Page 147 of The Defender

I whined in protest but obeyed. My fingers were sticky with my juices, and my core continued to pulse after I pulled away.

Vincent hadn’t come yet either, but pre-cum leaked from the tip of his cock and smeared on his stomach.

My mouth watered. I wanted to reach through the screen and lick him clean. To taste every inch of him and make him lose control the way he could make me lose mine.

“You’re thinking about sucking my cock, aren’t you?” Vincent drawled. His voice was still soft, still lethal.

“Yes,” I breathed, too turned on to play coy.

“Is that what you think about every time you finger fuck yourself, sweetheart? Taking my cock down your throat and choking on it?” His silky tone camouflaged the filthiness of his words.

I shook my head slowly. “I don’t use just my fingers.”

His jaw clenched, a predatory gleam flashing in his eyes. “Show me what else you do.” The silkiness was gone, replaced with a guttural growl.

I licked my lips, my skin buzzing as I scooted toward the edge of the bed and opened my nightstand drawer. I retrieved my biggest toy—a thick, ridged dildo with a flared base and curved shaft. I didn’t use it often because it was a littletoobig, but I was feeling ambitious and more than a little aroused.

When I returned my gaze to the screen, Vincent was strangling his cock so hard I was surprised it didn’t burst.

He didn’t have to tell me what to do. I already knew.

I knelt on all fours, angling my body so he had an unimpeded side view as I slowly pushed the dildo inside me. Despite how wet I was, my muscles involuntarily clenched at its size.

I stopped three quarters of the way in, my body taut, my skin coated with sweat. The pressure was unbearable, and I could feel every nerve come alive with equal parts pleasure and torment.

“Keep going,” Vincent ordered. “I want to see you take every inch of that cock like it’s mine. Like I’m the one making you scream while I stretch that tight little pussy wide open.”

My mind swam from the obscene picture he painted. It was the last push I needed, and I managed to take the remaining inches of the dildo until it hit the most sensitive spot inside me.

I cried out, my back bowing at the sensation. The edges of my vision darkened, but I had enough sense to pull the toy out so just the tip remained inside me. I pushed it back in, slowly working my way up to a steady rhythm. In and out, deeper and harder, fucking myself with long, mind-melting strokes that I imagined were Vincent’s.

“Tell me what else you think about when you’re fucking yourself.”

“I…I think about you finding me like this,” I panted. “You come home early, and you walk in on me playing with myself. I don’t hear you enter, so you grab me and…and…” I hit that sweet spot again, and my brain short-circuited. “Fuck.”

“And what?” Vincent growled. “What do I do to you when I see you taking that cock like a greedy little slut?”

I could barely breathe through my lust-soaked haze. “You grab me and fuck me. Hard. You make me take your cock anywhere you want, and you won’t let me come until I’m begging for it. Begging foryou.”

He hissed, the sound low and tortured. “Does that turn you on? The thought of me punishing you for coming around a cock that’s not mine?”

“Yes.” The confession spilled out as a whimper.

“I bet you’d like it if I pushed you to your knees and fucked that sweet little throat until you gagged, wouldn’t you? You’d probably come just from my cock filling you up.”

My replies turned incoherent. I closed my eyes, letting his dirty words and my imagination run wild as I fucked myself eagerly with the toy—except it was no longer a toy. It was Vincent, here with me in Chicago, his hands in my hair and on my hips. He pounded me relentlessly, and I could feel every inch of him inside me.

Our ragged breaths synced as we urged each other on, our bodies slick with want, our flesh slapping against each other in perfect unison. It was raw and fierce and primal, and I’d never felt this close to anyone, like I could spend the rest of my life lost in this moment and never tire of it.

A deep, pulsing heat coiled in my belly. Tremors quaked along my limbs. My muscles stiffened, and I was so close, so?—

“Stop.”

“No!” I cried. Tears of frustration sprang to my eyes. The dildo was still inside me, but this was my second ruined orgasm of the night. I was shaking, so close to breaking that I could barely remember my own name.

“I said stop, Brooklyn.”

I let my hands drop in defeat. My walls continued to clench, grasping desperately for a release that hovered just out of reach.