"Well?" He pumps himself yet again, and my pussy squeezes in on itself.
"What’s it gonna be? Nod if you want me to fuck your mouth. Else get up and leave. Your choice."
Or not. There’s no choice here; not really. There’s only him and me and the years-old betrayal that separates us more effectively than a stone wall. There’s only the fact that I want him. That I need him. Need this. I tip up my chin, hold his gaze, and nod.
His eyes flash, and an expression of something like relief overtakes his features before he wipes it off his face. He lowers his hand, digs his fingertips into my hair, and pulls me forward until my mouth brushes up against his cock. A groan breaks free from him, then he thrusts his shaft in my mouth and down my throat.
I promptly gag. He doesn’t release me. His grip on my hair tightens. He yanks on it, and pinpricks of pain shiver down my neck, down my chest, only to bounce off my nipples and head straight to my core. My clit throbs, my core clenches, my knees tremble, and I grab at his thigh to anchor myself. His muscles are so hard, they may as well be stone. His eyes as he searches my face are twin laser beams of darkness bent on wreaking the most destruction. He pulls me back until his dick is poised between my lips, then tugs me forward so he slips down my throat. I gag again. Tears squeeze out from the corners of my eyes.
"Fucking hell. You’re so tight, so damn hot. So very perfect." His tone carries a tinge of wonder that reaches some part of me deep inside. The part I knotted and tucked away after what happened between us. The guilt inside breaks free and seems to wash down my face with my tears.
He tilts his head, then scoops up the moisture on my cheek and brings it to his mouth. He sucks on his fingers, and his lips curl. "So fucking sweet. Just like your scent. And your gaze. And your curves. But we both know that’s all a façade. We both know what’s inside you, Sparrow, and that will never change."
But I have. I want to tell him that. I try to communicate it with my eyes. And maybe he sees…something, for he slows his pace. Something like tenderness struggles to break free behind his eyes, but he tamps it down.
"You don’t fool me." He begins to fuck my mouth in earnest. In-out-in. He tugs on my hair, sticks his cock down my throat with each forward lunge and pulls back to the edge of my lips with each backward motion. Every time he feeds me his dick, he groans and growls and curses. The clips from my hair fall out, strands tumbling down the sides of my face. He holds them back, glaring at where his shaft disappears between my lips. Then increases the intensity of the to-and-fro motion. His entire body jerks, and I grip his other thigh, holding onto him with all ten of my fingertips digging into his flesh.
He raises his gaze to mine, and the torture in his eyes, the heat in them, the lust that flares in them hits me directly in my chest. Moisture drips from between my legs, my breasts ache, and my nipples are so pointed, I’m sure I can cut glass with them.
It’s a blowjob; that’s all it is…
Only, it isn’t. It’s a religious experience, god help me. Flickers of heat shiver under my skin, and sparks of white dot my vision. The entire world around us fades. There’s only him and me and this…thing that stretches between us. This language that is our own, the one with which we can communicate as we’ve never done before. This…this is the bridge I can use to reach out to him. The connection I’ve been searching for to get through to him. This…is how I’m going to show him that I’m ready to make it up for everything I did to him. This… This is everything.
I hold onto him as his big body shudders, as sweat beads his forehead, as his features tense, and with a hoarse cry, he empties himself down my throat. He seems to come and come; the salty taste of his cum fills my palate.
"Swallow every drop, you hear me?" His harsh command sends another arrow of heat speeding through my veins. My entire body shudders.
His grip tightens on my hair, and he holds my gaze. He thrusts into my mouth one last time, then pulls out. I gasp, and my chest rises and falls. My mouth parts, as I squeeze my thighs together.
He releases his hold on my hair, then tucks himself inside his pants.
The sound of voices reaches us. I blink, glance around, taking in the trees behind us, the grass next to us, the spikes of pain that shoot up my knees from the prolonged contact with the pavement.
He jerks his chin. "Get up."
I use his thigh for support and haul myself up. The voices grow closer, and his lips curl. He pulls me close, then presses a kiss to my forehead. I tremble, not sure what he’s doing, certain that the tenderness in his gesture is all fake. Sure enough, he nods at the couple who pass by. "Nice evening for a walk, Lord Balmoral."
"Can’t blame you for not wanting to be inside, ol’ chap. I, myself, prefer a ramble to being stuck with strangers."
"Oh, hush, William," the woman with him admonishes. "Sorry to have intruded on your evening." Their footsteps fade, and Cade releases me so suddenly, I stumble.
He looks at my features, then jerks his chin toward the door through which we came. "I need you to go check in on my sister."
I blink. "S…sister?"
"Zara Chopra, the woman I was dancing with."
"Zara Chopra?" I frown. "That woman you were dancing with is your sister?"
"That’s what I said, isn’t it?"
“You have a sister?” How did I not know that?
He scowls. “Don’t make me repeat myself, doll.”
Ugh. I hate it when he calls me doll. It makes me feel cheap and like a gangster’s moll, which is, no doubt, why he does it. And I heard him the first time. But it doesn’t stop me from asking again, “You want me to check on your...sister?”
His brows draw down further. I’m sure he’s going to snap at me, but he seems to rein in his temper. "Yes, I want you to check in on her,” he says slowly.
“Wh-why don’t you go in and check on her?”
“Because—” He draws in a breath. “Because if I go in, she’ll bite my head off. So, you need to go in and calm her down first."
"You want me to calm her down?"
"You going to parrot everything I say?"
I shake my head.
"So, get gone."
A hot sensation builds in my chest. Tears prick the backs of my eyes, and I blink them away. "What about your eye?"
"My eye?" He seems taken aback. "What about my eye?"
"Does it hurt?"
He touches the skin below his right eye and winces. "I’ll live."
"You need to get it looked at."
"And you need to do as I tell you."
"Only if you promise to get it looked at."
"Your fake concern doesn’t do anything for me," he scoffs.
"It’s not fake, it’s—"
He glares at me, and the words seem to stick in my throat. Of course, he doesn’t believe me. Not that I blame him. But after what just happened between us, I thought we were communicating on some level… And we did. Only that connection doesn’t seem to have transferred over to words. Not yet, that is.
He used me first. And now he has a use for me. That’s a start. And I’m going to make the most of it. I’m going to use this opportunity to get to know him better. To give him a chance to get to know me, as well. Once he does, he’ll see just how much I’ve changed. He’ll see I’m serious about making it up to him. He has to. I’ll make sure he does.