The Monster (Boston Belles #3) - L.J. Shen Page 0,20
dropping his head back, not expecting the move. I ran one finger around his shaft, teasing him as I pumped and sucked on his testicles, inhaling the musky, earthy scent of his privates.
“Motherfucker,” he groaned. “That’s some move.”
Stifling a smile, I sucked, teased, and licked, almost entirely ignoring his cock that kept jerking and growing more swollen and big, demanding my attention. After a few minutes, Sam grabbed the back of my wig, jerking me to the main event—the star of the show. I gasped, slapping his hand away immediately in a bid to keep my wig on.
He frowned down at me, momentarily taken aback.
“Got anything against dicks?”
“Not at all.” My voice was breathless, pathetic. “Sorry. It’s just that my hair is a mess under the wig, and I don’t want you to see it.”
A raven, blue-black mess you will recognize immediately.
“Are you under the impression we’re about to have our fucking wedding photos taken?” Pleasure twirled in his grey-hued eyes. “Who the fuck cares?”
“No, you’re right, of course not.”
Silly girl, Ms. B’s song tutted in my head. So submissive and easy.
“While we’re at it, why don’t you take off the sunglasses?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Makes me feel like I’m getting head from Stevie Wonder.”
Because you’ll see my eyes and recognize them, too.
My eyes were the kind of blue you didn’t see every day. Father said they were only matched by the ocean in their blueness.
I grabbed his shaft and deep-throated him, making him nearly roar with pleasure.
“Nice diversion, Roberts. Faster.”
I began pumping in and out, still amazed that Sam Brennan’s cock was in my mouth.
My fascination—no, obsession—with him knew no bounds, something even I couldn’t deny. But it was harmless, too. We were both single, of age, and constantly in the same vicinity. He changed my life in ways and shaped it into something different and deeper. Giving him good head was the least I could do to pay him back for putting me on the path I was today.
“All right, let’s see what your cunt or ass is made of. On your feet, Pretty Woman.”
I rose to my full height, euphoria swirling through me like a storm. He grabbed the back of my head and kissed me. A lazy, horny kiss. Full of tongue and teeth and intent. Nothing like the kiss we’d shared on that haunted ride all those years ago. It didn’t unfold slowly like a well-crafted book.
Sam pulled away from me suddenly, frowning at me.
“What?” I asked, panting hard, my underwear already soaked. I clutched the collar of his dress shirt, rubbing my covered tits against his chest shamelessly, already on the brink of orgasm. “What, what?”
“Ginger,” he hissed coolly. “And honey.”
“Ginger?” I blinked frantically behind my shades. “What do you mean?”
“There’s only one woman I know who smells of ginger and honey.”
Me.
It was me.
Me and my stupid French-imported shampoo Ms. B got me addicted to.
Without warning, Sam tore the sunglasses from my face, yanking the wig off at the same time. My long, tar-black hair fell down my shoulders in thick waves, all the way to my butt. My blue eyes widened at him.
So screwed—and not in the way I was hoping for.
I coughed, probably choking on a desperate apology that my body refused to spit out. I knew he wasn’t going to hurt me—not physically, anyway—but I had no doubt he was going to punish me.
Revenge was Sam Brennan’s favorite language, and he spoke it fluently.
“Fitzpatrick,” he growled like a beast.
“Sam, I—” I shook my head. Merde! “Please. Just one time.”
“Spare me the bullshit. I’ll deal with you later. First, I’ll give you what you’ve been begging for for over a decade and remind you why you…” he bit my lip hard
“…do…” he grabbed my panties through my skirt, tearing them in one practiced movement—I thought it was impressive, especially as they weren’t exactly snug “…not…” he shoved two fingers into me in one go “…fuck…” he fanned his fingers open inside of me, stretching me so I became unbearably full—I shuddered violently with need and pleasure, my knees weak—I pushed toward him, buckling my hips, shamelessly begging for more “…with me.”
He bared his teeth, kissing me hard again as he fingered me mercilessly. Hungrily. Violently. Passionately. It was a different kiss. A kiss of pent-up lust. The kind that had built up for years from stolen glances and almosts. I felt the kiss in every bone in my body, in the cells on my skin.