Page 68 of The Final Contract

“Not a drop,” I remind her.

Her lips seal around my thumb, sucking it clean as I pull free. The sight alone makes my cock twitch again, already aching to get hard for her all over.

My hand shifts to her throat—not enough to cut off her air, but enough that I feel her pulse jump beneath my palm.

“Swallow.”

Her throat works around the command, muscles tightening under my grip. I feel her gulp it all down—every last drop sliding past my hand.

“Good girl,” I breathe, voice rough with satisfaction. “My good fuckin’ girl.”

I’ve never almost come from giving a blowjob. Not without touching myself.

But with Killian—his cock in my mouth, his filthy words, the way I made him feel—I almost did.

God, I wanted to so badly.

He doesn’t even wipe himself off. Just slips his cock, still hard and slick from my mouth, back into his pants and zips them. A tug of his shirt, a shift of his shoulders, and within seconds he looks like nothing happened. Untouchable. Controlled. While I’m a mess on my knees, panting, my lips swollen, my thighs pressed tight together because I’m dripping for him.

“Come here, baby.” His voice is low—a command more than an invitation.

I’m half pulled, half climbing onto his lap. The moment I straddle him, his hands clamp to my hips, grinding me down against his cock beneath his slacks.

“You felt so fucking good,” he growls, claiming my mouth in a kiss that’s all tongue and teeth and possession.

The friction nearly undoes me. I could come so fast if he let me move how I want. I know how wet I am—I know I’m about to ruin his pants. And he knows it too.

“You want to keep being my good girl tonight? On your date?”

I nod, breathless.

“While you pretend you want these fucks you’re courting?” His tone sharpens with anger, and the sound makes me gush harder, heat flooding between my legs.

“Yes,” I pant against his mouth.

“You want me to make you come so hard you’ll think about it the rest of your life?”

“Please, Killian.”

I’m desperate now, grinding slow because he won’t let me go faster, won’t let me hump him the way I need. His grip is iron, controlling every roll of my hips, every brush of my clit against his cock. He’s killing me with restraint.

The limo turns, slowing as it pulls into the movie theater lot.

“When you’re on your date tonight,” he murmurs, nipping my lip—slipping into that Irish brogue that undoes me. “I want you to kiss him.”

I freeze. “Kiss him?”

“Kiss him, baby.” His gray eyes are darker now, storms I can’t escape. “Kiss him and let him taste my cum on your tongue.”

A broken whimper tears out of me at the thought—how dirty, how wicked it is.

“Let him get a taste of what he’ll never have.” His hips grind harder, a slow press that makes my clit throb, and I know—he’s going to leave me on this high. He’s not giving me the release I want.

“Let him taste what belongs to me.”

He rests his forehead against mine, his voice softer but no less dangerous. “Will you do that for me, angel?”

The car slows to the curb. My heart pounds. My pussy clenches. And I nod. “Yes.”