by Ella James
“What makes you think I’d ever live here with you?” I ask.
I don’t give two shits why he thinks I would live here. In fact, I’m sure he probably doesn’t think I’d do it at all. He just wants to prolong my time here while he tries to decide how to keep me from running off and squealing—because he can surely see now that sharing his dirty little secret with me was a mistake.
But I ask the question because I want him to think I’m considering it. I turn the bud over in my hand, prompting him to move his fingers off me.
His mouth twitches. “Would you believe me if I said I make a mean crème brûlée?”
I snort. I don’t know what I believe, but Kellan in an apron isn’t it. It dawns on me: I have no proof that he’s a dealer. He could be playing me.
“I don’t,” he says, shrugging. “I’m an ice cream and instant mac guy.”
I can’t picture perfect Kellan eating instant macaroni, but I don’t say so. “And if I told you I would do it? What’s the next step?” I force a tiny smile. It’s all for show, to buy me a minute to think, but that doesn’t stop my cheeks and neck from flushing like they always do when I’m aroused.
My stomach flips, but I hold my smile for a few seconds. With my free hand, I rearrange my hair. “Do you treat all your prospective dealers this way? Matt... whoever else? Do they all get an invite to stay in one of your rooms here?”
“What do you think?” He smirks.
“I don’t think so.”
There are so many things I would say right here if I wasn’t pretending to go along with this ridiculous idea of his. For starters, why the hell would I want to live with him? I can’t deny he’s hot as hell, and now that I know he’s a chameleon, he’s interesting too—but he’s also scary. Normal people don’t have so much... duality.
(I know what you’re thinking. You’re pointing your finger. But I’m not in the student government, and sometimes, on Saturdays when I’m at the house painting my toe nails, I wear a tie-dyed Grateful Dead shirt. Yeah. The kind with the little dancing bears. I’m a total pot dealer at heart).
“They didn’t have to live here,” he says finally. “Neither do you. It’s an option. Can you see yourself staying here?”
“I don’t know.” I try to sound uncertain—like an idiot. “I think I’d miss my friends at the Tri Gam house.”
“I could make you forget about them.”
IS KELLAN WALSH PROPOSITIONING ME?
I breathe in through my mouth. “How?”
He doesn’t move, but I just know. I can feel the hum of tension in the air between us, and in that second, I get a wonderful idea. A devious idea.
He steps a little closer to me, sending my pulse racing. That reaction to him isn’t fake. His wide chest is inches from my breasts. I step forward.
My breasts mash against his chest as our hips brush. Half a heartbeat later, I feel his dick pressing against my lower belly. Wow... it’s totally hard.
Oh my God.
His hands come up and frame my face. His eyes, on mine, are hypnotic.
“I’m not going to lie to you. I want to fuck you, Cleopatra. That would be part of you staying with me. I’ll teach you how I do things and help you make more money. We fuck in between.”
I press my lips together. Holy fucking shit. I struggle to steer my mind back to my plan.
Kellan strokes his thumb over my lip, and I shudder—a real, live, turned-on shudder.
“Kellan...” I twine my arms around his neck and move in closer for a kiss. And when his soft, warm tongue separates my lips and strokes into my mouth, I imagine it between my legs.
I’m already wet for him.
That’s why it’s easy for me to tug him over to the bed. Easy for me to grab his collar and tug at his shirt, prompting him to pull it over his head. Easy for me to wriggle my way out of my red blouse, giving him access to my pale pink bra, the lacy one that makes my boobs look huge.
I have no trouble lying back on the mattress as he frees my breasts and sucks one of them into his mouth.
“Cleo... Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”
I run my hands up his chest—a god’s chest: ripped and warm. I gasp at the pleasure of his tongue swirling around my nipple.
I gasp again when his hand unbuttons my gray jeans. He tugs them down my hips, then his fingers push past my panties and find my hot, slick skin. He spreads me open just enough to push a finger inside.
I grab at his crotch, feeling how ridiculously huge he is. I imagine him shoving it inside of me, and then his hands are pulling my pants off. His mouth is kissing down my belly as he adds another finger, stretching me so tight I can’t help moaning.
“You’re wet, Cleo. So wet for me. Let me make you feel good.”
And I decide right then, I will.
I will definitely let him make me feel good.
I grip his golden hair as he bends over my pussy. I claw his shoulders as he flicks his tongue, rolling it down my swollen slit while his fingers surge inside me, teasing till I’m breathless, panting, grinding senselessly against his mouth.
He eats my pussy like no one ever has before, licking my clit firmly but gently, a glorious feline lapping milk, while his fingers pump inside me, skilled and rhythmic.
I come panting his name. Lie there feeling like my world has just been torn apart. When I open my eyes, his shirt is on again. He’s standing by the bed, looking down on me as if he owns me. And for a second, I think I understand why so many girls succumb to him.
I giggle. The sound echoes through my hollow head. “Damn, you’re... damn.”
“What do you say?” He raises one eyebrow.
I fake-grin, and pull my pants back on. “I think I might be game, but I want to get more information first.”
What do you need?” He’s deadly serious. If I wasn’t already on edge, I would be now. My skin tingles. My heart pounds. My clit throbs.
I leave my shirt on the bed—a necessary sacrifice, I’ve decided—and slide off the mattress. I close the distance between the two of us with one stride and press my palms against his chest. “I want to suck your dick first, Kellan. Feel you in my mouth. That’s how I’ll really know if this is worth it for me.”
I can see the surprise on his face. The arousal in his eyes. He nods once. “Come with me.”
He pulls me over to the wing-backed chair and sinks down into it. He unfastens his pants and tugs them down, revealing an enormous, straining cock. I give myself a minute to behold its perfect shape and thick, outlandish size. To appreciate the nice, big balls that hang beneath it.
I think, if I liked him, I would definitely enjoy getting him off.
“Kneel,” he orders.
With a hungry smile, I do.
“Put your mouth around me, and I’ll tell you how I like it done.” So bossy. I kind of like that, given what I’m setting up here. Boss me around, baby. You just tell me how you like it.
I decide to tease him a little first. I try to wrap my fingers around him, and of course, he’s too thick. I encircle his shaft, just under the plump head, and feel him jerk a little. Damn, that’s hot. I run my hands up and down him, heady at the softness of his warm skin over the stiff erection.
I can feel him take a deep breath as I explore him with my hands. The trick here is to be gentle: a light touch as I roam under his balls—he makes a delicious, throaty sound—and travel up his shaft, where I rub my thumb under the rim of his head, right there where it meets the underside of his shaft. I don’t know what this little hot spot is called, but when I stroke it softly, guys go crazy.
Like right now. I feel his thighs tense as he blows his breath out. His hands tighten on my shoulders as I trace my fingertip around the rim of his head. I grip him with my other hand and start to pump... He grunts, hands clenching.
“Fuck...”
I pump his shaft and lick him there—one soft, slow lap at that sweet little indention on the underside of his head. He moans, and it’s too soon to give him mo
re. Instead I trail around the rim again, exquisitely soft and light... a tease, designed to make him brainless.
And it works. He lifts his hips. “Oh fuckkk.” He squeezes my shoulders hard enough to hurt. I twirl my tongue under his head... and open wide... and close my lips around him. Fuck, he’s big. I-can-barely-fit-my-lips-around-him big.
I don’t have room to twirl my tongue around him, so instead I use my lips—rubbing them just underneath the rim of his head, which is pushed against my tongue.
I feel him inhale. Exhale. His legs are shaking. “More.” He shifts a little, and I’m surprised to find he’s holding back. He wants to slam that big dick down my throat—I know he does—but he’s trying to be polite. The effort costs him, clearly. One big hand tunnels into my hair and tightens, pulling harshly as I stroke his shaft and suction my mouth around his head.
He groans. My eyes flick to his face, finding it rapt and tense.
“Your throat,” he moans. “Suck me... down into your throat.”
I cup one hand under his balls and keep pumping his cock. I’m gripping harder now, stroking faster. As I roll his full sac in my hand, his hips tremble. I hum a little, just to be a tease.
His eyes flip open. He looks wasted. Drugged. “Deeper,” he growls.
I suck my cheeks in around him, easing him carefully deeper as he wraps his hand around my head. My eyes begin to water. He’s so big and thick. I’ve got his head completely in my mouth now, and I can feel the pressure at the back of my tongue. To truly take him in, I’ll have to open wide and gobble down his cock.
I take him deeper, looking up at him as saliva floods my mouth. His eyes are heavy-lidded... almost shut, long lashes tipped down. I can see some color in his cheeks that wasn’t there before. His perfect lips are slightly parted.
I take still of him and feel his legs spread wider. Fuck, they’re muscular. I stroke my fingers over his sac, and his cock rewards me with a soft throb I can feel against my cheeks.
Oh yeah. He really wants this.
Deeper and I’m almost gagging. I taste something salty. His fingers stroke my scalp.
He moans and shudders. I’m deep-throating him. Go me!
I shut my eyes and focus on relaxing my throat, while one of my hands grips his hard hip. The other strokes his balls, which pull taut as he settles deep in my throat. Tears slide down my cheeks as I swallow against his length and suck my mouth tightly around his base, until he’s thrusting those granite-carved hips; making me gag around his huge girth; rocking into my throat as he pants and flexes his legs and I suck air in through my nose.
I look up at him once more. He’s beautiful. Perfection, really, even more so as he comes undone. His cock is so responsive. Swelling when I suction my cheeks around the base of him, leaking salty pre-cum when I suck and swallow deeper.
His fingers quiver in my hair and he starts snarling... talking dirty. Calling me his fucking whore, his cock-tease, slut, even as he slumps back in the chair, more swollen-cock-that-needs-to-come than guy.
His body trembles as I give the best blow job I’ve ever given. “’M... gonna make that pussy... pay for this,” he pants. He grasps my breast and pushes further down my throat.
So aroused... I’m surprised to find that even I feel hot and bothered.
So it’s a shame what I’m going to do. What I must do, to ensure my safe departure, and also to get some insurance: a way to invalidate his story if he tries to set me up.
I swallow one more time against his thick head—something all men seem to love—and focus my mouth around the base of him. I taste another drip of pre-cum. His hands, now threaded through my hair, curl into fists as he thrusts into my throat. He groans loudly. Grunts. I feel a flash of sheer lust, imagining his huge dick in my pussy. Damn, he’s close. I’m close. I realize with a bolt of shock that I am wet and throbbing too.
And then, as I suck my cheeks in hard and grasp his sac, his hips buck; he spurts like a fountain down my throat. His body shudders mightily, and I marvel at the moisture that’s pooled in between my thighs. I’ve never enjoyed giving blow jobs, but this was something else.
I stare down at him as I stand up. His eyes are closed, his head leaned back against the chair.
But his legs are wide open—cock still mostly hard, his balls hanging without a care.
His eyes peek open too, right then, confirming my hunch that Kellan Walsh is not someone who relaxes for long. His gaze connects with mine. I grin.
And then, before he or I can speak, before another proposition can be made or another kinky phrase exchanged, I ram my knee between his legs.
I hear him grunt, but I am on the move, grabbing my shirt and shoes and darting out the door, dashing down the hall and down the stairs. Down the stairs and to my car. I hit the driver’s side so hard it hurts my ribs. I hoist myself over the door and fumble with my keys. I’m cranking the car before I catch my breath, gassing it as my head spins.
I glance behind me, half expecting to see his Sexcalade bouncing down the dirt drive after me. Half expecting to see him in my back seat.
But... nothing.
Nothing as I leave his dirt road.
Nothing as I pull over to put my shirt and shoes on.
Nothing on the drive home.
Nothing as I contemplate if he was really what he said. If he really wanted what he said, or if he was simply playing me.
Nothing as I shower, study, slip into my bed.
And then my phone lights up.
I’M SUCH A FUCKING LIAR.
I think the thing about it that bothers me most is how weak it makes me feel.
I tick them off:
Would she believe me if I told her I make a damn good crème brûlée? I’m not sure why I asked. It doesn’t matter if she’d believe me, because I can. I’m a great motherfucking cook. I cooked for my brothers for years. But after I told her that, I backed away from it. I don’t even know why. Scratch that: yes I do.
My second dumb lie: ice cream. I hate the shit, so why did I say that? Having her in my house made me uneasy. As much as I want her here so we can fuck ourselves into oblivion, I can’t stand having anyone close. Everything about me is... forbidden. So many reasons.
So I told her things about him.
I rub my temples, but the pressure only gets worse. The deep green canopy I’m staring at seems to sag a little lower over me.
Lie three: Leading her to believe, even for a moment, that any dealer has ever lived with me to be ‘trained’. There was Nessa, for that one night—but I let her go. I didn’t even fuck her. At times, I’ve almost wished I had. But it wasn’t like that with us. It’s still not. Oh, I wish it was. I wish it could be. Not because I would want to ruin our friendship that way, but because it would mean...
I close my eyes, and I remember the cool glass wall against my forearm. I remember how hot the cell phone was, pressed against my ear. I can hear the awful sound that came out of my throat April 29 when they called to tell me: the first domino that fell in this last chain of events.
I moved out of this bedroom because I couldn’t stand to see the window anymore. Because, after that moment four months ago, I dismissed my then-sub, Gina, without a single word, and told myself she’d be the last.
There were other lies today as well. The way I set Cleo up to come to my place. Having Matt tell Lora, Cleo’s friend, that he deals to other dealers sometimes. Intentionally omitting that if Cleo moves in with me, she’ll spend most of her time cuffed, suspended, or spread-eagle on the middle of this bed. On weekends, she’ll watch the sun rise and go down as she hangs here, getting fucked as often as I want to fuck her.
I’m not finished with this. I just... can’t be.
I swing my legs off the side of the bed and allow my toes to luxuriate in the thick rug before I grab my black silk robe from a hook on the door. I try the balcony, but despite its generous size, there’s not enough space. I feel pinned in. Edgy. It’s a problem I have often.
I go downs
tairs and grab a shake out of the refrigerator. Drink it down and fuck with my phone.
I’m still wired, so it’s the workout room, down in the basement. I run for twenty-seven minutes before my heart starts beating too hard, then hop off, pace around, lift some weights, and hit the elliptical for another numbing forty minutes.
I’m climbing up the stairs when I give in.
I read once that everyone has a finite supply of willpower, and tonight I’ve used up all of mine. Not going after Cleo and giving her the whipping she earned. Not calling one of the girls on my list of dirty fucks.
I pull up the text feature first, but I know as soon as I see it that I’m not going to text Cleo.
I need to hear her voice.
I punch her number in and sit at the top of the front staircase, looking down on the foyer: a dark cavern, sparkled and polished—all for naught. No one who comes here cares about those sorts of things.
No one but me.
I like order.
Cleo lets it ring so many times, I’m surprised when the ringing gives way to silence. A little rush jolts through my body when I realize she’s breathing into the phone.
“Cleo.”
It takes her a moment to answer, and when she does, she sounds... young. “It’s me.”
I curl my fingers around the phone, remembering how good she tasted on my fingers. My dick hardens, and as it does, my balls draw up and ache. I ignore the pain and focus on the pleasure. My hand drifts down and wraps around the thick head of my dick. I tug and grin, imagining how I’m going to discipline Miss Whatley as soon as I get the chance.
“What do you have to say for yourself?” I ask.
I know she’s got something to say to me. Otherwise she wouldn’t have answered my call. I wait a minute, stroking myself through the opening of my robe.
Finally she says, “What do you have to say for yourself? You made me feel cornered and set up. I don’t trust you. If you try to rat me out, I’ll say you lured me to your house and tried to force me. The bruise between your legs can back me up.”
I laugh—a low hoot, surprising myself. “Can it?”