Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 123575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123575 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
“Then prove yourself,” I say softly. “Open your mouth.” There’s a tremble in her lips as they part, and I feel my cock twitch in response. My body is thrumming with power. With control. With the sick satisfaction of knowing she has no idea what she’s giving away right now. I guide the head of my cock to her lips and smear it across them—watching it glisten. I thumb her cheek once. “This is what punishment looks like,” I murmur. “Not rage. Ruin.”
I push in slowly. The heat of her mouth hits me like a blow—wet, warm, velvet-tight. My jaw flexes. Muscles along my spine tighten. My hips twitch forward on their own.
She gags almost instantly, pulling back with a wet, messy cough. I growl and catch her hair in my fist. Not roughly; no, I don’t want to crush, not yet. “I didn’t say stop.” I guide her back and slide in again, deeper this time, feeling her throat flutter in protest.
My cock pulses inside her mouth, thick with the blood pounding through me. I can feel the tension rising—low in my gut, crawling up my back, flooding every nerve with heat. She gags again, eyes watering. Spit drips down her chin, soaking the front of her nightshirt. Her hands claw weakly at my thighs—not to escape, but to ground herself. To hold on. “Feel that?” I grind out, voice strained. “That ache in your throat? That sting in your eyes? That’s what it feels like to be caught.”
Her moan is soft, wet, muffled around my length—and it nearly unhinges me. I feel it in my stomach, in my thighs, in the way my balls tighten painfully. Somehow she can feel it, too, and she opens her mouth wider, taking more of my length into her warm, wet mouth. Spasming around me again, I hiss through my teeth as the sensations ripple through me. My abs flex involuntarily, and I have to fight not to thrust harder. Not yet.
“You said you wanted to help,” I rasp. “Prove it.”
It doesn’t take long to build a rhythm of slow, shallow thrusts to start. Lilian is a beautiful, chaotic mess. Tears spill from her lashes in thick, glistening streaks. Her cheeks are flushed a deep, mottled pink—blotchy from crying, from choking, from the overwhelming humiliation of it all.
Spit slicks her chin, dripping onto her throat, catching at the collar of her thin nightshirt. Her lips are stretched wide and raw, swollen from use, glistening with saliva and precum. Red. Glossy. Obscene.
She looks ruined. Shattered. Perfect.
Her chest rises and falls in uneven bursts, the fabric of her shirt damp and clinging. Her hands claw at my thighs—not in protest, but for balance as her throat tightens again, struggling to keep up. And my body—fuck, my body is strung so tight I feel like I’ll snap in half. The muscles in my stomach coil, every muscle rigid. My cock pulses, twitching at the sheer visual of her on her knees, eyes red and watery, mouth ruined by me.
Sweat slicks my spine. My jaw grinds as I fight the urge to grab her by the back of the neck and take what I want, harder, deeper. There’s no way to describe how her tongue flattens, and the way her throat moves when I hit the back of it. She chokes again, violently, her body tensing as her breath catches.
It’s chaos. Carnal. Punishment laced with pleasure. She’s a portrait of shame—dripping, gasping, trembling, and it only makes me harder.
“Fuck, you feel that?” I whisper. “That’s what surrender tastes like.”
Every part of me is raw—my skin hypersensitive, my cock throbbing with a savage need to finish in her mouth, to mark her where no one else ever has.
“God, look at you,” I breathe. “You’re wrecked already.”
Something inside me snaps, and I grab her by the throat. Not to stop her breathing—but to feel it. To feel me, inside her. With my fingers wrapped tight around the delicate column of her neck, I thrust forward again. There it is. The pressure. The stretch. The way her flesh shifts around the shape of my cock buried in her throat.
Fuck yes. Her hands paw at my legs at the sudden change in depth, and I can feel the racing of her heart beneath my palm. “You’re not going anywhere,” I whisper, low and cruel. “You made your choice when you got on your knees. This is your lesson now.”
I start to thrust harder and rougher; we’re past the point of mercy.
Her throat tightens again and again, and I can feel it every time under my hand—tight, hot, trembling. Soft, muffled, almost pleading sounds escape her.
The sounds make me harder.
“Look at you,” I snarl, slamming deeper into her throat. “You’re terrified. And you’re still letting me fuck your mouth.”
But even through the fear, even through the tears, she opens again. Like her body’s made its decision, even if her mind hasn’t caught up.