Raw

Twitch stands by my side playing with his cufflinks which, upon closer inspection, tonight are black onyx skulls and crossbones. He states, “This is your room whenever you’re here. You’ll get a key and your own set of entry codes. You’ll have access to the entire house, and I’d prefer it if you were here at least three nights a week.”

As soon as I hear the words your room, my mind leans over and whisper-hisses, “This boy has lost his mind. We best be leavin’ now.”

Unable to process what exactly we’re discussing here, I take this opportunity to walk around the room. Reaching a solid antique dresser, I lift the lids on the two glass decorative pieces that sit atop it, making myself at home in what is apparently my freaking room. One is filled to the brim with colorful milk chocolate buttons, and the other has cuff links of all sorts inside.

My brow furrows. “But this is your room.”

A tattooed hand reaches around me to take a handful of chocolate. Without turning, I hear him shove the lot into his mouth. He says sarcastically, “And she’s smart too.”

Spi

Chewing the chocolate, he reaches for another handful while looking lost in thought. Finally, he shrugs, “Why not?”

Leaning back into the dresser, I lift my hand and point to my index finger. “Number one, I don’t even know you, Twitch.” Pointing to my middle finger, “Number two, this place is really far from where I work, as you know.” Pointing back to my index finger, “And number three, I have absolutely nothing here that is mine. So, it’s weird for me.”

Shoving the second handful of candy into his mouth, he chews, takes my hand, and leads me to a door by the bathroom. When he opens it, my mouth gapes.

This is ridiculous!

I’m panicked. And sweaty. I don’t feel good. I think I’m going to be ill.

Bending forward at the waist, I reach back with shaky hands to hold my hair out of the way as I begin to hyperventilate. I really wish I had a paper bag to breathe into right now. This is where Twitch asks in dead calm, “Too much?”

Standing straight, I blink at him for half a minute before I point to the open walk-in closet filled to the brim with women’s clothes, which all look to be in my size and screech, “Oh, because that isn’t weird! Not at all, Twitch!”

His smirk is so delicious that I want to lick him. But when he says, “Babe,” as if I’m the one being ridiculous, I lose my cool.

“No! Don’t you even do that, mister! Don’t babe me! I have heels on and I will use them as a weapon if I have to. You’re going to answer some of my questions right now.” Feeling a little too brave, I add with little to no steam at all, “If you don’t, I’ll leave. And I won’t come back.”

Popping a piece of candy into his mouth, he sucks on the button and utters, “Yeah, about that. I don’t do well with being threatened. And I definitely don’t take orders. But you’ll learn all this. Eventually. I get that I know you better than you know yourself, but there’s a few things you should know about me. And I’ll make it easy for you.” Mimicking my pointing to my fingers, he points to his index finger. “Number one, you’ll be here because you want to be here, not because I forced you. Ever.” Pointing to his middle finger, “Number two, this closet is yours, and I expect you to use whatever is in there, down to your drawers.” Pointing back to his index finger, “Number three, you’re so fucking hot when you get worked up that I would really like for you to suck my cock. And when I say I would really like that, I mean suck my cock, Lexi. Now.”

Pressing my legs together tightly, my core clenches.

I totally want to. “I don’t want to.”

His lip twitches, and he steps forward into the force field I’ve erected around myself. Lifting his hands, he spans them at the sides of my neck, halfway through my hair and says quietly, “I won’t tell anyone. I know what turns you on, babe. Don’t deny yourself. I’d hate that.” Removing his hands from my neck, he takes care as he removes my mask, and when my face is finally exposed, his eyes crinkle at the corners as I’m suddenly pushed down to my knees in front of him. With both his hands at my shoulders, he utters, “You needed a push in the right direction. Now let’s see if you can bring me to my knees too.”

Challenge accepted.

My brows furrow in agitation. I work on his belt and when it’s free, he slides it out of the loops of his pants and begins to fasten it around my neck.

I know this shouldn’t turn me on. I know this is wrong in so many ways. But I want it so damn much. There’s a part of me that wants whatever Twitch is offering, no matter how fucked up.

Popping the button and lowering his zipper, I part the opening and bite my lip when I see the thick, pierced semi-erect shaft at eye level. When the belt around my neck is pulled a little too tight, I look up at him with panic in my eyes. His eyes speak to mine. They say I’ll look after you. Or at least, that’s what I want to believe they’re saying. They could be saying I want to choke the life out of you for all I know.

As soon as it’s fastened, Twitch wraps the length of the belt around his hand and pulls gently. The pressure on my neck is alarming and uncomfortable.

So why am I dripping wet?

He catches my intake of breath and smirks.

He knows. He always knows!

The smirk fades, his hooded eyes darken, and he orders, “Make me hard,” then pulls on the belt, forcing me forward into his crotch.

Not wasting a second, I wrap one hand around his hardening dick and guide it to my mouth, careful not to gag from the balls of his piercing. As soon as my tongue touches the sensitive underside, he sighs, “Yeah. That’s it.”

Pulling the belt closer to his side, it forces me closer to him, which in turn pushes him deeper into my mouth. Closing my eyes, I work him with my mouth. Squelching noises echo in the large room. Suddenly, I’m pulled too deep and I gag. My eyes snap open.

His eyes bore into mine as he keeps his length far too deep. “Eyes on me. Don’t make me tell you again.”

Clenching my throat around him, my eyes water and I nod vigorously. Pulling out of my mouth completely, I gasp in a breath, saliva dripping down my chin in a most unattractive way. He cups my cheek affectionately, “Good girl.”

Not giving me a second to get my breathing under control, he drives himself back into my mouth. But I’m slightly freaked. I don’t want to be gagged again.

Twitch must sense this because he states, “You do what I say and that won’t happen again.”

I guess it’s beneficial for me to listen to him then.

There’s something about having your choices taken from you that is equally liberating and frightening. Handing over control to a person is a big deal. A showing of trust. And sometimes, I would like to be taken on a ride rather than drive.

Blinking rapidly, I look up into his soft brown eyes as he slowly but deeply works my mouth. At this very moment, all I can do is take him in. White shirt, ripped and paint-splattered, mouth parted, eyes hooded in bliss, his filthy face looks almost angelic as he relaxes with every stroke of himself into the wet heat of my mouth. I could watch him all day long. Then his eyes close and he tips his head back in pleasure; the muscles of his neck tense a moment before he swallows hard, the inked artwork there seemingly coming to life with every movement of his throat muscles.

He is stu

And although he’s no longer watching me, keeping an eye on me to make sure I’m following instructions…I can’t take my eyes off him.

The sounds of leather squeaking softly by my ear alerts me to the fact that he has tightened his grip on the belt once again. Unable to stop myself, I stop my passive posture and give as good as he gets. And I know he’s close. I know this because as I begin to bob my mouth on him, he hisses, “Fuck, Angel. Yeah, baby, suck it good.”