Page 37 of Crush
Circling her clit, I use my canines to brush against her folds, my tongue doing most of the work, but my teeth and cold exhales edging behind. I heat her up, then I cool her down with a gentle blow, aiming for her clit, feeling it swell against my tongue.
Her taste. Her fucking taste…
It sears into my brain as I seek to devour her, my fingers digging so hard into her ass, she’ll have marks days from now.
My marks.
Mine.
Shivers wrack Ember’s body, her thighs practically vibrating against my ears. She clenches my head, arches, and pops my dick from her mouth long enough to release a long, ecstatic cry. The orgasm takes over her muscles as sweet juices fill my mouth. I drink it down like an elixir.
Ember goes slack, submitting to the orgasm, but her lips open for my cock again, her tongue dancing around my tip while she squeezes my balls.
That’s all I need to follow close behind.
I’m not sorry to release more jizz than I’ve ever held before into that delectable mouth of hers, hopefully covering her face and drowning her throat in my cum.
Her pussy falls from my lips, her body going limp on top of mine, though I still have an epic view that I’ll be remembering later.
“Oh, my God,” she whispers against my thigh. Her hand rubs up and down the outside, brushing against my skin, and I wonder if she knows she’s doing it.
It takes me a minute to realize I’m mirroring her movements, lingering in our pleasure, softening to her presence.
I feel the same, I almost say, but quell the vulnerability before I can voice it.
All too soon, reality comes crashing into our moment. What I’ve done.
I throw one of her legs over my head and sit up. Ember tilts off-balance for a moment, then scrambles to a sit, curling her legs to the side. “Thorne, I…”
“Until next time, my little rag doll,” I say, then slide off the hood in search of my clothes.
I’ve ruined the afterglow, I know it, and I can’t look at her as I pull on my pants, stuffing my briefs in my back pocket and throwing my shirt over my shoulder. Dressing takes too much time, and any more seconds I spend with her…
Are you proving your mother’s weakness, son? You have one duty. That’s all I ask of you. And if you screw it up…
I spin to the door.
“You’re a mistake,” she whispers at first, then repeats it louder, wetter. “You’re always a mistake, Thorne Briar.”
“Tell me about it,” I toss over my shoulder, then open the door and step out.
I leave her naked and shaking, but I don’t think of that as I round the corner to Weatherby Manor’s backyard. Or as I shoulder open the back door and use the narrow walkway to direct me to Malcolm’s security room.
The door’s unlocked, as it usually is when Dash thinks he’s impervious to Malcolm’s wrath when he goes overseas.
Multiple monitors cast the room in an electronic blue glow. I seek out the keyboard, tapping and clicking until I find the cameras to the garage and rewind to the moment Ember and I orally fuck on my stepmother’s car.
I pull out my keychain from my back pocket, which always contains a USB. Sticking it in, I copy the file, then delete its presence from Malcolm’s security tapes.
My father’s threats fuel the movements, and I stuff my keys back in my pocket with more wrath than needed.
I won’t be jerking off to this tape later. No, if I’m to be the good son, I’ll give it to my father for future use against Malcolm. Destroy the man while he’s already getting comfortable with his demons.
It all takes less than two minutes, and I’m out of the manor and jogging through the garden pathway before Ember’s probably collected herself and found her clothes.
My attention skates to the converted garage as I pass it, but I force my attention forward, crossing the deserted midnight street and focusing on the Briar legacy with Ember’s juices still drying on my skin.
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