I look up at him through my eyelashes before focusing on wrapping my lips around his crown. I use my tongue to find that little notch on its underside—Joe used to go crazy when I licked that—and he moans his satisfaction. Seems to me he may want to heed his own advice around noise levels.

His hands drag along my jaw so his fingers can flex in my hair. ‘Look at you. So fucking angelic this morning with your blonde hair and white lace, and look at you now, sucking my cock like the perfect little whore. So fucking good. I’ve wanted you on your knees for me since the first time I saw you.’

I moan my agreement. It’s intentional, part of my performance for him, but his filthy brand of appreciation is doing it for me. Blow jobs aren’t supposed to be hot for the woman—they’re the ultimate act of service, of submission—but this whole fucked-up power dynamic is getting me hot and bothered, and I have no idea why.

He tightens his grip on my hair so he can use it as a kind of rein. It seems his entire body is vibrating before me, and I marvel that my mouth has the capability of undoing a man as powerful and fierce as Brendan Sullivan, but it does. His breath is harsh and noisy, his thighs are trembling.

The next time I move to take him all in, his hand forces me further down around his dick, and I have to inhale sharply through my nostrils to override my gag reflex. Sweat pricks me everywhere. Fuck. I claw at his thigh with my free hand as I focus on my single objective—to survive this. To take him as deep as he wants and needs without retching.

We find a rhythm. It’s messy and punishing, and I’m gasping and flailing, my eyes watering, but he seems to like that, because his thrusts and his grunts and his fingers in my hair all grow more desperate, it seems.

Until he pulls out of me with a strangled gasp, and I stare up at him through my watery eyes.

‘Jesus fuck. Fucking look at you.’ He blows out a breath. ‘Okay. Here’s what I want. Turn around and crawl away from me, nice and slow, until you get into the middle of the room. I want you to wait there on all fours so I can come and fuck you like that. Got it?’

CHAPTER 21

Marlowe

Crawl.

Oh, sweet Lord.

Right. Okay. I can do this. For what he’s paying me, I can humiliate myself. My opinions aren’t relevant. The only route to success here is doing exactly what he wants.

The happier he is with me, the more secure my job is.