Page 28 of Sacred Vow

It’s not like in the club the other night.

That was full of ferocity. There was a desperation to prove myself, to make him crumble and claim some kind of control, but this is different.

This is about fulfilling the raging need within me.

This is about making him feel, about giving him the kind of pleasure he deserves.

This is a thank you for every screaming orgasm he’s ever given me.

My tongue traces over the rigid lines of his veins, leading right up to his tip before following them right back down again as I clutch onto his base, my hand gently pulsing as I grip him with my other, working him just the way I know he likes it.

Seconds turn into minutes, and he simply enjoys it, reveling in every pleasurable moment of my lips on his body, but when we hear the familiar sound of Zephyr moving around the house, starting to make his way back here, probably with a much clearer head, Caesar tightens his hold in my hair.

“Alright, hellcat. Give me what I want.”

With pleasure.

A grin rips across my face, and I don’t doubt that he can feel it against his cock, and as the pure need to taste him overwhelms me, I give him everything I have, snapping into action to the point this so perfectly composed man falls victim to my wicked ways within seconds.

“Fuck, hellcat,” he grits, his tone so low I barely hear it.

He sucks a breath through his teeth, and I work more vigorously, giving him everything he deserves and more, and as both hands work him, twisting and squeezing, Caesar crumbles.

His hips jolt beneath the table, and he comes hard, shooting hot spurts of cum into the back of my throat, and I eagerly swallow him down, taking every last drop he has to offer.

Power pulses through my veins, and as I continue to swallow him down, an intense feeling of beauty overtakes me.

I’ve never felt so radiant, so womanly. I’ve been on my knees for this man, worshiping him, and yet I’m the one who feels like a goddess.

How does that happen? If anything, he should feel like a king, yet as I release him and he pushes his chair back to pull me up from the cool floor, he looks at me as though he’s never seen anything so wondrous in his life.

“You amaze me,” he murmurs, pulling me right up on his lap so that I’m straddled over him, his fingers brushing through my hair, but everything pauses as his gaze lands on the massive circular bruise smack-bam in the middle of my forehead.

“What the fuck is that? Did somebody put their hands on you?”

I shake my head. “It’s nothing a bottle of cherry vodka and a bright pink dildo can’t explain,” I tell him.

“I’m going to need a little more than that.”

“Then you’re in luck. I happen to have video footage of the whole ordeal, but there’s no way I’m about to embarrass myself by showing you that without getting something in return.”

“Oh yeah? And what could you possibly want?”

I bite down on my bottom lip while following the sound of Zephyr moving throughout the house, and when he seems to backtrack and head up the stairs, relief pounds through my veins.

“That’s a good question,” I muse. “I was going to suggest another night at Vixen, but something tells me I’ll get that without even needing to ask. So instead, I’ll settle for an IOU.”

Caesar laughs and reluctantly lifts me off him before getting to his feet and fixing his pants just as Zeph had, only he doesn’t bother to be discreet about it. “Smart girl,” he says, taking my chin and lifting it before inspecting my bruised forehead once again. “You need to ice that.”

I roll my eyes, and as he releases me and strides into the kitchen, I can’t help but follow him. “You knew I was there, didn’t you?”

Caesar nods and glances at me, his stare telling me everything I need to know.

“I could smell your perfume the second I walked through the door,” he tells me.

“I dream of that scent. It has me waking up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, rock fucking hard. But the moment my grown-ass son struggled to string a damn sentence together, I knew exactly what was going on.”

“Is that why you sat down? You were hoping I might have been feeling generous.”

Caesar steps into me, those dark eyes holding me captive and sending a wave of goosebumps spreading across my skin.

“I’m always hoping to have your lips wrapped around my cock, hellcat.

But no, I couldn’t resist the opportunity to fuck with my son.

Having your hands on me in any way was simply a bonus. ”

Goddamn it. This man is going to make me break my sacred vow.

He can’t keep talking like that. Where’s the grouchy, dom-daddy from that first night?

Now he could set me straight, but this guy right here, the one who murmurs delicious little nothings about how I amaze him, is going to ruin this for both of us.

“I should, umm—”

“Tilly,” Zeph’s voice comes from across the house, making Caesar and me spring apart like two horny teenagers being caught making out behind the bleachers. He strides through the house, cutting through the living room on his way to the kitchen. “When did you get here? I didn’t hear you come in.”

I scoff as he tries to keep up the ridiculous lie about me not having been here earlier. “Joke’s up,” I say. “Your dad clocked me under the table.”

“Fuck!”

Caesar chuckles to himself as I brace my hands against the kitchen counter when he moves in beside me, keeping a respectable distance between us. “Right, tell me why the fuck there’s a bruise right in the middle of your head.”

Letting out a heavy sigh, I dig my phone out of my pocket and find the video from last night before handing it straight over and listening as my shame plays on full volume, right from the awkward spinning through to the dildo unicorn falling into the sofa and getting trapped.

“Fucking hell,” Caesar mutters under his breath as Zeph just laughs, having already watched it ten times over.

“Yeah,” I agree. “It wasn’t my finest moment. I was stuck inside that damn sofa for half an hour. We had to call Zeph to come rescue me, and I’m ashamed to say that the sofa didn’t quite make it out alive.”

He arches a brow and looks at his son. “You broke her sofa?”

“Uhhh, yeah. I kinda had no choice. It was either break her out of it or let her suffocate in there.”

“I hope you bought her a new one and organized for the old one to be removed and disposed of.”

Zeph lets out a heavy sigh. “No, but I suppose I can.”

I shake my head, meeting Zephyr’s stare across the kitchen island. “You don’t need to do that. I can figure out my own sofa.”

“I’m sure you can,” Caesar tells me. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to allow it. Zeph will have it organized for you by the end of the day. You should expect a new one first thing tomorrow morning.”

“I have a feeling arguing isn’t going to get me anywhere.”

“No, hellcat. It won’t,” he murmurs, that nickname slipping out in front of Zeph, but luckily, he seems to already be engrossed in his phone, searching up furniture stores.

I sidle up next to Zeph, leaning against the counter as we scroll through the endless options of sofas, and while I’m more than happy to select the very first one we came across, Zeph seems to have an opinion on all of them.

They’re either too yellow, too square, or too happy, whatever the hell that means, and as he scrolls through page fourteen of the listings, I can’t help but remember the moment he came to help me last night.

He was a gallant hero, of course. I wouldn’t have expected anything less, but what I didn’t expect was the way that Chloe and Zeph immediately hated each other. It’s so out of place for both of them.

As a general rule, Chloe loves everyone.

She gives them the benefit of the doubt, and they would have to commit some heinous act before she decided to change her mind.

While I don’t particularly know Zeph all that well, it’s clear from the few times we’ve hung out that he’s wildly accepting.

He’s nice to everyone, has a great personality, and just generally vibes all the time.

He doesn’t care when I tease him, and he doesn’t hesitate to give it right back.

Yet when two of my favorite people laid eyes on one another, it’s as though someone poured a giant bucket of ice right over the sun. The warmth was sucked out of the room, not that I could see much at the time, but I could sense it. I just can’t figure out why.

It’s intriguing. Suspicious almost.

I was left scratching my head, but the ridiculous amount of cherry vodka I’d consumed ensured that I didn’t have to think about it for long.

I passed out pretty quickly, only just now thinking about it for the first time, and now that I am, I’m not sure if I should bring it up.

Maybe I should interrogate Chloe about it first. She should be able to shed some light on it.

Almost an hour goes by before Zeph finally decides on a sofa he thinks would be the best fit for my small apartment, and just as he’s entering the delivery details for tomorrow morning, my phone goes crazy on the counter.

I scoop it up, immediately groaning when I find multiple new notifications from none other than The Vag Destroyer.

A name I find deeply ironic, considering I’m fairly certain he’s never been within a mile of one—at least, not in real life.

Most likely, he’s holed up in his mom’s basement, glued to PornHub and his latest delusion.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, I open my social media account to find that I’ve been tagged by a bunch of new accounts, all of them named with different variations of The Vag Destroyer, and as I open the post, I find multiple stillshots from my unfortunate live-waxing video, each of them captioned with something more horrible than the last.