Page 98 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
I opened my mouth. His essence still filled it, the taste something I savored. Nash’s chest rose as he took in the sight. Disheveled hair. Harsh eyes. Defiant stance. He looked like he felt—a nightmare disguised as a dream.
Leaning down and reaching behind me, he released me from the restraints and nudged my jaw closed with a single finger.
“Look at me as you swallow.”
I tilted my chin up to face him. We held eye contact as his cum slid down my throat. My poor heart battered my chest at the look of satisfaction unfurling across his face.
“Tell me how I taste, little Tiger.”
Like a god.
“I’ve tasted better.”
“Pretty little liar.” His thumb traced the length of my jaw and tilted my chin up until I couldn’t look away. “You suck cock like a good girl, but everything else from your lips is so, so bad.” Full lips met my temple and dragged down until they pressed against my ear. “Do you want more?”
My palms fell to his chest, yearning to scratch away his shirt and dig into his smooth skin. “Yes.”
So quiet, I wondered if he had heard it.
I didn’t want to repeat myself. He had carved my resistance. A rose without her thorns, naked and yielding.
Nash dragged a finger past my collarbone, between my breasts. “Do you want my cock inside you?”
“Yes.”
Another whisper.
“How badly? Tell me how badly you want my cock. Tell me how you want me to fuck your tight, little pussy.”
I should have processed the glint in his eyes as he said it. It reeked of ulterior motives. The face a grandmaster made seconds before he said, checkmate.
Instead, I latched onto Nash, cursing the fact that everything with him was a challenge.
A test.
I refused to lose.
“Rough.” I dug my nails into his chest and scraped. I wanted to leave a mark, like the scars that adorned his torso. Mine would be shaped like me—wild and unforgettable. “Hard. Like it’s the first and last time you’ll ever touch me.”
He laughed then, the sound deafening so close to my ear. “I told you we’re not fucking. And unlike you, I’m not a liar.”
In the time it took to exhale, I had already lost. He was past the doorway, leaving me in my ripped shirt, cum dripping down my thigh and a knob in my ass.
This was supposed to cure me of my fixation.
It had only made it worse.
My mood worsened as the day progressed.
I told Nash to go to hell, and by the time I cleaned up, changed, dropped my bags off in my closet, and arrived to work two hours late, Nash was typing away at his laptop with the rest of my coworkers.
Apparently, hell was my office.
He cocked a brow as if to say, and where have you been?
I had been joking when I accused him of stalking me, but maybe he actually was. He had made himself at home in the office, replacing one of the computers with his own laptop, taking up the entire desk as if he owned it.
He does own it, Emery. Given the state of your trust fund and how desperate you are for work, he basically owns you, too.
