Page 45 of The Beast Who Bought Me
Heat crawls up my chest, my neck. “Yes, Damiano.”
“Better. And if I feel teeth, you’re gonna die with my dick in your mouth. You get me?”
“I get you.”
He fishes himself out, and he’s already hard, thick and imposing. How isthatsupposed to fit in my mouth? “Come on,” he says. “Show me what those pretty Clemenza lips are good for besides lying.”
I lean forward, press my lips to the head of his cock like I’m giving it a kiss. He tastes like salt, like the ocean. I pull back, looking up at him uncertainly.
“More,” he says. “Open your mouth.”
I part my lips and try to take him in, but I gag on just the tip, the strange feeling of having something that big in my mouth. My eyes water, and I pull back, coughing.
“Breathe through your nose,” he instructs, his free hand stroking my hair almost gently. “Try again.”
The second attempt goes better, but barely. I can still only manage the very tip. I don’t know what I’m doing with my tongue, and I keep accidentally scraping him with my teeth.
Despite what he said, he doesn’t kill me for that. So I guess I should count myself lucky.
“Relax your jaw,” he murmurs. “That’s it. Good boy. Don’t think so much.”
I hate how delicious he smells. I hate how my stomach flips when he calls me a good boy. I hate that I want him tolikeit.
He sets his phone down and puts it on speaker. The auction continues in the background—eight million, eight and a half.But all I can focus on is trying not to embarrass myself further. Trying to figure out how to breathe. Trying to understand what he wants from me.
I find a rhythm, taking him a little deeper each time. I figure out that sealing my lips and using suction makes his thighs tense around me. Running my tongue along the underside makes his fingers tighten in my hair.
“Am I doing it right?” I cough, pulling back to look up at him. My eyes are watering. I hope he doesn’t think I’m crying.
His teeth are clenched. “Stop asking questions,” he says roughly. “Just…keep going.”
I get back to it, try to take him deeper like I’ve seen in videos, but I immediately gag and have to pull back, gasping and choking. Tears stream down my face, and I feel like a complete failure.
“Twelve million!” the voice crackles through the speaker.
I work just the head, using my tongue more deliberately now, and find a spot just under the ridge where he’s sensitive. When I press my tongue there and suck at the same time, his hips shift forward involuntarily.
“Thirteen,” Damiano spits out, echoed by whoever is on the other end of that phone. But he’s not really listening to the auction anymore; he’s staring down at me with an intensity that makes my skin burn. His hand tightens in my hair. “Use your hand, too.”
I bring my hands from behind my back—he said not to move them unless he told me, and now he’s telling me—and use one to grip him, the angle unfamiliar. I try to coordinate my mouth and hand, and it’s clumsy at first, like trying to pat my headand rub my stomach simultaneously. But I do my best to match my strokes to my sucks, and when I look up at him through my wet lashes, something in his expression shifts. His control is slipping.
I have power here. I really do.
I slide him into my mouth again, finding it easier this time, his thick crown weighing down the back of my tongue.
“Look at you, learning so fast,” he says. “Natural talent, I guess.” The words should sting, not make my cock twitch. I channel my irritation into working him harder, more suction, tighter grip, finding that spot under the ridge again and pressing until he curses.
“Fifteen million!” The voice on the phone is getting excited now.
So is Damiano. “Eighteen,” he counters, voice strained.
I’m getting better. His breathing is heavy now, his hips jerking in micro-movements. The grip in my hair disappears and his hands frame my face. He brushes away my tears with his thumbs, and the tenderness of that gesture in the middle of this transaction nearly breaks my concentration.
“Eighteen and a half!” chirps the phone.
“Twenty,” Damiano says unsteadily. “Twenty million for a townhouse that doesn’t even have a view of the Park.”
I take him deeper than I’ve managed before—not deep, by any standard, but enough that I feel him hit the back of my throat, and this time I breathe through the gag and hold. His thighs are rigid. The hands around my face are trembling.
