Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 58987 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58987 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
"No." My voice comes out strangled. "Tell me."
Marty looks up. "What?"
"Tell me exactly what you were thinking." I lean forward, my hands flat on the table. "What you want. Maybe I—maybe I might be up for it."
His eyes narrow slightly. Studying me.
Then he sets down his fork very deliberately.
He leans in.
His voice drops so low I have to strain to hear it over the ambient noise of the restaurant.
"I want to fuck a woman's throat until she can't breathe."
My breath catches.
Marty's gaze locks onto mine. Doesn't waver.
"Not gently. Not carefully. I want to grab her hair—really grab it, hard enough to hurt—and hold her head exactly where I want it while I use her mouth like it's just another hole for me to fill."
Oh god.
"I want her on her knees. Hands behind her back because I don't want her touching me, I don't want her having any control at all. I want her completely helpless while I push my cock so deep down her throat that she gags, and chokes, and her eyes water."
My clit is pulsing.
"I want to feel her throat convulse around me when she can't take it anymore. I want to hear those desperate little sounds she makes when she's trying to breathe but can't because I'm too far down. I want to watch mascara run down her face while she struggles."
I'm wet.
Actually wet.
Marty doesn't stop.
"And when she thinks I'm going to pull out and let her breathe, I want to push in even deeper instead. I want to hold her there—hold her head against my pelvis with my cock buried completely—until she's panicking. Until her hands are clawing at my thighs. Until she's genuinely terrified I'm not going to let her up."
His eyes are burning into mine.
"Then I want to pull out just long enough for her to gasp one breath before I shove back in and do it all over again. Harder. Rougher. Until her throat is raw and her jaw aches and she's sobbing around my cock."
Holy fuck.
"I want to come down her throat while she's still choking on it. I want to hold her there until she swallows every drop even though she's gagging and desperate for air. And then when I finally pull out, I want to watch her collapse on the floor gasping and crying while I tell her what a good girl she was for taking it."
Marty leans back slowly.
His expression hasn't changed. Still that calm, focused intensity.
"That's what I was thinking."
I'm staring at him.
My mouth is open. My face is burning. My pussy is soaked.
He could write scenes.
Like... he could actually write the kind of scenes I write.
Wrote.
Past tense.
But sitting here listening to him describe throat-fucking in explicit, filthy detail while maintaining perfect eye contact—
Maybe this could work.
Maybe Marty isn't some spineless beta after all.
I'm staring at Marty and my brain is shorting out.
He's attractive. Like, actually attractive now that he's not doing the wholesome yoga instructor routine. Now that I know what's underneath the golden retriever exterior.
His hands. God, his hands are big. Long fingers. Strong wrists. The kind of hands that could—
I imagine them fisted in my hair. The way he'd hold my head still. Not gentle. Not asking permission.
My thighs press together harder.
What does his cock look like?
The thought crashes through me unbidden. Vivid. Desperate.
He's tall. Six-two, maybe six-three. And guys that tall are usually proportional, right? Thick. Long. The kind of cock that would stretch my jaw. The kind I'd struggle to fit.
I imagine kneeling in front of him. His hands gripping my hair while he feeds his dick between my lips inch by inch. How tight my throat would feel when he pushed deeper. How I'd gag, and choke, and he wouldn't stop. Wouldn't pull back. Wouldn't ask if I'm okay.
He'd just keep going.
My pussy clenches so hard I have to bite back a sound.
I open my mouth.
"I—"
"I can't do this."
Marty's voice cracks. He's shaking his head, hands coming up to run through his hair.
"This is too weird. I can't—" He laughs, but it's wrong. Strangled. "I can't believe I agreed to this."
I go completely still.
Something in my chest stops moving.
"Marty—"
"No, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry." He's not looking at me anymore. His eyes are darting around the restaurant like he's searching for an exit. "I shouldn't have—fuck, this was such a bad idea."
My hands are flat on the table. I don't move them.
"What was a bad idea?"
He winces. Actually winces like I slapped him.
"This. The whole—" He gestures between us. "The date. The conversation. All of it."
The floor drops out from under me.
"Someone put you up to this."
It's not a question. I already know.
Marty's face crumples. "I didn't want to—I mean, I needed the money. My studio, the pottery thing, it's not making any profit, and my parents are threatening to pull funding, and I'm gonna lose everything. The lease, the equipment, all of it. And this guy, he just—he offered me so much money to take you out and say those things and I thought, fuck, how hard could it be? Just have dinner with some girl and talk dirty for an hour."