She made it back to my tip and gave it another swipe of her tongue. With her eyes on mine, she whispered, “Je t’aime…” Her mouth opened wide, her tongue flattened, and she slowly pushed her throat over my dick, taking her time, eyes on me.

I shut my eyes and let out an unstoppable moan. My dick slid across that wet tongue and deeper into her throat, saliva immediately spilling from the corners of her mouth and dripping to the rug below. My hand slipped into her hair, and I started to move with her, eyes on her, her eyes on me.

Nine

The Most Beautiful Woman

Melanie

When I went downstairs, his office doors were open.

I stepped inside and saw him sitting behind the large desk, phone pressed to his ear, speaking in French. “Magnus a essayé de lui parler?” He listened to the voice on the other line before he said, “Bien,” and hung up.

My French was a little better, so I translated that to, Magnus talk to her? It took me a few seconds to figure out the subject of their conversations. Her was definitely Raven, and Magnus was clearly staying away from her.

I wasn’t sure if I’d ever be able to save her.

When Fender realized I’d joined him, he stared at me from his seat behind his desk, his gaze always hostile.

Things were getting better, but at a snail’s pace.

I held up my book then moved to the couch, hoping he would allow me to sit there quietly and read.

His eyes followed me, but he never issued a protest.

I sat down in my old spot near the fire and flipped through the pages until I found my spot.

He walked over a moment later. His large body lowered to the couch across from me, his stomach chiseled even in a seated position. Winter, spring, or summer, he was dressed exactly the same, choosing to wear as little clothing as possible.

I looked up, expecting him to say something.

“I’m leaving in a few minutes.” He leaned back into the couch with his fingers interlocked behind his head. Knees apart. His chiseled thighs stretching the cotton of his sweats. His enormous size dwarfing the couch that supported him. He was like a Clydesdale.

“Oh…” My hands moved to shut my book.

“Wait.” He leaned forward and ripped off a pink rose petal from a flower in the vase on the coffee table then extended his outstretched hand to me.

I hesitated before I gave him the book.

He inserted the rose petal between the pages, the pink color sticking out at the top, then closed it. He left it on the table then leaned back into the couch once again, one arm resting over the top of the couch, the other on his thigh.

“Thanks.”