Page 92 of Pink Ink

Apparently the wrong thing to say, because he turns venomous, and I witness firsthand why people call him vindictive.

“If you’re going to have a bratty mouth, you better know how to use it.” He rises to his full height; any hint of tenderness is gone from him as he winds my hair around his fist and holds my head back. “Stick your tongue out.”

Whether my self-preservation has kicked in or my need to get off is strong enough to get me into line, I part my lips, show him the back of my throat, and reach for his belt.

My eyes widen when his wet fingers push into my mouth, coating my tongue in the evidence of my arousal. My gag reflexes kick in, and I sputter, but he doesn’t relent, fingering my throat like he’s training me to take him. Tears gather along my waterline, threatening to fall each time he slides back into me.

Moisture trickles down my thighs, saturating my panties. I grip on to his belt with one hand, feeling his length drag against the palm of my hand every time I move.

“Can you taste yourself on my fingers?”

He pulls out, and I swallow down greedy gulps of air. My legs quiver, stomach convulsing and spasming at the complete and utter emptiness. I have half a mind to bring my hand between my legs if he’s so intent on dragging my suffering out.

“No answer?”

My eyes sharpen on him for a moment before I melt into a puddle because he thrusts the same fingers back into my sex, driving them mercilessly until I’m a panting, quivering mess, clawing at his shoulders and feeling the light around the corner.

Then it ends. I don’t have the time to murder him for edging me before I’m gagging around him, feeling a tear leak from the corner of my eye. He holds my head in place so I can’t escape—not that I want to.

“Let’s try that again. Can you taste yourself on my fingers, Miss Sinaga?”

Maddox doesn’t remove his fingers for me to answer. I make a sound that loosely resembles the words “Yes, you sadistic asshole,” because if he brings me right to the precipice just to pull away, I might start a fistfight.

He eases up, smearing the wetness over my lips and down my chin. “Good girl. Now was that so hard?” He brightens at my answeringglower and looks pointedly at my hand still on his belt. “Are you going to do something about it, Miss Sinaga, or do you intend to just sit there looking pretty?”

I must have developed the strength of God in my frustration, because I manage to yank him closer and unbuckle him with nothing but pure lust-addled fury pumping through me.

He chuckles.Motherfucker. I grit my teeth, frantically undoing his pants so maybe the devil would be so kind as to, oh boy, I don’t know—how about let me fucking come?

When he pushes my hands away, I release a feral growl. Maddox lowers his pants just enough to pull out his cock. My jaw drops. There’s so much to take in that I can’t decide where to focus; the precome beading on the head of his cock, the throbbing vein, or the sheer size of him. I wet my bottom lip, fixated on the pearl snaking beneath his crown, down his shaft.

“It’s rude to stare, Miss Sinaga.” His voice is no more than a fraying rasp.

My eyelids grow heavy the longer I admire him, and another bead of come gathers on the head of his cock, and a light bulb goes off in my head. This is an opportunity.

I inch forward, breathing hard through my mouth so the hot air skates over his length. He twitches, and a strained sound comes from the back of his throat.

If I don’t get to finish, then neither does he.

I blink languidly, meeting his stare when I reopen my eyes. Then, ever so slowly, I drag the tip of my tongue over his crown, capturing his arousal into my mouth. My moan makes him curse, abs clenching beneath his buttoned top. And I do it again, reveling in the grip tightening around my hair. I explore him with only the tip of my tongue, and reverent kisses bleach his knuckles white.

Every one of his labored breaths takes me higher as I continue to refuse him. Desire pools between my legs, and my muscles spasm at the emptiness.

A callous smirk spreads across my lips when his thighs start to shake. I finally close my lips around him with a moan and take him as deep as I can. His strangled groan fills the room, and he pays me back for the torture by keeping my head in place so my throat closes around him.

He releases me, and we simultaneously gasp for breath. Except I don’t waste time repeating the process of edging him with tentative touches.

He snarls, and I do it again, and again, and preen when he smiles down at me, reading me like an open book.

My jaw aches as I widen to take him, and I choke when he hits the back of my throat. He steals the control back from me, holding my head steady so I gag around him. He pulls back an inch just to get reacquainted with my throat, over and over until tears stream down my cheeks and I’m a wet mess.

“I fucking knew your lips would be the death of me,” he rasps.

My body locks up when someone tries to open the door, rattling the handle. Maddox keeps having his way with me like nothing happened. I’m too far gone to warn him that someone might have a key.

He releases me just enough to drag oxygen into my lungs before thrusting as far as I can take him—which isn’t very far. I can only manage half of him before I choke.

“Relax your jaw.” Voice as rough as stone.