14. Ivan

14

IVAN

N ot wanting to talk about those old fantasies, not wanting to remind her of the fact that I lied to her and pretended to be someone else, doesn't mean I'm not turned on by the memory. The tension between us is thick as we drive back to the motel, and the churning emotion in my gut is difficult to grapple with.

I'm upset that she shattered what was a tender moment between us because she's afraid to let herself give a shit about me. Because she's scared of what will happen if she lets herself admit that she still feels something for me, even if she's rightfully angry as hell with me, too. I'm frustrated that we can't try to figure out what this is, because of all the ways I've fucked up in the past. And I'm so painfully, achingly turned on that I can't begin to sort all of that out.

The minute we're back at the motel, and in our room, I stride to the small bathroom, closing the door and feverishly yanking open the front of my jeans. I let out a sharp hiss of breath through my teeth as my hand wraps around my cock, the feeling of my palm against the straining flesh, not the pleasure I want, but still pleasure nonetheless.

I grip the side of the sink with one hand as I stroke my other down my length, not bothering with anything to lube it. I need to come more than I need anything else right now. I need to be able to think straight.

If it were anyone else, I'd be able to think. To focus on what needs to be done, rather than how badly I want to just take Charlotte and run as far as possible, across state and country lines, to another continent, another fucking world if I could, just to keep her safe.

And, if I'm really being honest—just to keep her.

What I'm doing right now isn't about pleasure. It's about clearing my head, salving a need, like eating or drinking, because Charlotte drives me to the point of distraction. I just need to come, and I grit my teeth, so focused on getting there that I don't hear the door open until it's too late.

"Oh." The soft, startled sound of Charlotte's voice almost tips me over the edge, just hearing it. The only thing that stops me is the shock of hearing her there, enough to pull me back from the precipice. I half turn away from her, my hand still gripping my cock as if I can't pull it free, heat rushing up my neck.

"I—" I don't know what to say. I'll be done in a minute? Knock next time? God, let me fuck you, please, because it's all I can think about?

But I don't just want to fuck her. What I want is so much more than that. And what I want, she won't give me.

To my utter shock, she doesn't leave. She steps into the bathroom instead, closing the door behind her as she looks at me, her eyes wide and full of something I can't quite read.

"That first time I chatted with you online." Her tongue darts out, trailing over her lower lip, and my cock throbs in my fist. I should let go, tuck myself away, and put an end to this before it goes somewhere that isn't good for either of us. But my fist stays clenched, like I touched an electric wire and froze there, and I stare at her, my heart slamming against my ribs. I thought she would leave it alone, after I didn't buy into her efforts to bring this up by the lake, but it seems she's bound and determined to reopen it all. And right now, my willpower to resist is failing.

"You told me about a fantasy. About sneaking into my apartment and waiting for me. Telling me to get on my knees for you, because I'd made you wait all day." Her gaze flicks down to my stiff cock, still clenched in my fingers. "That's because of me, isn't it?"

I swallow hard, a strange feeling that I'm going to laugh, tightening my throat. "No one's made me hard other than you since the night I met you, Charlotte." The words come out taut, rough, scraping past my lips. "Every time this happens, it's because of you."

Her tongue darts out again, and I feel the dampness of my pre-cum against my fingertips as my cock throbs again at the sight, begging me to start stroking again. To finish what I started. But I can't move. I'm too transfixed by what's happening in front of me, knowing that I should put a stop to this and desperately wanting it all at the same time.

"Tell me to get on my knees," she says softly. "Tell me to take care of it for you. Tell me to?—"

"To suck my cock?" My voice is hoarse, rasping, thick with desire, and a touch of anger that burns up through the lust. "Why, Charlotte? So you can hate me more, for telling you to do something that you said we wouldn't do again? So you can put more distance between us? So you can remind me that this all started with a lie, and reduce it down to just a cold, sexual relationship that doesn't mean anything else?"

She flinches with every word, standing there against the door, and every fiber of my body feels like it's trembling with a mixture of lust and frustration bordering on anger. "You don't want me?" she whispers, and I grit my teeth, staring at her like she's lost her mind.

"Charlotte, I want you so badly I can barely fucking breathe. I'm in here right now because I want you so much I can't think, and I need to think, so I can keep us safe." I let out another sharp, frustrated breath, a corner of my mind marveling at the same time that I'm still so fucking turned on. It's as if my body isn't getting the message that Charlotte and I are arguing right now. That she's—I don't even know. Hates me so much, maybe, that she's found a different way to hurt me by turning what I want against me.

And I'm so fucking close to just saying fuck it , and giving in.

"Do you know how many times I've imagined that?" I growl, staring at her. "You on your knees, your pretty lips wrapped around my cock. I've gotten to feel it once , and I'm going to dream about it for the rest of my fucking life."

"So tell me to do it." She tips her chin up, returning my stare. "Tell me to get on my knees for you, and I'll let you come in my mouth. I'll even swallow." A small, taunting smile curves the corners of her lips, and I stare at her, trying to understand what she's doing here. This is some kind of punishment; I feel sure of it. Some way for her to get me back. And I also feel almost certain that she's trying to throw up walls between us by doing this. By reminding me of how this started. Just lies and sex.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" She pushes herself away from the door, stepping closer to me. I can smell her skin, clean and soft and warm, without any of the lotions or perfume she used to wear. Just her, and it's enough to make me feel half-insane with desire. "You lied for this. Made up an entire other persona for this. Tricked me and got close to me for this." She inches closer with every word, honey laced with acid, and all the while, my cock is throbbing against my palm as if there's anything about this that should turn me on.

I can't stop wanting her, even when I'm angry with her. Even when she's angry with me. It's an obsession, an addiction, and no matter how much this conversation should do the opposite of make me want her more, taking the lash of her tongue just seems to make me ache for her even more.

"So make it worth it," she whispers, so close now that she's almost brushing against me. "Tell me to get on my knees, Ivan. After all of this, shouldn't you at least get what you wanted out of it?"

Her hand wraps around mine, her fingers brushing my cock, and I'm lost. The sensation of her fingertips between mine, pressing against the hot, straining flesh, is enough to snap whatever self-control I have left. I should tell her that this isn't what I want, that this isn't what I did it for, that even if it started out that way, what I want from her has become so much more. That just having her mouth around my cock is so far from being enough that it's laughable.

But her fingers stroke against me, her lips dripping the kind of temptation that I've become so, so weak to with her, and I feel my other hand reaching up to slide into her hair, tugging her head back so that she's looking up at me.

"Fine. You want my cock in your mouth so badly that you have to taunt me for it, Charlotte? Get on your knees and suck it."

She drops like a shot, down on her knees on the tile, and I know I've given her what she wants instead of the other way around. Another reason to believe I'm nothing but the deviant who lied to her, who wants her body and nothing else, who would ruin her life just for a chance to ruin her . And while that might once have been true, I'm not giving her a reason right now to think that it no longer is.

But I also can't think right now. Not when she's yanking a hair tie off her wrist, piling her now-blonde hair up on her head and wrapping that black elastic around it, baring her neck for me to wrap my fingers around the back of it. Not when her full lips part, and she pushes my hand away, wrapping hers around the base of my cock as she leans in to brush her lips over the head of it.

A shudder runs down my spine at that light touch. God, it feels so fucking good. Just that—the softness of her lips pressed against the tip, her warm breath against my sensitive skin, the promise of her tongue touching me. My hips arch forward, pushing myself between her lips, and she slides them over the head of my cock, sucking hard enough to make my eyes roll back in my head before she slides back and releases me with a sharp pop .

"Tell me what you want," she breathes, her fingers rubbing along the thick, throbbing veins in my shaft. "Tell me how you want me to suck it, Ivan."

Stop this. You should stop her. The thought rattles around in the back of my head, but I can't think clearly enough, not past the sensation of her fingers around me and her lips sliding over my cockhead again, her tongue flicking out to tease the underside.

"Like that," I gasp hoarsely. "God, you're already so fucking good at it. Like you know what I want. Just like that, baby. Fuck ?—"

Her lips slide over me again, hot and tight, taking me in over her wet, warm tongue. I feel her wrap it around me, sliding over my length, her lips tightening as she moves down and my tip pushes into the back of her throat.

She looks up at me, eyes wide, and I swallow hard, one hand reaching out to grab the edge of the sink. My knees feel weak, my entire world narrowed down to the eight stiff inches between her lips, and how fucking good her mouth feels on me.

"Don't stop. Don't fucking stop." I press my fingers tighter around the back of her neck, and I feel her shudder. I feel her moan around my cock, and that's what sends me over the edge.

I don't have time to warn her. I feel myself go stiff, that heat unfurling at the base of my spine as my balls tighten, and my knees nearly buckle as the pleasure bursts through me with the force of an explosion. I feel my cum spurt out over her tongue, feel her take me deeper as her throat tightens around me, my cock throbbing in her mouth with every jolt of white-hot sensation. She sucks, hard, and I moan helplessly as she swallows it all down, trembling as I feel myself spill into her mouth.

She looks up at me, eyes wide and damp as she swallows every drop of my cum, and then she pulls back, her tongue sliding over the too-sensitive flesh and making me shudder as she lets go of me.

I feel almost dizzy as the pleasure ebbs, the desire to sink down and collapse, washing over me. It feels like relief, like I could sleep for a week now, but I see Charlotte wipe her mouth with the back of her hand, an action that's so blatantly filthy that it's arousing in and of itself, and as she starts to get up I know exactly what she's about to do.

She thinks she can back me into a corner, tempt me into telling her to suck me off so she can put more distance between us, so she can tell herself that I'm nothing but the man who lied to her to get her to fuck him and then leave. But I'm not going to let her do that.

If she's going to make me face the darkest parts of myself, I'm going to do the same thing to her.

As she gets up and turns to leave, my hand shoots out, and I grab her wrist, yanking her back.

"Where do you think you're going?"