Page 27 of Pretty Mess

His hand comes down, cupping my skull and pushing me down his length until I gag. Incredibly, the discomfort brings me only pleasure, his firm touch making me hot.

“Take it all,” he says in a goading voice.

My cock pulses and I squeeze it, the note of pain staving off my desire to come.

I pull away, and he keeps his hands on my head. I lean down, taking him all the way again, bobbing on his cock and sucking hard. The slurping noises are obscene in the quiet room. I knead his hips and then slide my palms over his torso, revelling in his silky skin. I make the blowjob deliberately sloppy with my spit. I like receiving sloppy blowjobs myself, and given the deep groan that’s torn from him, I’d say he’s of a similar mind.

I come off his cock with a pop, a loop of precome stretching from his dick to my lips. I lick them, loving his sharp, tangy taste. When I look up, he’s watching me, his eyes heavy-lidded with a hot, restless gleam. Holding his gaze, I nose in at the root of his cock greedily inhaling the rich smell of him there. Then I lift his balls and take one into my mouth.

“Fuck,” he whispers, fisting his cock. It’s wet and visibly throbbing, the colour an angry red. I hum gently around the soft flesh in my mouth.

I rise up farther on my knees, knocking his hand away from his cock, hot to get that hard flesh in my mouth again. I take him in, swallowing the tart early seed, aware of his hands clutching the chair, the knuckles white. The fact that he’s not touching me is incredibly hot. I’m servicing him on my knees, and he’s lying back and taking it.

I redouble my efforts, taking a breath before taking him down my throat. He’s too big to completely deep throat, so I twist my hand around the base, jacking him as I suck with a hard pull, the muscles in my throat working.

He grunts, and the sound is so mean and base, that I writhe wildly, wishing I had my hand free to masturbate or a Fleshlight to fuck. I moan at the thought, and he groans out a heartfelt, “Fuck.”

He’s getting close, his movements becoming more urgent. The break in his control is thrilling, and I suck harder, kneading his balls. I wish I could push my finger into his hole, but the angle is all wrong. He’s panting now, and I feel him swell in my mouth, the taste of come tart and wonderful. He suddenly arches up off the chair, his narrow hips lifting as he pushes into my mouth, and I look up to see his face contort as he comes down my throat.

I swallow frantically, gulping it down as he rides out his orgasm with small thrusts. Then he subsides back into the chair, panting, his face wet with sweat.

The sight of this powerful man at my mercy is so lush that my cock throbs painfully, reminding me that I haven’t come. I rest my face on his hip, whining without meaning to, and feel him go still. I open my mouth to say sorry, but then he says, “You can come.”

I make a grateful sound and take my dick into my hand. Fisting it, I start a fast movement, shoving into the tight clasp of my fingers.

“Look at me.”

The command is quiet but forceful. My head flies up, and our eyes catch and hold. His eyes are very blue in the lamplight.

“Come now,” he orders, and I cry out as he puts his foot on my cock and presses down gently. The pressure makes my eyes cross, and I immediately come, jetting into my hand and over the floor in creamy spurts that fill the room with the acrid scent of sex.

For a long few moments, I rest against him, breathing hard and hearing his echoed, rushed breaths. Then he shifts, pushing me back gently, and I become aware that my head is resting on his knee.

“Sorry,” I say hoarsely.

He stands up, zipping his fly, and I realise that even though he never even took his clothes off, that was still singlehandedly the sexiest episode of my life.

He straightens his suit with graceful movements and then walks into the bathroom. I hear the sound of water running, and then he appears again, drying his hands on a towel. He tosses another one to me, and I catch it awkwardly.

“Thank you.” I hesitate. “Is that it? Do you need anything else?” I feel suddenly awkward, as if I’m being impossibly gauche.

He comes closer, staring at me and taking in my naked body. When he’s next to me, he pauses, and our gazes meet. An expression crosses his face that I can’t work out.

“I liked the passion in the lines,” he finally says.

I blink, wondering what he means and whether I should get up and wash my hand or stay kneeling. “What? Sorry. I mean, I beg your pardon?”

His eyes twinkle. “You asked why I liked that picture.”

“I did,” I say slowly. “And I’m pretty sure you said you didn’t like it at all.”

He shrugs. “Maybe I lied.”

“Well, that’s a bit naughty.”

He chuckles and immediately looks surprised as if the sound had come out without permission. He hesitates and then puts his hand in his pocket, withdrawing a business card. He proffers it, and I drop the towel and take it in my non-cummy hand. “For you.”

“Thank you. It’s lovely.”