I don’t point out that sucking his cock is hardly good girl behavior. It doesn’t matter. This is the game we play, and I love it. I undo his pants with shaking fingers and drag down the zipper. Seconds later, he’s filling my hands. Long and broad and perfect. I’m too impatient to be cautious as I suck him down, reveling in the feeling of him filling me in a completely new way. His hand tightens on my hair, holding me back, but I fight the restraint and make a frustrated noise.
“Slow,” he murmurs.
No.
I don’t want slow and careful. I want rough and ready and everything he can give me. I dig my nails into his hips, pricking him the same way my frustration pricks me.
“Wicked girl.” He shifts his grip, keeping one hand in my hair and tilting my head back a little. “You want me to fuck your mouth.”
“Mmm.”
He uses his free hand to touch my left wrist. “It’s too much, you let me know.”
I make another sound of assent. Jafar might like playing with the darker edge of desire the same way I crave, but he always manages to check in with me. To make sure I’m right there with him.
It makes me feel far safer than I have any right to.
He holds my head immobile as he begins to move. Slowly at first, testing my limits. I’ve never had a sensitive gag reflex, but it’s not a trait I was particularly grateful for until the moment his cock bumps the back of my throat. It’s not a comfortable feeling, but I breathe through my nose and relax into it as best I can. I want this.
I need this.
“That’s it, baby girl.” His soft praise lights me up from within, and I can’t find the strength to hate the feeling. Instead, I luxuriate in it as he begins to move in earnest, thrusting between my lips, forcing me to relax into it or choke.
My eyes water and he wipes my tears away with a gentle thumb, so at odds with the rough hold on my hair. “Next time we do this, you’re going to swallow me down. Every single fucking drop.” He slams into me again and again, his voice low and rough and as brutal as the way he fucks my mouth. “But not tonight. Tonight I’m coming all over those tits you like flashing at everyone. Remind you who you belong to.”
Once again, I’m left shaking and wondering if he can pull an orgasm from me with his words alone. Coming on my tits? It’s dirty and a little degrading and I want it more than anything in that moment.
He wrenches me off his cock and fists it with his free hand, jerking himself once, twice, a third time. He comes in great spurts that lash my skin, the almost-agony on his face turning me on as much as his marking me does.
His shuddering exhale is the only warning I get before he releases me and steps back. I’m left swaying on my knees as he tucks his cock back into his pants and looks down at me. “You love this shit.”
To fight or to embrace the truth?
I meet his gaze. “I love this shit, Daddy.”
He pulls me to my feet, and then his mouth is on mine and nothing else matters. Claiming me with teeth and tongue, marking me as his with this searing kiss the same way he has with his mouth and hands and cock and come.
Jafar owns me, body and soul.
I’m too drunk on pleasure to fear that truth. Not tonight. There’s plenty of time to let it sink in, to worry about the future tomorrow.
When he finally lifts his head, I have to cling to him to keep my feet. From his indulgent smile, he knows it. “Tell me how you want it.”
No question to his meaning, not with his cock already going hard again. I almost tell him to bend me over the desk, but that’s not the answer I give. “I want to ride you.” He’s some kind of wizard to pull the truth from me again and again, even when it would serve me better to lie.
He moves to one of the low leather chairs and sinks onto it with a grace I envy. As I watch, he undoes his pants and pulls his cock out. “Come take your reward, baby girl. You’ve more than earned it.”
I unknot my shirt with fumbling fingers and shrug out of it. I’m still sticky with him, but I don’t care. I’m not ready to wipe the mark away. After a hesitation, I slide out of the skirt, too.
I like the sexy outfit, but there’s something particularly decadent about climbing into his lap while he’s mostly fully clothed and I’m completely naked. I feel like the little slut he’s named me, like he can do whatever he wants to me and I’ll love every second of it. I’ve been captive too long. If I can’t embrace the rest of the world, I’ll embrace the endless variety that fucking brings.