Page 62 of Break Me Open
I drop, sliding down his body until I’m on the cold floor between his legs, his thighs framing my shoulders, and his hand still tangled in my hair.
From this angle, I see the flushed line of his throat, and the edge of a smile that’s half disbelieving and half feral. “Fuck,” he whispers, his voice wrecked.
For a second, everything else falls away — rank, country, danger, rules. It’s just the two of us in a crappy admin room at the edge of the world, about to cross another line.
His fingers flex in my hair, and I lean in. The last coherent thought I have as my mouth finds him is that I would burn my whole career to the ground if he asked me to.
Ari’s cock juts out, the veins standing stark against his pale skin and pre-cum glistening in the low light. It makes my mouth water. All I can focus on is the heat radiating off Ari’s body, the musky scent of his arousal, the way his cock pulses as if begging to be touched, tasted, and worshipped.
My hands land on Ari’s hips, and my fingers dig into the hard muscle. I feel the way his breath hitches, and the way his thighs tense, but I don’t give him time to prepare for it.
I wrap my lips around the head of his cock and suck. His cry is raw, guttural, and torn from his throat like he’s been gut-punched. “Fuck... fuck...” The word is more air than sound.
I don’t let up. I take him deeper, my tongue swirling around the thick ridge of his crown before I hollow my cheeks and swallow, my throat opening to take him in.
His cock hits the back of my mouth, then slides further, stretching my lips wide. Saliva drips down my chin, messy and filthy, but I don’t care. All that matters is the way Ari’s hips jerk, the way his breath comes in ragged gasps, and the way his fingers tighten almost painfully in my hair.
“Goddamn,” Ari groans, his voice a low, rough thing that sends a shiver through my whole body. “Like that... fuck, just like that...”
I pull back just enough to breathe. “Touch yourself,” Ari demands, his voice a rough snarl. “I want to see you stroke that pretty cock while you choke.”
I unfasten my belt, pulling my trousers open and yanking my aching cock out, and grabbing my shaft. My fingers wraparound the base, stroking upward in a slow, deliberate motion. The sight of Ari watching me turns me on more than I thought possible.
I dive back in, moaning around him, taking him to the back of my throat in one smooth motion, my throat constricting around the thick length. Ari’s cry is choked, his body tensing like a bowstring drawn too tight. “Fuck, fuck... Caiden...”
His breathing turns into sharp, desperate pants. My hand moves faster on my cock, and Ari’s hips lift off the desk in small, aborted thrusts. My throat works around him. I release my cock, my hands gripping his hips, holding on to him as he fucks my mouth with short, fast thrusts.
The desk creaks under him, the wood protesting, but neither of us cares. All that matters right now is the slick sounds of my mouth, the ragged breaths tearing from Ari’s lungs, the way our bodies move together like they were made for this.
Rough, desperate, and fucking perfect.
His muscles lock, and his entire body goes rigid. “Caiden... I can’t... O bozhe!”Oh my God.
His back arches, his cock pulsing violently in my mouth as thick ropes of cum shoot down my throat. Ari’s orgasm is a silent cry, his body shuddering with the force of his release. I don’t let a single drop go to waste. My tongue darts out to catch the last spurts, lapping at Ari’s sensitive head until he’s whimpering, oversensitive, and his body twitches with aftershocks.
Ari’s chest heaves as he comes down from the high, and I stay where I am, kneeling between Ari’s spread thighs, my hands still gripping his hips possessively. I can taste the salt, musk, and something uniquely Ari.
And I want more.
Ari’s fingers finally loosen in my hair, his touch gentling as he cards through the short strands. His voice is rough when he finally speaks. “My fucking turn.”
Twenty-Four
Arseny
My hands are shaking with a full, bone-deep, post-explosion tremor. I’m braced on the edge of the admin desk, knuckles white, breath sawing in and out like I’ve just run a marathon. I’ve just been... thoroughly and enthusiastically worshipped by a British Lance Corporal on his knees. “My fucking turn.”
My voice is still uneven, but Caiden doesn’t even have time to process it before I grab a fistful of his hair and pull him up from the floor. He rises fast, eyes wide, lips swollen, as I stand in the same motion, my body crowding into him, my chest pushing into his.
I don’t kiss him, not yet.
I turn us and shove him backwards, his legs hitting the desk with a muted thud. He breathes out a little broken sound. “Turn around,” I demand. He turns and braces his hands on the desk, muscles tight under his shirt, his shoulders heaving. He’s trying to catch his breath, but he won’t, not with me behind him, and not with what I’m about to do to him.
“Good boy,” I murmur, dragging my palms down his back. He spreads his feet without being told, and I can feel his thighs tremble slightly. I hook my fingers under his waistband and yank his uniform and underwear down in one sharp motion, exposing him to me.
He gasps out of pure instinct, and I take a step back just to look at him. He’s spread open, flushed, hard, and dripping for me. His cock is already in his hand, his fist tightening then relaxing, like he doesn’t know whether he’s allowed to touch or not.
I rest my palm on the small of his back. “Stroke yourself for me, detka.” I say quietly. He groans, and his hand moves, slow at first, then faster as the need overwhelms him. I sink to my knees behind him, and he tenses. If he thinks I’m going to fuck him with my fingers first... he’s wrong.
