Professional Sin (7 page)

Romeo slowly pulls back, like he’s planning to let another man take a turn, but when just the tip is tugging on my lips, he presses forward again with a guttural groan.
 

For all his masterful control in business and in daily life, he can’t tear himself away from my sucking lips. It makes me almost woozy.
 

I might be submissive to these men in every way: money, looks, influence, education, breeding… But their desire for me is power.

(I try not to think about how easily they stayed away for three weeks.)

Finally, Romeo yields to Hawthorne, who turns my head his direction and rams in deep, like there’s a bullseye at the bottom of my esophagus and he’ll win a prize for hitting it.

His cock is thick and veiny, and he punishes my mouth enthusiastically. He’s large—all three men are well above average—but he isn’t limited by having a monstrously oversized dick like Romeo’s. He almost seems to be making up for Romeo’s relative gentleness by trying to break me.

My moans are staccato, and as he thrusts, the wood of the table underneath my back squeaks ever so slightly.
 

He slams his cock in deep and holds me on his base, my mouth pressed against his body, my nose smushed between his upper leg and the cool skin of his balls.

“Such a good little cocksucker,” he says. He pinches my nipples freely, the fabric of my shirt caressing my skin as his jerking makes my breasts wobble. “Such an obliging little whore.”
 

I’m not a whore
, I try to say, but it’s impossible because my mouth is stuffed full of angry Hawthorne cock. The irony isn’t lost on me.

“Were you trying to say something, my little slut?” His voice is almost tender, and it’s clear that talking dirty like this turns him on.

Too bad. I don’t like being called a whore. Well, not by him. Romeo and Slade can call me anything they want—the more degrading, the hotter.

But this is Hawthorne, and I hate him, and I resent how helplessly turned on I am when he smiles that arrogant smile and orders me around.

I consider biting his cock.
 

As my jaws begin to tighten on his shaft, he twists my nipple hard. “Someone fill her pussy,” he says. “The little slut needs more dick in her.”

What he said is true, but he’s a jerk.

No more playing. I bite him.

Chapter 8

Hawthorne pulls away, his expression shocked and his eyes flashing; I definitely have his attention now.
 

I swipe the back of my hand across my mouth and glower at him. “I’m not a whore.”

“You are if I say you are,” he says, but he’s so busy inspecting his dick for damage that it seriously undermines his point.

That’s all I get to see before Slade is sliding his fingers into my mouth. “No biting,” he says lightly as he pushes inside of me.

He holds my mouth open as he rocks in and out. This is new to me. It’s hot. I trust Slade. He might not go the extra mile for me like Romeo does, but I always know where I stand with him.

So I don’t mind that he’s got my jaw forced open.
 

The downside is that I’m drooling… It’s embarrassing. But I’m too turned on to do anything about it.

“Oh yeah,” he murmurs. He gathers up a handful of my hair and uses it to pull my head farther back. “Such a beauty, Lindsay. You have no idea how the three of us have talked about the night we shared you.”

“Slade.” Hawthorne says just the one word, delivered in a tone of warning.

Slade’s reaction is a deep, satisfied laugh that turns into a groan as his hips swing faster.

He stops, starts, then pulls out. His fingers remain in my mouth.

His cock glistens, and he’s nice and red; I can see exactly how far I was able to take him.

Only three-quarters of the way. But he was in control, and that’s what he chose.

He crouches to press his mouth over mine, his fingers thrusting while he kisses me. It’s completely unexpected, a strange but heady mix of sensations: his soft tongue, his thick fingers, his lips plucking mine.

Too soon, he pulls away and straightens.
 

His fingers are still in my mouth as he leans forward.

My skirt is jerked up unceremoniously, and my legs are roughly spread.

A moment later I feel the heat of his mouth between my legs. His breath is humid as he teasingly mouths my panty-covered sex. He grunts as he thrusts his cock partially into my mouth again.

I do my best to satisfy him, but the game he’s playing with my pussy is a cruel one, and the muscles of my stomach and legs clench in shameless desperation.

He pulls away. “I have to stop,” he says. “I can barely control myself around you.”

But now Hawthorne is back. He pulls me off the table and pushes me to the carpeted floor.
 

He sits in the big black chair and pats his thigh. When I start to stand, Romeo forces me back to my hands and knees.

The skirt, hiked up over my hips, slides to the middle of my back as I crawl forward. I might not have a great ass, but this angle does pretty good things for it.

Especially with my thong flashing maximum skin.
 

I wonder if they can see how wet I am.
 

Slowly, I crawl over to Hawthorne. From this angle, he looks like Zeus, glowering down from Mount Olympus. I raise my eyes to his, and even though it’s not possible, I feel like I can see the golden flecks sprinkled throughout the deep blue of his irises.

“Get up here and suck my cock,” he says, his tone even. “Whore.” The expression in his eyes says I’d better not even think of challenging him.

I sit back on my heels and push my hair out of my eyes. “I just figured out why you keep saying that. You’re used to having to pay for female attention. Completely understandable.”
 

Something like amusement flashes briefly in his eyes, then the deathly look is back as he pulls his belt free from his pants.

Slowly, painstakingly, he folds the supple belt in half.
 

He contemplates the length of the strap, and I swallow.
 

“If your mouth isn’t on my dick in the next ten seconds, I’m going to bend you over the table and whip that rebellious streak out of you.” He leans forward. “And
then
you will suck my cock. Except it will be more difficult because you’ll be crying, tears running down your face. I know how particular you are about your makeup…”

I was on board with this until he got personal and mentioned my makeup. He’s always got a snide remark about my appearance.
 

I stand. “You know what? I’m done with you.” I point at him. “
You
aren’t allowed to fuck me anymore. I rescind my permission.”

Storm clouds seem to gather in the room as Hawthorne stands to his full height, which is somewhere between
towering over me
and
able to see into the next state.

He scowls at me. “You want to be very careful with that, little girl. I think you forgot that we’re a package deal. You fuck us all or you fuck none of us.”

“I…” Oh, I want to tell him to go to hell. But then I think of Slade and how much I enjoyed his arms around me while he was buried in my ass and Romeo fucked my pussy.

“Yes?” Hawthorne asks.
 

I hear fingers drumming on the table. I look over and Slade is leaned up against the edge, his fingers dancing impatiently. He raises an eyebrow. “Lindsay, I’m horny. I want to fuck you. But despite my joke about fucking you in the limo, he’s right. It’s all of us or none of us. So make nice, accept your punishment, and let’s get on with it.”

Romeo clears his throat. “Too much talk.” He covers the distance between us and pulls me up onto my toes. His eyes drill into mine for a brief second, then his soft lips claim me.
 

His kiss… Oh, the man knows how to do it just right, forceful and determined but never too much.
 

He releases me as abruptly as he grabbed me.
 

“Go suck the man’s dick,” he says, and he turns my shoulders and gives me a little push, his large palm slapping against my ass.

I jump with a little squeal at the touch, but it reminds me that far worse is about to come. If Hawthorne’s spanking is anything like the one he gave me before, I’ll be wincing my way through the next several days.

He’s waiting, his tie loose, the top of his shirt unbuttoned, and his large cock, hard enough to cut steel, arching out of his pants.

“Come to me,” he commands, and my body moves forward obediently.

Chapter 9

Hawthorne positions me across his knee. One of my legs is on the floor, the other clumsily across the arm of the enormous chair.

I expect to feel the belt on my ass, but instead he plucks my thong away from my pussy. Cool air breezes over my dripping sex.

Then Hawthorne’s fingers are roughly grabbing my cleft, squeezing my slick lips, tugging them, mauling them. It’s delicious torture.

Finally, he jams three fingers into me.

I cry out, my head coming up, and I freeze like that, arched on his lap while the beginnings of an orgasm wait, warm and heavy, just at his fingertips.

He pulls my head back until it hurts. “You’re going to come all over my hand,” he says. “And you’re going to know that the man who punishes you gave you this pleasure. And you’ll also know you only deserved one of those sensations.”

Any smart-ass remarks I might have come up with at a different time are well out of reach.

He licks across the slit of my slightly parted mouth, then he kisses me. He’s doing it sloppily, the way I hate.

I want to bite him.

But then he moves his fingers, and the next thing I know, I’m writhing on his lap, moaning into his mouth, and being flooded with hormones that make me feel ridiculous things for Hawthorne.

Like gratitude.

And affection.

He pulls his fingers out before the orgasm is even finished, and my eyes are closed as I continue to gasp, trying to catch my breath when every little sensation is magnified and intense.

And then the belt slams against my ass.

I holler because I’m surprised, and because it hurts, and because if I don’t, he’ll surely make the next one harder.

“I hate you,” I gasp.

“I know,” he murmurs. “But you love me, too, for taking you so firmly in hand.”
 

Oh, I’ve got a strong opinion about his claim that I love him, but I don’t get to express it because the belt cuts across my buttocks, making me whimper.

“Let me tell you something about chemistry,” Hawthorne says in a husky, intimate voice. “Oil and water do mix.” The belt flicks out cruelly. “When stirred.” He punishes me again. “With sufficient force.” The belt cracks loudly, then I feel fire, see stars.

I’m howling now, and my cries of pain only seem to be turning him on more if the enormous erection jabbing into my ribs is any indication.

He shoves his fingers in deep, and I’m about to come again when he leans over, fits his mouth over the side of my neck, and bites.

It’s not just a lover’s nip. It’s a bite, designed to hurt.

Designed to prove that I’m his toy, his slut.

The filthy thought kicks off an orgasm.
 

He shoves me to my knees in front of him, loops his hand in my hair and roughly yanks my head back. “Open.”

I open my mouth, my jaw quivering, tears streaming down my face. My pussy feels so empty that it’s unfair. Just one more orgasm is all I want.

He shoves his cock all the way down my throat. I accept his dominance. After what he just did, after the orgasms he just gave me, he’s earned the right.

He slowly pulls his cock out, and I desperately suck, my cheeks hollowing; if he’s fucking my mouth, he can’t spank me.

As he stands over me, he says, “Stick out your tongue.” When I do, he jerks my hair harder until I gasp.
 

“If you bite me, you won’t be able to sit for a year,” he says, but his voice is breathy with desire. He takes a step so he’s directly over me.

I’m confused because it’s not the right angle for sucking his dick. He jerks my hair.

Then his balls are brushing over my lips. I offer up a prayer of gratitude to the gods of manscaping because he’s hairless where it counts.
 

The soft, coolish skin is almost ticklish on my tongue.

I’m not even thinking of biting him—I wouldn’t mess around with something like this, but his grip on my hair never loosens. Slowly, he lowers himself over my face until my mouth is full of his sack.
 

“Lick me,” he says hoarsely. “Suck. Do a good job.”

He doesn’t bother to warn me not to bite, but he doesn’t need to because he’s pulling my hair so hard that tears are splashing down my cheeks and my nose could start running at any second.
 

I lick him. The softly rough texture of his skin begs to be explored. Then I suck, my lips gentle. It’s strangely intimate, and even stranger that we arrived here because I crossed a line.
 

He’s breathing hard by the time he steps away. He relaxes his grip and his fingers caress my scalp. “Very nice, Lindsay,” he says, and I go warm all over.

Then I’m being pulled up roughly by Romeo.

“Climb onto me,” he says, his voice growling and impatient.
 

I don’t even get a chance to obey because he pulls me onto him, his elephant-sized cock forcing its way into my human-sized sex.
 

Even though his penetration hurts, my pussy accepts him by getting even wetter.
 

At his urging, I wrap my arms around his neck. My eyes close as his arms come protectively around me.

Never mind that he’s as capable of punishing me as Hawthorne is. For these moments of fleeting security in his arms, I’d endure anything.

But then we’re horizontal, the enormous, muscular man underneath me.
 

He allows me to sit up, and I heave a sigh of relief. The last thing I need is Slade or jackhammer-dick Hawthorne bouncing into my ass.