Page 37

Briar

S omething about the way the train wheels rhythmically clacked beneath me was soothing.

The steady hum of the engine vibrated beneath my seat, its bass the counterpoint to the hushed voices of the passengers in a soporific symphony that failed to ease my thoughts.

The scent of strong tea and the occasional waft of someone’s perfume drifted around me.

I sighed as the gentle sway of the speeding carriage whisked me farther north. Away from London—away from him.

I rested my arms on the table and toyed with the cup of now-cold tea in front of me. Amy had let me know Lorcan called, and he sounded worried. I told her to ignore him. He didn’t want me around, so I wouldn’t be. That was his choice, and the chance for him to change his mind had passed.

I sat back against the padding and closed my eyes, trying to stop the tears from falling. I could still feel his hands.

It didn’t help that I had woken up in the middle of the night with his name falling from my lips in ecstasy. I didn’t need to be dreaming about him, but I was. And I couldn’t get it out of my mind—the way he pushed me to focus only on myself.

He had been right that I was always in control.

But I needed to be. Because my own emotions took over the moment I stopped focusing on someone else’s pleasure.

That was when it started to hurt, and I felt too much.

Feelings were more complicated to undo than touch.

I had never been this disturbed after fucking someone.

I’d been trying for days to remind myself that a one-time thing was not a novel experience, but my heart wasn’t listening.

I clenched my eyes as Lorcan’s body came to mind, trying to will it away.

His muscular arms and shoulders, the effortless way he had carried me, contrasted with his feather-light touch.

The touch I wanted more than anything, as my lips tingled with the ghost of Lorcan’s kiss.

My shoulders relaxed as I allowed my mind to wander and fantasize, promising my heart this would be the last time.

In my mind—where anything could happen—I saw myself in his sitting room, settled on the sofa. His hand ran up my arm until it reached my neck, pulling me toward him. He pressed his lips to mine, his tongue sliding through them in an erotic dance.

He pulled back and whispered, “Am I allowed to play, wildflower? Can I make you come?” He toyed with my hair as he spoke.

I pushed my head into his hand and chuckled. “As long as you promise that I’ll enjoy it.” My words held a teasing edge to them, but I wanted to see where he took me.

He tightened his fingers in my hair. “I only want your screams when they are laced with ecstasy and desire.” He growled as he consumed my lips. “Now be a good girl and take that shirt off for me.” He released my hair.

I tilted my head and smirked. “And what if I don’t?”

“Then maybe I’ll just tear it off you and fill your mouth with my cock for talking back to me.”

The idea should have scared me, but instead I pressed my thighs together, and my mouth watered at the thought of him relentlessly fucking it.

His cock was so big, doubtless I would have to figure out how to take him in my throat.

I tried to hide the twitch of a smile, but it was like he knew—like some animalistic part of him could detect every subtle shift in my body, allowing him to know exactly what I craved, even if I hadn’t admitted it to myself yet.

He smiled. “Is that the game we’re playing?

” His hand feathered over my neck, raising goose bumps on my arms, and slid into my shirt collar.

With a firm yank, it was gone. In my fantasy mind, we were both naked, his kisses drawing up the outside of my thigh, to my stomach, between my breasts, and to my neck.

He pushed himself to stand before placing his knees on either side of my thighs, raising his massive, swollen cock in front of my face.

I could smell the faint traces of soap as he leaned over me.

He placed a hand next to my shoulder on the back of the sofa, his gaze finding mine as I looked up at him, my mouth watering in anticipation.

His light touch on my arm sent another shiver coursing through me.

He placed my fingers on his hip. His voice was gentle.

“If you want to stop, if you can’t breathe, anything—tap me three times. Do you understand, wildflower?”

I swallowed and pushed the word out. “Yes.” My voice shook as my control slipped away, and I placed myself at his mercy.

The realization sent a surge of wetness and heat between my thighs as my heart pounded with anticipation.

He threaded his hand into my hair again and kissed me hard before straightening.

His hand massaged his cock as he brought it toward me and ran the head of it over my lips, coating them with his slick, salty precum.

I snaked my tongue forward, closing my eyes at the exquisite softness of the flesh as I circled the head, teasing and tasting him, my body relaxing.

I stopped, letting him rest against the warmth of my mouth, gazing into his eyes.

He took the invitation of my soft, parted lips and eased his cock between them.

They stretched around him as his hand tightened in my hair again, holding my head where he wanted it, guiding me.

I held him with the hand he placed on his hip, steadying myself as he hit the back of my throat. I blinked up at him through my eyelashes, unable to meet his gaze for long before I wrapped my free hand around his cock, and sucked in.

“Ah, wildflower, I knew your mouth would be something special.” He moaned, pushing his cock farther into my throat.

“Mmm.” I groaned. My eyes widened in fear. I wasn’t sure I could take more, but I wanted it.

“You know how to make me stop, right?”

I drew a long breath in through my nose and forced my quickening pulse to calm before tightening my hand on his hip in answer. Next time, I needed a signal to tell him to keep going.

With excruciating slowness, he leaned his weight into me as he spoke.

“Then I am going to fuck this mouth the way I want.” I closed my eyes and took him, forcing myself not to gag on his length, swallowing around it.

He pushed as far forward as he could, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe before he pulled out of my throat.

“But first, be a good girl and suck, wildflower. Show me what you can do.”

I went to work, pulling and sucking on him, his taste and smell intoxicating, pushing me on.

My thighs clenched as I ignored the heat building between them, concentrating on the length in my mouth, wanting nothing more than to please him.

My head moved back and forth, his shaft sliding over my lips, my saliva rolling from the corners of my mouth as I sucked, nibbled, and swallowed while fondling what of him remained outside my mouth.

“Fuck, you are so good,” he breathed as he held my gaze. Suddenly, his hand gripped my hair, pulling, forcing me to stop, holding my head exactly where he wanted.

“This is what I want.” He pushed into my throat, eliciting another moan before I couldn’t breathe. He closed his eyes and smiled. “Amazing.” Tears came to my eyes, and my hand tightened on his hip.

“Can you take more?” He groaned as he pushed deeper. A tear escaped my eye, but I refused to give up, my lungs burning. He pulsed his hips, the tip of his cock on the back of my throat again and again, as he held my head in place by my hair, a sting I relished.

“Are you my good girl with my cock in your throat?”

What did it mean to be his good girl? Was it just obedience or something more, something darker?

Part of me begged for air—but I wanted the edge, to take him beyond where I thought I could.

I wanted him to see how far I’d go for him, that I could endure anything for the sound of his praise—anything to be his good girl.

And I needed to know I could trust him with my deepest, darkest desires.

I whimpered into his length before he pulled my head back just enough to allow air to rush into my lungs.

I massaged his hard shaft with my tongue.

He ran his fingers around my nipples, watching them harden. “You are so wet right now, aren’t you, wildflower? You like it when I please us both.”

I tried to pull my mouth off him to answer, looking up at him.

He smirked, flicking an index finger off his thumb into the pebble he had just created.

A jolt of delicious fire shot through my breast. I pushed my chest out, hoping to feel it again, maybe even harder—more than a flick, a pinch until my nipple throbbed, or the burn of his palm, a pain that would linger and mark me as his.

Instead, I heard his words. “You can answer just as you are.”

I swallowed around him. “Mm-hmm.” I pushed out the sound around the fleshy gag. Was I twisted to want this—or just his?

“I love the feel of your moan on my cock.” He pulled on my wrist, unwrapping my hand from his base. “Put those fingers inside you and make yourself moan so I can feel it.” He bent next to my ear and whispered, “But don’t come. That’s my job.”

He straightened to full height, flexing into my throat. “Now.” He used my hair to tilt my head back as he narrowed his eyes at me. “And I’ll know if they are fake.”

My thighs fell open at Lorcan’s command, trapped in the confined space between his legs, and I slid two fingers into my warm, wet middle. I closed my eyes and moaned again, wondering what would happen if I came on my fingers. What would punishment mean when his greatest desire was my orgasmic ruin?