Dark Notes(77)

He’s a control freak through and through, but I knew he’d respond exactly this way. I love him like this. His filthy f*cking mouth and the coarseness of his timbre makes my lips tingle and my nipples harden.

When he loses the last of his restraint, there’s no warning. In a blur, he grabs my hair and slams my head down. I gag, slobbering atrociously and sucking for air. A pained moan escapes him as he bucks his hips and drives harder, deeper. I choke so violently my eyes water against the pressure, and my fingers scramble for purchase in the folds of his slacks.

Both hands tangle in my hair as he holds my face against his groin, his cock digging against my throat, his voice hoarse. “Raise your hand, dammit, and I’ll stop.”

My hands are free. I can lift them anytime. Then he’ll release me, and the discomfort will end. The power in that breaks something open inside me.

I want this. I feel it at gut level, this need for him to f*ck my mouth savagely, carelessly, and without thought. Maybe because he’s held back for so long, restraining himself for me, and I ache to give this back to him. Or maybe because I want his hurt so hard and deep inside me that he’s all I feel.

With the broad head pounding the back of my throat and taunting my airway, it already hurts. My tonsils feel like painful masses of swollen tissue. He’s doing this because he wants to, and I love that, crave it, like no decent woman ever would.

I’ve never been decent. I’m dirty—Emeric’s kind of dirty that leaves a claiming painful pleasure in my throat. He tries to f*ck me as deeply as he can because he’s my master, the man I hunger for in the darkest, most terribly beautiful way possible.

“Raise…your…f*cking…hand.” He punctuates each word with jabbing strokes in my mouth.

I bury my nails into his thighs, a silent plea. Don’t stop.

He stabs his hips and pulls my hair, legs shaking, and breaths wheezing out of control. Just when I think I can’t take any more, the balance shifts. He goes quiet, slowing his thrusts, stroking my hair, and filling my mouth with his release.

My name reverberates through the theater as his body convulses and sighs.

The power is mine. I bask in it. His hands tremble, and I grab them, hold them, our fingers intertwined. I have him.





The next morning, I shield my eyes against the glaring sun and step toward an unfamiliar car in Emeric’s driveway. “What is that?”

He follows me out of the house and walks ahead of me. “A Porsche Cayenne.”

“Okaaay. Why is it here?” I thought he was driving me to my doctor’s appointment in his muscle car. “Where did it come from?”

His strong legs carry him toward the white sporty SUV, his gorgeous ass flexing in low-waist jeans. With the chirp of a key fob, he unlocks and opens the driver’s door then faces me with a wide stance, arms crossed over his chest.

The t-shirt stretches around defined biceps and formidable shoulders, and creases of denim outline the impressive bulge between his legs. I stare without apology, a smile hitching my lips as I recall the way his swollen length pounded against my throat last night.

“Look at me.” Censure hardens his tone. When I lift my gaze, he says, “I had it delivered this morning.”

I grit my teeth. This car better not be for me. “I thought you preferred loud American gas guzzlers.”

The blue in his eyes glows magnetically in the sunlight. “True. But this is one of the safest SUVs on the market.”

Yep, it’s for me, dammit. Another gift I don’t need. Now I know why he asked me earlier in the week if I had a driver’s license. “Thank you, but no—”

“We’re not arguing about this.”

“Uh, yeah, we are. It’s hard enough explaining my wardrobe at school. But a car? No way.” I anchor my hands on my hips. “Return it.”

“No.” He tosses the fob in my direction.

I let it thunk to the driveway at my feet and give him my best glare.

His mouth sets in a thin, severe line.

Oh shit. My pulse trips.

He clasps his hands behind his back and prowls toward me, slowly, methodically, his eyes boring into mine.

Double shit. I lower my arms to my sides and scan the yard. We’re behind the estate, hidden from the street. The towering oaks form a living wall of privacy between the lots. Not that I’m afraid to be alone with him when he’s like this. Or maybe I am, but any fear I have is smothered by the heady mix of give and take that melds us together so beautifully.

Doesn’t mean I have to accept a car, though. I glare down at the key fob.

“Eyes on me!”

My focus flies to the sculpted lines of his face and the pulsing vein in his brow. It’s been a few days since I riled him up, but I know that look. As he circles me, I’m both dancing and cringing inside, anticipating a strangling hand on my throat or a hard smack on the ass. Maybe he’ll finally have sex with me, right here in broad daylight. I’d welcome any or all of it. I’ve been in such a heightened state of arousal since I moved in, I might just strip off my clothes and make the decision for him.

He stops behind me, not touching, but close enough to stir my hair with his breaths. “I’ve had my fingers in your cunt, my cock in your mouth, and your taste on my lips. I’m the only person on the planet who knows how beautiful you look when you come. All those freckles on your thighs, the sounds you make when you sleep, the passion you evoke with a piano, everything about you is priceless and irreplaceable. So I’m going to wrap you in nice things and protect you in a safe car. And you are going to thank me with those gorgeous lips around my dick when you get home.”