11. Drew

My body is a fucking inferno. His dark curls are silk in my fist, and his mouth is dripping more than the wettest pussy I've ever felt. His drool slides down my taint, and pools in my asshole.

I still can't bring myself to look at him. I am, however, staring at the ceiling with wide-open eyes and a silently panting mouth, my abs quivering with the shaky breaths I'm doing everything in my power to keep quiet. It's not that I care if he knows he's having an effect on me, but the last thing this "moment" needs is a fucking soundtrack to remember it by.

I've hit a new low.

Not only would Jericho break up with me if she found out about this, but I wouldn't put it past her to try and get me fired, too.

She holds grudges, but she also gets me. What I'm wondering, in between deep pulses of pleasure, is whether she'll give me a pass for this because I've been so out of it lately. I haven't been myself. Temporary insanity.

Olivier yanks his mouth off my balls, forcing his head back and testing my grip on his hair. I hear him jerking off, and he's not making the same kind of effort I am to keep quiet. He's overindulged at best, and a true hedonist at worst. He'll revel in every moment of this utter filth. I refuse to look at him.

I clench my eyes shut, though, when he taps my now erect cock against his pillowy lips a few times. Thrills zing down my inner thighs and up my spine, causing me to choke on a groan. I'm creeping closer and closer to an edge, wondering if he'll take me over it, or yank me back from it. I admit, I'm curious to see what he does.

In the next moment, he engulfs me, taking half my length until my tip hits the back of his throat where he chokes and gags and rears back.

Involuntarily, I swear, lift my head, and our gazes lock. The look in his eyes is fucking unhinged. If I hadn't had a perfectly lucid conversation with him before all this started, I would have sworn he'd taken something. But maybe it's just now kicking in. His eyes are hungry and hooded and hot—the deep blue at the base of a burning flame.

I slide my hand down the side of his face—it's not meant to be a caress—to rest my hand on his neck, my thumb at the base of his throat.

He exhales a loud, shuddering breath, then, sharply inhaling, he plunges down on me again, swallowing past his gag reflex this time and causing my hips to come off the couch.

"Fuck," I grit out.

One try, and he's a fucking expert, taking me deeper and deeper with every plunge. His rough swallows compress my entire head in his throat. Reflexively, my hand tightens on his neck.

Fuck—it's hard to be careful when he's being so aggressive.

Instinct guides me to turn my squeeze into a pulse. I press hard as he moves up my cock and release some pressure as he goes down, matching his rhythm, making sure I don't cut off his oxygen for too long. Making sure he has the room to take me as deep as he wants.

He's watching me as closely as I'm now watching him. His lips are purple-pink—not blue. His face is splotchy but not pale. I'm fucking slightly into him now, and he's squirming on his knees, constantly readjusting, like he's trying hard not to come.

He and I need to have a talk.

But later.

Not right now.

I've got a serious case of sudden entitlement cropping up that has me wanting more than I took last time.

"You better fucking swallow," I say.

His brow pinches, but he doesn't stop deep-throating me.

And I don't stop choking him.

His soft noises turn to longer, drawn out groans, and his eyelids flutter.

"Is sucking the doorman's cock gonna make the poor little rich boy come?"

He hums around my dick, eyes flashing me a warning look.

"Bet you taste like fucking caviar."

He gives a long, lascivious lick up my shaft and presses his throat into my hand. "Harder," he gasps.

I add my other hand, applying just enough pressure to watch the blood drain from his wet, parted lips, but once they take on that dusky hue, I let go—lifting my hands in surrender, refusing to go any further. His body jerks, shuddering hard. His fist pounds his own cock, and a raspy moan erupts from his choked throat. "Unnhh…fffuuuccckkk…" His face floods with color and he huffs out his gasping breaths as he looks down, I'm assuming, at his exploding dick while mine stands at attention—waiting and growing increasingly impatient.

But this is a sight, too. One I wasn't looking forward to, but can't take my eyes off.

He bruises like a fucking peach. And there is the air of a fallen angel about him—his fine, aristocratic features, his annoyingly glowing, youthful skin. His cocksucking mouth, that I can grudgingly admit, is perfect.

Maybe he's more than just a pretty boy. Maybe he's a little sexy, too. Maybe I'm not quite willing to say never again. Or maybe I just need to come so I can think clearly.

I slap him. Hard, directly across his left cheek, knocking his head to the side. He grunts and shudders again. "You forgetting something?"

He lifts his head slowly, one eye glaring through his tousled curls. He licks his lips and straightens up, taking my rock-hard dick in a firm grip. He rapidly jerks it too many times to count before his mouth is on it again, his suction as powerful as an industrial vacuum.

Oh shit—I asked for this, didn't I? I dig my nails into the buttery leather cushion and brace myself, locking my jaw and tensing every muscle in my body.

It's good. It's so fucking good, I might actually lose my mind from how good it is.

Hands down, nothing has ever lit me up like this. I'm a nuclear reactor right now, and I'm about to?—

I'm about to?—

"Coming," I whisper—it's the only sound I can force out. I'm not even sure he can hear it over his sloppy slurping sounds. "I'm fucking coming," I manage to say a little louder.

He looks up at me, unceasing in his efforts that brought me this far.

Thank God.If he tried to edge me right now, I couldn't guarantee his safety. My balls thump with the inevitable, and a bolt of electric sensation cracks my spine, flaring in my groin, and it's happening. "Shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit…"

Cum shoots down his throat, and he swallows repeatedly, making the problem worse, not better. I'm being milked for fuck's sake, and it's beyond glorious, past torturous. His fist is working me too, and I am so fully fucked, I can't believe I'm not levitating.

"Jesus Christ!" I shout when he shows no sign of stopping, and I'm doing nothing to push him away. It feels terrible, and it feels fucking amazing, and I am in deep shit.

My hips writhe, and I'm holding his hair again, forcing him to keep sucking until I'm so overstimulated I'm on the verge of tears.

"This is so fucked," I say, and it sounds like a whine. A goddamn whine. "Don't stop," I beg him. "Don't you dare fucking stop." I'm gonna burn in hell for this.

He whimpers in protest, but I don't let go of his hair. I can't. My cock is so slick as it slides back and forth past his wet lips, and a wrenching pull twists my abdomen.

I motherfucking come again.

He coughs—reaching his limit. I let him go, watching in awe as another few streams of cum dribble out of me. "Fuck," I breathe, stunned and on the verge of blacking out.

He's still catching his breath, staring at my dick, too.

After a minute or two while we both come down and let our breathing return to normal, he looks up at me. "Want me to call you a car, or do you wanna crash here?"

A…car?

Wait.

"Here?"

"You look comfortable. But I don't know if you live close or what."

"I…don't."

He reaches out and slips his fingers behind the gaping waistband of my pants. I startle, my hands gripping hard on his. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Jesus, relax, Jack. I'll send your clothes out to get cleaned. Just take 'em off."

"You'd like that wouldn't you, perv?"

He huffs. "Takes one to know one. Just take off your fucking clothes. Stop being so needlessly proud."

"Needless—What?" My mind is made up entirely of post-multi-orgasmic sludge.

"You know the type, right?" he says as my hands slip off his, and I lift my hips to let him take off my pants. "Someone who wants to do everything the hard way—refuses to accept any help—calls it not wanting charity. It's pointless. Just take the handout for fuck's sake. It's not that big of a deal."

"Says you," I say, as he slides off my shoes.

"Pretty sure they don't give out awards at the pearly gates to people who achieve natural childbirth or make it through life completely on their own. It's okay to make a decision not to suffer. No one's gonna judge you for it. No one that matters anyway."

"Natural childbirth?" I ask.

"TikTok rabbit hole," he says. "I liked a video of a hot pregnant woman one time, and all of a sudden, my For You Page is all about medication-free birth. It's a whole thing. Maybe you can just take my word for it."

I am currently naked from the waist down, my shirt shoved up to my armpits, and my cock drying rapidly.

"Shirt?" he asks, as he stands and tucks his own dick back into the thousand-dollar jeans that make him look like a million bucks. I pull the polo off and hand it over. That one simple act wears me the fuck out on top of everything else we've done.

"I'll grab you a blanket. Want a bottle of water?"

I glare at him.

He huffs and walks away from the couch. When he returns a minute later, he's got a thick, down comforter—one of the most luxurious things to ever touch my body besides maybe this couch, and a bottle of water already open. I take a few sips and hand it back. He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. "There's a powder room right there. I'll try not to disturb you. I've been up most of the night, too."

I hear what he's saying, but I'm already listing to the left, half asleep.

"When you wake up, I expect a better rating than decent."