Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 77287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
And he’s forcing as much of himself into me as he can. Punishing me for daring to defy him.
He doesn’t protest the fact that I took my mask off. He’s staring down at my face, taking me in as he fucks my mouth and probably tries to make it hurt, watching me like he’s committing every moment to his memory permanently.
His hips are bucking faster now. Each thrust slams into me and makes my body rock backward a little, and when I hear him let out a broken exhale, I know he’s close.
He pulls his fingers out and grips the side of my head.
Sevan Berlant is about to use me to come.
“I saved you from what would have been a very unpleasant night,” he utters, his words punctuated by breaths. “You should be thanking me, Weston.”
I gag as he cuts off my hair and then pulls back sharply. I flick my tongue along the underside of his tip, trying to push him over the edge.
Just do it.
I feel his cock throb on my tongue and it makes me throb, too, because apparently I’m like Pavlov’s fucking dog when it comes to having a dick in my mouth and I couldn’t control it even if I tried. I reach up a hand and grip his thigh, his skin hot beneath my hand.
I don’t know if I’d rather push him away or if I just want to touch his skin, and I can’t believe he doesn’t shove away my touch.
He breathes heavier as he starts to fuck my mouth in a faster rhythm.
A flare of panic hits my veins as I realize what’s about to happen.
Every moment of tonight has felt surreal, but it’s not a dream. This night is going to be part of my history forever.
Sev is right.
Every time I see him in the halls on campus, every time I pass him on the quad, every time we see each other at a party, he’s not going to let me forget the moment that I took his cum, and I can’t fucking think about that otherwise I’m going to freak the fuck out.
I feel him throb again and a moment later it’s happening.
His body tenses as he pushes into me with one firm thrust, and then Sev is coming for me, losing control and groaning as he lets go.
I swallow like I’m supposed to.
Because I’ve lost my mind.
I squeeze my fingers on his thigh.
Because I went way too far.
I serviced him, like I was performing my duty for a tyrant ruler, on my knees in devoted worship.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck fuck.
My heart is like a sledgehammer in my chest as Sev’s breathing becomes steadier again.
His grip slowly loosens in my hair, and he gives it one last little squeeze before letting go.
My head goes slack.
As he slides his flagging cock out of my mouth, it’s like a thousand miniature explosions are going off inside me.
I want to kill him with my bare hands, and I also want so much more.
He pulls all the way out and turns away, looking out onto the damp balcony. The breeze blows along my spit-slick lips, cooling them, but every inch of my skin is still burning hot.
I swallow hard. My throat aches from being fucked like that, used like I was his toy.
The last thing he said is still floating in my mind, reverberating like a command: you should be thanking me, Weston.
“Thank you.”
The words fall out of my mouth unbidden, my voice gravelly and broken.
Don’t fucking say that to him.
What the hell is wrong with you?
He doesn’t turn back to look at me. He gazes out the window for another moment, the planes of his muscles highlighted against the dark backdrop of the room, and for a second he really does look like a carved statue.
Then he turns away.
He reaches for his pants and tugs them on, then the rest of his clothes afterward.
When I realize he’s heading for the door, I’m still on my knees with my cock out, precum falling from the tip, completely used.
He unlocks the door, swings it open, and steps out.
“Use the outdoor stairs to leave,” he calls back without even looking at me.
The door shuts behind him hard, and he’s gone.
4
Sev
I sleep like the dead after the night with Weston.
I’d gone to the Zenith night to fight—really fight, after feeling like a caged animal for months in my room. But it didn’t happen, at either of the last two Zenith parties.
Yesterday I got one bitter prize, at least. A trophy I’ll have in my arsenal for the rest of my time at this school.
Weston Knox, giving himself to me. A prize I didn’t know I wanted.
And God, how fucking perfect he was on his knees.
I wake up Sunday morning after the best sleep I’ve had in months. I’m outside in the thaw of spring minutes later, on my way to solidifying the routine I’ve missed so badly while healing from my injury.