Page 44 of Ransom
He swallowed. "I'm a filthy liar."
I rewarded him with a slow grind, deep, watching his eyes roll. "Good boy."
"Fuck..."
I picked the pace back up and he made a noise that broke in the middle. I bit his lip again. His hand came up off the sheets, got into my hair, and yanked. I yanked his back. We kissed like a fistfight, teeth and tongue and blood and spit. Somewhere in there he scored his nails down my back so hard I felt the skin give.
Sierra was going to take one look at us at breakfast and not say a word, and that was fine, that was fine, because right now Winston Valverde had his legs around me, his hand at the back of my neck, and he was saying my name like it was the only word he knew.
"This is the only part of you that's mine," I said into his mouth.
"Take it."
"I am."
"Take more."
I wrapped my hand around his cock and stroked it once, hard, and he came. No warning. No begging. Just a sound that punched out of him and his cock pulsing in my fist and cum striping his stomach, chest, and my hand. His ass clamped down around me and I had to stop, jaw locked, fighting it, because I was not finishing yet. Not like this. Not without the rest.
I pulled out.
He groaned. "Ransom, what —"
"Up." I dragged him by the hair. "Sit up."
He came up onto his elbows, dazed, his mouth slack, cum on his stomach. I got my hand around the base of my cock and crawled up the bed and straddled his chest and his eyes focused on what was about to happen and his tongue came out.
"Yeah," I breathed. "Open."
He opened.
I worked myself fast and groaned as I came on his tongue, across his lips, his chin, into the hollow of his throat. He held still and took it with his eyes on mine and his mouth open, and when I was done, his chin was wet and a string of it ran from his lower lip to his chest.
"Don't swallow."
He didn't.
I crawled off him and sat back on my heels and just looked. Winston Valverde on his back in my bed with my cum on his face, his throat marked up purple, a bite on his shoulder, his cock spent and slick on his stomach, nail-tracks down his thighs from where he'd gripped himself. He looked wrecked. He looked like mine.
I leaned down and kissed him. He kept his mouth open, and let me take it back. I kissed the cum off his chin, his throat, the hollow under his jaw. He shivered when my tongue found the bite marks I'd left.
"Now swallow."
He did.
"Good," I said, against his lips. "Real good."
He let out a breath that shook on the way out.
We stayed like that for a minute. Me half over him, him on his back, both of us breathing hard, the sheets a wreck and the room smelling like sweat and whiskey and what we'd just done. The flowers had survived. Most of them. One was bent.
Then he opened his eyes and grinned at me, slow and mean.
"Round two?"
"Give me a minute, Ranger."
I rolled off him onto my back. The ceiling crack looked wider from this angle. My heartbeat was loud in my ears. The bite under my jaw stung. The scratches on my back stung worse. I'd be feeling all of this in the shower tomorrow.
