The Jezebel - Dylan Allen Page 0,134

tell me that you are mine.”

“It could never be a lie,” she responds immediately with her hot mouth on my ear and our chests pressed together, so tightly, that I can’t tell her thundering heartbeat from mine.

She comes fast, clenching around me like a fist, and my control starts to slip and splinter.

“Wait,” she pants, and I pull out of her and lift off when she bucks her hips. She rolls out from beneath me and slides off the couch.

“What are you doing?” I turn around, and she puts a hand in the center of my chest and pushes me down onto the couch. My dick bobs, and her eyes follow the motion greedily.

She kneels in front of me, spreads my thighs, and drags her breasts over my erection. “I want you to come in my mouth.

“Then, why are you still talking?” I ask.

She chuckles and licks her lips, before she grabs my hips with one hand and cups my balls in her other. My head hits the back of the couch. “Fuck, Venus, goddess mine,” I chant nonsense words in a guttural voice. I tug the gold elastic holding her ponytail free and it falls in sleek sable waves, veiling my thighs. I lift it by the fistfuls so I can watch her suck me off.

Her kiss stung lips stretch around my length and her eyes close when she pulls me into her mouth until the pulsing head of my dick hits the soft back of her throat. Tears roll down her cheeks. I cup her cheeks and tug until she lifts her head.

She yanks free of my hands and glares at me.

“I thought I was hurting you,” I explain.

“You weren’t. But if you don’t put your dick back in my mouth, I’ll hurt you.” She yanks me forward. I glide back into her hot mouth. Her groans of pleasure vibrate around my cock every time I thrust into the pleasure palace of her mouth.

I don’t last ten seconds.

I come so hard that the rumble that started in my chest leaves my mouth in a growl. I throw my head back and. I shoot off - thick and fast – releasing all the tension, all my need, all my love, all my anger that I’ve held back like a tightly drawn bow flies out of me, and she takes it all.

She releases me with one last long suck and then falls back onto the rug with a groan. Her arms and legs sprawl artlessly while she stares up at the ceiling, panting.

“Regan, what are we doing?” I reach for her.

She rolls away and stands up, tugs her dress up and looks down at me with her hands folded in front of her like a fucking schoolteacher. “We shouldn’t have done that. You…your job, my kids, our families…there’s just so much going on.” She starts pacing back and forth.

“My job?” What the hell does that mean? I sit up and start straightening my clothes and watch her pace.

“You’ve got your whole life ahead of you and I live a life incompatible with that. I have kids, you don’t want them. I live here. You want to travel. Your job has a morality clause, and I’m married, stained.” She slaps her chest with her open palm.

“Wait, what?” I stand, surprised at her mentioning my job again.

She keeps pacing, almost talking to herself. “I’ve done everything I can to protect you, but the minute we start dating, people will know. And everything I’ve done will be for naught. Marcel will ruin you. And for what? For a woman you don’t even know?”

“I do know you.” I put my hands on her shoulders.

“You don’t,” she snarls, and bares her teeth at me. “I’m not the girl you fell in love within that bakery or even on that beach. You like fucking me, but you couldn’t last five minutes in this fire with me.”

I lurch away, her words are like a backhanded slap in the face. If she notices my reaction, she doesn’t show it. She’s ranting, pacing, talking to herself.

“I’m trying to save Venus Rising, I’m trying to keep my children from spinning out of control and I am trying to let you go because it is for the best.”

“You’ll see. You’ll move on. You have to,” and then, she walks out and leaves me sitting there by myself.

I don’t go after her. I don’t trust myself to. I’ve never been so close to actually breaking something as I am right now. I

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