again. Slow. Deliberate. Absolute.

He stepped back.

She walked inside.

The air in his apartment was heavier. Thicker. The soft click of the door behind her locked something in. Or maybe locked something out.

“Let’s talk,” he said, making his way toward the living room side of the apartment.

Lyric set her bag down at the door, heart racing with figuring out his tone. It was different in a way she’d never heard before.

Lord, she hoped she hadn’t done something.

She took a seat at the single chair near him on the couch, avoiding his gaze. His entire face, really. All while wondering again how this part of the lesson was going to go down.

“How was school?”

She snapped her gaze at him, surprised with the question. “Um, it’s fine. I mean, I’m learning. Keeping up.”

He held her in his steely gray stare. “We’re just talking,” he informed evenly. “I’m still your mentor.”

Her guts only tightened more. “Okay, sure.” She redirected her thoughts, pushing down her runaway fears.

“What are you learning?”

She pursed her lips. “Ancient frequencies. And to focus,” she said. “King Lore’s been drilling me about control, but that’s… standard.”

“Hmm,” he said, gaze unwavering on her.

“Technique stuff,” she added, swallowing down her nerves.

“And what have you been working on? You always have some little side project.”

Lord, where was this going? “Uh, well…”

He placed his arm on the back of the couch, head tilting a little on her. Waiting.

Then realized her little side project wasn’t something she wanted to tell him. He’d find it silly and useless. “It’s nothing really worth… mentioning.”

He turned up the degrees on his stare, letting her know disclosure wasn’t an option, but an order.

“It’s… just a little trick,” she explained.

“Tell me,” he prompted with an ease she knew not to misinterpret as safe.

She licked her lips and took a breath, her foot bouncing. “So I… found a soundwave that targets a particular part of people. And if I… emit it,” she explained, tangling her fingers in her lap. “Then it… produces a reaction.”

“A reaction.” His tone kindly pointed out the lack of required details to know what the hell she was saying.

She searched for terms he might consider important. “Like… it…” She adjusted herself in the chair a little. “… So when a person is, let’s say, having a really bad day and it’s interfering with their ability to perform efficiently and accurately which is… important, then uh… it helps. With that.”

“Well, I’m having a really bad day,” he said. “Show me how it works.”

Her stomach dropped with her jaw a little. “Oh… I’m sorry—”

“I’m not really having a bad day, Lyric. I’m wanting to understand this trick you use.”

“Well now, I’m not sure if it works if you’re not actually… experiencing the uh… problem.”

“Maybe it will,” he tested.

Her head nodded absently. “Okay, sure.” She fought not to squirm in her seat as she cleared her throat and prepared her mind. “I’m a little nervous.”

“Why should you be?”

She stared at him, the truth poised on her tongue. “Because…” She swallowed and looked down. “It’s a stupid trick,” she muttered. “I’d really rather not do it,” she finished, going for honesty and praying for mercy.

“I’d like to make my own judgments.”

“Oh, trust me, you already have,” she assured.

“I have?”

“I know you, I know how you think, and you’ll think this trick is stupid.”

“Now I definitely want to know what it is.”

God, he wasn’t going to let it go. “Alright,” she relented lightly. “I’ll show you the trick.” She took in a breath and focused her mind on producing the familiar wave then emitted the hum for five seconds, unable to look at him while she did. But the second she was done, her gaze checked for signs it worked.

She released a breath of relief at seeing his unmoved expression. “I’m not that great at it.” More like terrified of his opinion. On top of that, he’d made it terrifyingly clear to never try using her gifts on him. Without him requesting it. Like he just had.

“What did you attempt to do?”

She held her breath briefly then released it all at once. “So you didn’t feel… anything?” she checked, torn between hoping he did and didn’t.

“What am I supposed to feel?”

“It’s different for everybody but if you’re not really having a bad day, you may not feel anything,” she hurried, then swallowed.

He angled his head at her for many seconds. “What am I supposed to feel, Doo-nie,” he repeated, the intimate nickname bringing her pulse in her throat.

There was no getting around it. She shrugged a shoulder. “Just… happiness.”

He stared at her for many seconds. “Why was this so hard for you to say?”

Right. She stared at her fidgeting fingers. “I just… figured you’d find it kind of… useless. Maybe.”

“I do,” he said with his brutal honesty.

She chanced a look at him, feeling the usual challenge in his tone that required her to figure it out. Signature Nidev style—nothing was handed to you.

“Personally,” he added. The little detail released her breath. “Why did you choose to develop this trick?”

She considered it, feeling more childish than ever. “I just… thought it was important for people to be happy.”

He slowly leaned forward, putting his forearms on his thighs and his strict gaze closer to her. “And you think this is helpful?”

She stared at him, distracted with his beauty before realizing the question sounded sincere. She nodded. “Sometimes… when we’re so busy… we forget the reasons we should be smiling.”

“Which are?” he asked, his voice unusually soft for this type of discussion.

“To… be alive,” she said, her heart beating too hard in fear of what he’d think.

He held her gaze so tight and long that she forgot to breathe. “Your trick worked,” he finally said, slowly leaning back against the couch again. “I’m just very practiced at controlling what I decide to be or not be. Emotions are useful, essential even, but only when governed by logic.”

Oh. Interesting. “And do you… ever find it logical to… be happy?”

He moved his arm back to the couch top, studying her. “Happy is subjective in this.”

“How?” she wondered.

“By definition, for one,” he said. “How you define happiness, and I define it are likely different. For me, happiness is ensuring everybody in my care is safe and healthy. Whether or not they’re smiling and laughing isn’t part of my view on happiness.”

She studied him back, feeling sad about that. “So you… think laughing and smiling are kind of… unnecessary.”

“Yes,” he said, simply. “I’m not opposed to it, I just don’t believe they’re essential in regard to how I define happiness.”

She nodded, instantly wanting more of these kinds of Nidev details. “Which is why you didn’t let my trick work. And what about me? How do you feel about… me liking to laugh and smile?”

His head lowered a fraction, gaze digging deeper into hers. “What do you think?”

Fear of the answer pulled her out of his stare. She aimed it next to him. “That you probably think what you just said. It’s unnecessary. Maybe… childish.”

“Incorrect,” he murmured, sucking her right back into his eyes. “I happen to love your smile and your laughter. To an obsessive degree.”

The final confession was low and intimate, lighting a firestorm in her. Did that mean… she’d changed him?

“That one especially,” he said, making her realize she was smiling.

“That one is special.”

She covered her face with a light laugh then lowered her hands, angling a look at him. “What do you mean?” God, he was so beautiful it sobered her.

“I love that they’re mine. That I own them.”

Oh God, did he ever.

“Are you ready to answer my question regarding your first assignment?”

Oh shit.

She nodded a little before breathing her, “Yes.”

“Why did I choose that assignment?”

She faltered, confused. She’d memorized the paragraph and had expected to be required to recite it, at least first. “Uh…” She straightened and adjusted her butt in the seat, clearing her throat. After all her preparation, she suddenly got nothing but static in her head. Her lips parted, then closed, remembering her three answers. Then out of nowhere, panic kicked all of them aside and she gasped out, “To test my submission.”

The second the words left her, she sucked in a breath. Oh no. No, no, no, that was stupid! Too simple!

Her heart slammed against her ribs as he stood up from the couch and went past her chair. She glanced over her shoulder to see where he was going then gasped at finding him exactly behind her. She snapped her gaze forward as his presence and heat became painfully real and suffocating.

Her body jolted inside when his breath touched her ear. Then came that one word. “Wrong.” The verdict ghosted across her skin. Low. Dark. Absolute.

A violent shiver ran down her spine as she locked up.

He moved next to her chair, and she remained frozen. “Retrieve it.”

Half the gasps she’d been holding escaped. “R-retrieve… what?” she whispered, her eyes also glued to the space directly before her.

His fingers suddenly closed over her wrist on the arm of the chair, shooting her pulse up. He guided her hand toward his body, requiring more air in her lungs. He pressed her fingers against something soft, not hard.

She turned to see.

His pocket.

“Take it out,” he ordered.

Her breath caught as she worked her hand inside his pants, feeling the heat of him, the hard muscle beneath. And his scent, God help her, he was delicious.

Her fingers brushed against smooth silk, and she pulled it free, her heart pounding.

“Give it to me.”

She obeyed, placing the strip of material in his waiting hand.

She barely had time to take a breath before the fabric appeared before her face. “Close your eyes.”

She closed them, swallowing.

The silk pressed against her eyelids then the fabric pulled slowly, tighter, putting her in darkness. Darkness, with heat at her back. Breath against her neck. Then at her ear. “Now… Hold out your right hand.”

Lyric raised it, palm up, waiting while her insides jittered. Something settled into it.

“What is it?” he asked, breath still soft on her ear.

She closed her fingers around it and used her other hand to feel. She paused at finding what felt like metal teeth. A key? Her fingertips mapped the ridges, the notches, wanting to make sure. “A key,” she murmured when she was confident.

He said nothing and her breath shallowed. Then finally, “And do you know what it unlocks?” The testing way he asked made her stomach tighten. Before she could think of an answer, he leaned in, his voice like velvet. “You.”

His hand covered hers, then he opened her fingers and took the key. She felt another something placed in her palm.

“Again,” he ordered, his rough voice drawing a shiver through her. “Tell me what you feel.”

She pressed her fingertips against it. Rolled it between them. Something small and smooth… no, there was a break in the surface. A seam? A hinge? She traced the unfamiliar ridges, hunting for something she could name. A full minute of no answer felt like a fail, so she admitted defeat. “…I don’t know.”

“It’s a cufflink.”

The answer surprised her but the way he said it caused everything to shift inside her.

“My cufflink.”

The possessive distinction meant something. Anything directly relating to him was noteworthy. It suddenly mattered and she held it differently.

His fingers again curled over hers, hot, pressing her grip tighter around it.

“It doesn’t fasten anything important. Just a sleeve. Just fabric.” A slow drag of his thumb over her knuckles. “But it locks something in place, doesn’t it?”

His hand rose and his fingers ghosted over the first button of her blouse.

“Take it off,” he murmured.

Her breath caught and she hesitated for a second then quickly obeyed. One by one, she worked them loose, her hands trembling in fear and excitement. She let the blouse slide from her shoulders, the cool air raising goosebumps on her skin. The pleated skirt followed, unfastened, unzipped, then pooling at her feet.

She felt him… watching her. And the knowing of it was heavier than anything.

She removed her bra next. Then her panties.

She swallowed. A soft, strangled sound clawed its way up her throat as she felt the heat of him just behind her again. She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Fought not to anticipate.

The silence crawled over her skin and settled in her bones as she stood there, every inch of her exposed to him. He liked her body, but this was still torture. She had enough self-loathing for both of them.

Something soft traced the line of her collarbone and she gasped. It moved slowly. Deliberate. A whisper of sensation, barely there. He dragged it lower, down the slope of her breast, right over her nipple, stealing her breath. It skimmed her ribs, ghosted over her stomach.

“Tell me what you feel.”

Her fingers twitched at her sides. “Soft,” she murmured. “Light. Almost… teasing.”

It brushed the inside of her wrist. The dip of her navel. The hollow of her throat.

“Again.”

She swallowed. “It feels different… depending on where you place it.”

“Does it?”

He traced the back of her knee, and a shiver ran through her. “Yes,” she whispered.

Silk over her thigh. Velvet against her hip. Cashmere at her ankle. Was he mapping her with texture? Teaching her something? Or—conditioning her? She trembled, heat pooling between her legs at the sensual feeling.

The touch vanished.

She waited, straining for what would come next. The creak of leather reached her ears. “Find me.”

Her fingers curled into her palms as her breath shuddered out. She moved slowly in the direction of his voice, her awkward advance getting added to the growing wall of shame she was building.

She remembered her childhood trick for finding things in the dark and released a soft hum. The subtle vibration slipped past her lips and rolled forward like a spectral finger, poking at the unseen. She angled her head, repeating it, letting the hum stretch.

Her breath caught when the sound brushed against something. Not solid, not quite. More like a smudge in the darkness. She clung to the faintest distortion, heartbeat racing as her gift sharpened more. One of Nidev’s lessons whispered through her mind. “You’ll find truth in what the sound refuses to touch. Listen with all of you, Lyric. Even your silence has teeth.”

She’d wanted those words tattooed on her when she was madly in love and crushing on him. She turned a little and moved again in the new direction, immediately getting the sound of his moan. It was lustful and thick, moving over her naked body like molasses.

“I was wondering if you’d use that gift.”

Her shins hit his legs and her gasp flew out with her breathless, “Found you.”

A slow inhale filled her chest, fingers flexing, waiting.

“Keep finding me.”

The low command was saturated with the promise of all the things she’d ever fantasized about. She lowered slowly to her knees, putting her palms on his legs, feeling the heat and strength. They slowly parted, silently inviting her between them.

She accepted, her pulse raging like crazy, sliding her hands along his thighs. At his hips, she raised them and carefully found his chest, sucking in a breath at finding his shirt open. Skin hot. Soft over the massive span of muscle. His chest rose and fell in slow, deliberate breaths. She swallowed, dragging her fingers over the taut muscle, feeling the silky warmth, the slight roughness of ink etched into skin.

Her lips remained parted. God, she wanted to taste. Did he want that?

It was a chance she was willing to take.

She leaned in and brushed her lips against his sternum.

The sound he made was low. Rough. Approving.

She kissed again. A slow, open-mouthed press of her lips against his chest, lingering on the hard plane.

Again.

Lower.

His muscles tightened as she dragged her mouth down, kissing over his ribs, his stomach. She began tracing with her tongue, her hands following, smoothing over his sides, learning him in the dark.

“Lower.”

Her lips ran into the waistband of his slacks, her hands moving without thought to remove the barrier, beginning with his belt.

His breath changed as she worked it open, then his pants, unzipping them. She carefully tugged, and he lifted his hips, allowing her to work them down. She didn’t stop till they were completely off.

His fingers wrapped around her wrist and pulled her hand toward him.

She gasped at the hard bulge he made her touch, the size and hardness of him making her heart hammer between her legs. All of it meant he liked it. No matter her failings, he liked what she was doing.

Encouraged, she stroked her fingers along the shape of him, feeling the outline of his metal piercings. Oh God, they were… delicious like him.

His breath caught when she found the crown and fingered the thick rim with her fingers. “Are you teasing me, Doo-nie?” he asked, his tone implying he liked being teased. “Finish undressing me.”

God, yes. Yes sir.

She found the edge of his underwear and he again lifted for her. The moment she had them off, his hand cupped the back of her head and pushed her down between his legs.

“Start right there.”

Her mouth met the head of his cock with a gasp. She kissed it, running into his hand when she went to wrap the base with hers. She felt his thick fingers and veins as she opened her lips on the crown, pushing her tongue against the slit with a moan.

His breath sharpened as he locked his fingers in her hair. “ Suck it.”

Her lips parted instantly, her tongue flicking over the tip before she took him in.

His breath left in a sharp exhale. She curled her tongue, tracing the smooth metal she’d felt before, tasting the mix of steel and skin.

A low, drawn-out growl filled the space above her.

“Deeper.”

She took more of him, her mouth stretching around the hard thickness, her lips dragging over the smooth steel.

His grip tightened in her hair, guiding, demanding.

The flex in his thighs as he rolled his hips drew a nasty moan from her as she let him slide deeper.

His cock pulsed against her tongue with his thick, grinding command. “Use your fucking teeth.”

****

Nidev groaned deep as her teeth scraped slow and steady over every piercing. He fisted the curls at the back of her head, keeping her locked in place, letting her feel the weight of his cock pressing against her tongue, against the roof of her mouth, against the delicate edge of her own restraint.

“That’s my good girl,” he murmured, his voice scraping his throat. “Now use them again. Harder.”

Her body jolted at the command, a tremor running through her as she obeyed. She bit down—not too hard, not soft either, just enough to press into the flesh.

He let go a filthy, low curse, fingers tightening in her hair again. He flexed his hips with slow, measured thrusts, dragging the metal through the snug, wet heat of her mouth.

“You feel that?” he murmured, breaths ragged. “Every inch of me—every piece of steel is yours Doo-nie. Every fucking suck, every bite.”

He pulled her off, just enough for her swollen lips to part from his cock, then dragged her back down, filling her mouth again, his breath thick, dark.

“That’s it,” he groaned with hot breaths. “Suck it like you owe me, angel.”

Her moan vibrated around him, her sweet hands sliding up his thighs, gripping for balance. He let her have a moment—just a moment—before he took control.

He tightened his grip and fucked her mouth with slow, punishing strokes, each one driving deeper, feeding the lesson straight down her throat. “Doo-nie,” he groaned, his fingers flexing, holding her head while he dragged his cock over the heat of her tongue, the sharp edges of her teeth, the fucking wicked friction of her hungry little mouth.

His abs and jaw locked as his orgasm shoved right through his restraint. “ Fuck, ” he seethed, breath ragged. “Swallow every drop.”

The second the order left him, his cock pulsed and his muscles seized. He held her still, forcing the flood into her mouth until she had no choice but to drink him down, to take what he gave her, to feel him on her tongue, in her throat, in the deepest parts of her body.

When the tremors finally passed, he pulled her up, watching the crown pop from her swollen, slick lips.

He dragged his thumb over the lower one, her shattered breaths hitting his skin as she eyed him, her gaze drunk with need for his dark lusts.

His grip in her hair didn’t loosen. He pulled her head back, looking at what he’d done to her, stroking the tremble in her jaw. “You’re not finished,” he said, lowering his hips in the chair and spreading his legs wider. He held his cock in his fist and slowly stroked, his other hand on his balls, pressing softly while he eyed her. “What do you think I want?”

****

Lyric gasped and lowered with an educated, horny guess, kissing his fingers covering his balls. When he moved them, she got her answer, holding them in her hand and kissing all over them.

He gave a wrecked groan, his eyes hot on her, every suckle and lick rewarding her with new sounds.

“My filthy angel,” he breathed, fingers sinking into her hair again, forcing her closer to his balls, his breaths now burning gravel and filth. “I want you to touch me everywhere. ” The command was thick, broken. “Learn every part of me.”

With her other hand, she stroked him beneath his balls. His sharp groan said she’d found a secret hot spot and the idea sent a wicked thrill licking through her.

“More,” he croaked, his fist moving slowly over his cock, now hard again.

Her touch turned greedy, exploring this territory she was the first to claim. She traced her fingers over every inch, avoiding that one spot, but teasing exactly next to it.

“That’s it,” he whispered, breaths hot and heavy. “Fucking all of me.” His fingers flexed against her scalp as he watched her, studied her. “Slow.”

She stroked his ass now, holding his boiling stare while sucking his balls, pressing against the tight muscle, teasing, toying, testing, watching his lust grow with every touch.

“Suck my fucking cock while you do that,” he ordered, getting her eager mouth devouring him while pushing the tip of her finger in him.

He let go a fierce groan, forcing her head down till he reached the back of her throat. “ Fucking …” His breaths staggered as she softened her lips and moved back up his cock, dragging her tongue, catching against every ridge, every cock piercing.

“Hollow your fucking cheeks,” he shot out, winded.

The second she did, he seethed, pulling her hair harder. “Angel.”

She gave a moan, and he forced her all the way down. “Fucking throat me.”

Her pussy quivered at the hot command and what it meant. She fought to take him deeper, swallowing around him, inch by inch, until the head of his cock nudged deeper.

A groan tore through his chest. His breaths shuddered out as he held her head tight and still. “Breathe through your nose.”

She did, her throat fluttering as she worked to hold him.

“That’s it,” he whispered, breathing deeply. “Relax, baby.”

His fingers stroked against her scalp, slow, methodical, caressing.

“Again.”

This time, she did it with more certainty, a moan filling her throat.

He exhaled, sharp. “You’re so fucking perfect,” he swore.

Her hands slid up his thighs, gripping, steadying herself.

He lifted one hand from her hair, tracing her cheek with his thumb, feeling how his cock stretched her.

“I’m going to fuck your throat now.”

She moaned around him and her gift seeped out, adding an electrical bite in his balls.

He almost lost it.

“Keep it open for me, baby.”

He rocked his hips, slow at first, controlled. Letting her adjust. Letting her take him.

She did.

Fucking perfectly.

When she started moving with him, letting him slide deeper, holding herself there—he gritted his teeth, heat burning in his spine.

She was giving herself over. Completely. And it was fucking beautiful.

Both hands were back in her hair, gripping tight.

Her fingers found his balls, the scrape of her nails tearing a growl from his chest along with his orgasm. “Swallow,” he seethed, a rough, shuddering groan breaking through him. He watched her as he spilled into her soft, willing throat, into her perfect obedience. His angel. His darkest lust, his most precious sin.

The mark on his soul that would never be erased.