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“Then get out,” I say, my voice dripping with barely veiled disdain. “Get dressed and leave.”

He rests both hands on his hips, completely comfortable in just the towel. “Are you really going to pull that shit now, Syl? Even after everything you just told me?”

“You don’t really want me.” I sound like a hurt little girl, which I guess is the theme of my life.

“I havealwayswanted you. That’s the problem.” He takes a deep breath, his chest expanding with the movement. “If you really want me to leave, I’ll go.”

That is the very last thing I want. “More like you don’t want to stay.”

Anger flares in his gaze, dark and ominous. “Stop with your game playing, Sylvie. It doesn’t become you anymore. It never really did.”

He turns, his fingers flicking at the knot on his waist, the towel falling in a wet plop on my floor. I stare at his bare ass as he storms out of my room and I launch myself after him, following him into the guest bedroom.

He has the same view, though not as all-encompassing as my wall of windows, but he doesn’t even notice. He’s too focused on pulling clothes out of the suitcase that lies open on the queen-size bed, his face a mask of pure frustration. His dark hair hangs over his forehead, water droplets sliding down the side of his face.

Spencer is also completely naked.

My gaze goes to his cock. Even in its unaroused state, it’s magnificent. Long and thick, with a flared head, nestled against dark pubic hair. As if it can feel my eyes on it, I swear it starts to harden. Lengthen.

“If you want it, get over here and suck it,” he demands.

I’m startled.

Breathless.

Without thought, I cross the room, and he turns in my direction when I stop in front of him. I fall to my knees, in a trance as I nuzzle my cheek against his now hard cock.

We say nothing, the heavy beat of my heart loud in my ears. He threads his fingers in my hair, holding tight, as if he plans on keeping me in place in case I try to leave. Not that I’m going anywhere. My mouth drifts along his shaft, barely open as I breathe him in. He smells clean yet musky. Unmistakably Spencer. When my tongue sneaks out for a lick, he hisses out a breath, his fingers tugging, making me wince.

“Put me in your mouth.” His tone is fierce. Angry.

I should run. I should tell him to fuck off. But I don’t.

Instead, I do as he says, my lips enveloping the head of his cock, tongue tracing around it slowly, savoring every inch of his skin. He groans, his hips gently thrusting, pushing himself deeper into my mouth, and I relax the muscles in my throat, taking it.

Taking him.

We’re still silent, the only sound my lips suctioning around his length. The wet drag of my tongue licking. Lapping. He’s leaking pre-cum everywhere and when I pull away so I can tongue the slit, he growls, shoving his way back in between my lips.

“I’m going to fuck your mouth,” he warns, and I nod, whimpering low in my throat just before he completely possesses me.

And I let him.

He shoves his cock as deep as he can get it inside my mouth, sliding in and out, fucking me steadily. Tears leak from my eyes as I moan around him, letting him use me, reveling in the way he’s treating me. Brutal and mean and demanding. Not giving a damn about what I need or how I feel.

He’s in it for himself.

His expression is fierce, his jaw tight, a vein throbbing along the side of his forehead. His focus is one hundred percent on my open mouth, my lips stretching in near pain as he continues fucking my mouth. My entire body throbs when his pace increases, my panties flooding with moisture, and I can’t hold back the moan that comes from deep within me.

When I woke up this morning, I had no clue my day would end up like this. Me on my knees getting rugburn while Spencer Donato stands above me, his cock in my mouth as he fucks it until I can feel that first spurt of semen land on my tongue.

“Drink it.” The words barely slip from his tight lips before he throws his head back, his entire body taut when he groans as the orgasm slams into him. His fingers tug my hair, holding me to him while he comes down my throat. I swallow it down, my gaze on him the entire time, fascinated by his body and the play of muscle as he strains and shudders.

Our encounter was quick. Not lasting even five minutes, but I’m completely changed. Transformed. I pull him out of my mouth, strings of saliva sticking to the tip, and I wipe away the connection. Then wipe at the corners of my mouth. My body aches, the need to be filled by him overwhelming me and when he pulls on my hair, I rise to my feet, my heart hammering in my chest when he thrusts his face in mine.

“You liked that.”

I nod, alarmed by the dark tone of his voice. The matching glare in his gaze.


Tags: Monica Murphy Romance