I don’t want her to choke before we even start. The last thing I need is for her to vomit everything she’s been holding down.
Not because I’d be put off by it. God knows she could be covered in it and I’d still lick her clean just so I could touch her skin. No, her puking would automatically mean a sudden stop to what’s about to happen, and the only way I’ll allow that is if I’m dead.
She takes control of the move, sucking it, while I continue pushing. My breath catches when she looks at me, and fuck, I nearly came from that alone. She continues to lick and suck and whatever else her tongue is doing that nearly has me collapsing, and everything around me fades away, leaving me lightheaded.
But God, the way she takes me…
Tightening my grip on her head now, I guide the pace. Her mouth works me faster—saliva dripping from her lips, down her chin, while her hand strokes what she can’t reach. Her tongue—God, her tongue—keeps on doing this thing, curling under the head just right.
“Spell my name,” I command, pushing myself forward. She tries to pull away, but I let my thumb dig into her scalp, holding her firmly in place. “With your tongue. Every letter. Let me feel it.”
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, her tongue begins to trace every stroke of the letters on the base of my cock: her tongue forms the “A”, then continues with a sharp curve for the “Z”, followed by a soft brush for the “R”—each movement done while I’m still pushing myself into her.
She finally takes my full length, her throat loosening around me as she struggles to adjust to my size. The rhythm grows animalistic, and I’m not even sure which one of us is enjoying this more.
Then she decides to swallow around my cock, and I’m done. My hips buck, and I lightly tap her cheek, letting her know this would be a good time to move. But just like in the classroom, she doesn’t flinch—she even moans around me like the idea of me finishing in her mouth turns her on.
I try to prolong the inevitable as long as I can, but it’s impossible when Victoria is looking so beautiful with my cock in her mouth.
“Be ready, love,” I warn her.
I hit the edge hard and fast, an almost primal sound escaping my mouth. It feels like the perfect summer thunderstorm in the middle of the forest.
After she’s done swallowing every drop, she sits back on her heels, staring up. “How did I do, Professor?”
CHAPTER 29
AZRAEL
The hotel room door barely closes behind us before her back is slammed against the wall.
After days of waiting, I can finally touch my little ember. Her soft skin is burning under my fingers ,and her lips are begging to be tasted. Fuck, having her in my arms is all I need in this lifetime. There is nothing more crucial than devouring every inch of her right now.
The last time she was dressed in her “work uniform” was at the warehouse, and I made sure to destroy every part of her I could touch. This time, I want to do exactly that, but in a way that will make her scream for more.
Removing her jacket, I scrape the skin at her collarbone with my teeth. Her skin is salty, a result of everything she did in the forest, but it still bears the scent of lavender that follows her everywhere. This is all I want to taste, this and?—
Moving my hand under the waistband of her pants, I move the tiny piece of fabric aside. Her panties are already soaking wet, and it takes precisely three seconds to remove them and allthe other unnecessary items of clothing. Everything is removed until the only sight left is the image of her naked body.
I take a step back, admiring maybe for the last time the beauty and strength of her body. She has become my addiction, the one thing I cannot live without, but that is a problem for tomorrow. Right now, I watch as her eyes catch sight of what I’ve prepared for her.
“Azrael, what the fuck is?—”
Did she really think her running this time would come with no repercussions? Just because she answered a couple of calls—or because she gave me the blowjob of the century— doesn’t mean that the fire inside me has been put out.
“This is how you punish a bad girl. And you, my little ember,” I say, stepping behind her and bending down until my lips can touch the crown of her head, “have been the worst.”
She turns her head to look at me, and there are thousands of emotions running at ninety miles per hour on her face: confusion, excitement and maybe a little bit of fear?
The bondage device we used at her house is the vanilla version of everything that is happening in front of her. The chains attached to the bedframe are clearly not for decor. The black candles on the nightstand are already lit and the small pile of “torture devices” I brought from her place rests on the corner of the bed.
She steps toward the bed, uncertain, and this image—with her walking right in the middle of what could very easily hurt her—is pure beauty.
“Is this all for me?” she asks, gesturing to the chains.
“Only for you.”
The exasperated sound that leaves her mouth is just another delicious song I could play on repeat over and over again “So we’re back to torture? Look, Azrael?—”