Page 25 of The Silencer
“Good.”
The man nods again and then disappears, the door shutting with a click. I stare down at Anthony, who doesn’t seem to be in any kind of rush. No, that ten minutes will wait. Time stops for him.
“What was that?” I ask.
He doesn’t meet my gaze, just keeps rubbing. Torture, really. “Nothing.”
“I mean, I was naked and he just came in! Where was Teddy? Doesn’t he guard the door?”
“Viktor can always come and go as he pleases. Don’t worry, he won’t look.”
I stare down at the paper hiding my junk and then peel it away, some of my splooge attached to it.
“I hope this wasn’t important,” I say, my cheeks reddening.
He eyes it. “Just set it down.”
I do as he says as his hands leave my calf. “Stand up and turn around.”
With trembling arms, I push myself up and then turn my back to him. I can feel his breath against my neck as I watch those two fingers dip back into the ointment. So fucking sexy. So fucking hot. It has no right to look that way.
It’s positively indecent.
I start to pant again when his hands land on my shoulders and move down my spine to my sides, grazing my hips and then finally landing on my ass. When he drags his palms down the back of my thighs, I start to vibrate with lust. I’m practically whining now.
Fuck, what I wouldn’t do for a quick fuck, a quick finger in my hole while I jack off.
I’d give my kidney for that at the moment. And I bet Anthony knows organ smugglers. I bet they’d take it too.
“Your bruises look better,” he says softly, and I nod, unable to speak. If I could, I’m sure it would come out as a squeak.
“They should be healed by the end of the week if we continue this regimen.”
“Mhm,” I say with a nod, trying to keep my body from shaking, but unable to manage it. He must feel it. He has to know what he’s doing to me.
Suddenly, his hands leave me, and I curl my fingers against the desk, trying to will myself to move, but unable to do so. I need to get my breathing under control. I need to fucking breathe.
I hear a drawer open to my left and then a bottle of lube is set down next to my curled fists. My eyes stick to it. They can’t move. Why the fuck does Anthony have a bottle of lube in his drawer? Oh god, does he sit here in his office, drinking a glass of whiskey, sprawled out, his shirt sleeves rolled up, his veins bulging as he jacks himself?
Oh god, the visual.
It’s so distracting that I don’t even notice him flipping the top open and squirting some on his palm.
“Wha—” I begin, but those words are cut off when his hand wraps around my dick.
“Oh my god!” I cry out, my body jerking back and falling into his chest. He’s touching my dick! He’s touching me. I stare down at those tattooed fingers wrapped around my hard length and let out a gasp.
“Shut up and take what I’m giving you,” he says lowly, his free arm coming around my chest to hold me against him, and I shake my head before nodding. Of course. Of course I’ll take it. Is he dumb?
I’ll do anything he says at this point.
“You have two minutes to come.”
Oh, doesn’t he know? I only need two seconds.
His fist tightens on me and he starts to shuttle it up and down my dick, making me cry out. Curses to the gods for them making his hand so nice and perfect, curses to my dick for liking it so much. Curses to Anthony for being so fucking hot that my brain is now scrambled.
His fist works faster, tighter, almost too painful, but it doesn’t matter. I’m close. So damn close.