Page 31 of Praised
My balls threatened to explode for how close my orgasm already was.
“Yes, Sir,” I whispered, wondering what I’d done to earn it. Was it because I’d listened? Because I conceded? Because I crawled into the back of his car and took my cock out like an obedient slut?
“What did you just think about?” he asked. “Right then when your cock pulsed in your fist?”
I worried about whether I’d be able to get the words out, if I even wanted to. There had to be limits of honesty between us, right? I didn’t have to let Flynn know I’d thought about what a slut I was for him, did I? But as quickly as I entertained the idea of swallowing back the truth, my own demands of him came back to me. I didn’t want to be with a liar, and I didn’t think he did either.
“I was thinking about how you make me do things I never thought I would,” I finally answered.
“And I’m not even trying yet.” Flynn shot me a near-feral grin. “But it was more than that. Your cheeks went red and your fingers twitched. There was something more. Was it calling me Sir?”
How had he seen all that? Was I just an open book, laid bare with all my truths on display for him to read at his convenience? I hated that. It felt unsafe and wrong, and like I was asking to have my heart broken in the end, when I’d only just managed to get it held back together after Cody had wrecked his way through it.
“Partially.”
“I said you could touch yourself,” he reminded me, and as if it had been a demand, I stroked my fist up my length and back down again.
Up and down.
I had to loosen my fist, had to move slow, because while I didn’t know what was happening between us, I wasn’t ready for it to end yet either.
“There you go,” Flynn praised. “Just like that, Rose. You listen so fucking well, don’t you? You’re a good listener. A good boy.”
“A good slut.” I moaned at him, eyes flying open as the words left my mouth.
The leather seat didn’t even make a sound when Flynn moved and launched himself across the car at me. He covered my hand with his and slanted his mouth over mine. Taking control of my pacing, he stroked me harder and rougher than I’d been doing to myself, clearly ready to send me over the edge.
“Is that who you are?” he breathed against my mouth. “Who you want to be? My good little slut? My very best boy?”
It should have been humiliating at worst, demeaning at best, but it worked and my orgasm slammed into me so hard that my vision darkened around the corners. Or maybe that was the lack of oxygen because Flynn had sealed his mouth over mine with such a forceful command, the only breaths I could find were the ones he allowed me between kisses.
Even after my balls had emptied, he kept both of our hands around my dick, slowing his strokes until the tremors and aftershocks had stopped racing up my spine. I was limp and boneless, almost flat on my back with his weight still on top of me. His slacks were wet against my thighs and I didn’t know if it was from my orgasm or if he’d come as well.
His kisses slowed as well, tongue moving from urgent exploration to tender appreciation, and then against the corner of my mouth, Flynn finally answered the question I’d asked him in the alley.
“That’s how praise works, Ambrose.”
CHAPTER11
FLYNN
Thankfully,my approach had worked.
After wiping as much of Rose’s cum off his stomach as I could manage without blowing my own load in my pants, he agreed to come home with me.
Even though I’d offered to bring him back for his car later in the day, he’d insisted on driving himself. It was a callback to the night we’d met, but his indifferent expression when we both pulled into my garage had me more off-balance than his look when I’d met him at the hotel. Not that I’d expected him to fawn over my house or anything. I already knew my wealth didn’t impress him, but generally people coming over for the first time hadsomekind of readable reaction.
My house was nestled off Coldwater Canyon, a mid-century throwback that I’d spent an obscene amount of money renovating. It was a sprawling single story that hugged the ground, with a front wall made almost entirely of glass. I’d built a small pool in the entry area, housing a monstera plant that I’d kept alive since college, surrounded with enough artistic uplighting to make it look like I knew a thing about architecture and design.
“You live here?” was all Rose asked, throwing a quick glance down at his soiled work clothes.
“Did you want to come in?” I asked.
“That’s the point of all this, right?”
His indifference flickered to nervousness, but I watched him try to swallow it back and school his features. He wasn’t comfortable, and while I really wanted him inside my house, I didn’t want to coerce him.
“You can change your mind,” I said softly. “If you’re not ready.”
