[BL] Bound to My Enemy: The Billionaire Who Took My Girl-Chapter 20: Corrections r18

CASSIAN

His mouth was already open, just enough, lips parted in that defiant way he had, like he was daring me to push him further. I could see the pulse jumping in his throat, the way his hands curled into fists on his thighs. He hated this. Hated me. But he was kneeling anyway, and that was the part that mattered.

"Open your mouth."

He did. Slowly. Those green eyes staring up at me like he wanted to burn holes through my skull. I could have taken him right then, could have shoved past those pretty lips and watched him choke on it. But that would’ve been too easy. Too fast. And I was in the mood to make someone suffer properly.

I ran my thumb across his bottom lip instead. Soft, wet skin. He flinched at the contact, just barely, but I caught it. Felt the way his breathing stuttered. His face flushed, angry red spreading up his neck, across his cheeks. Beautiful.

"You have no idea how obscene you look right now." My voice came out rougher than I intended. "On your knees. Ready to take whatever I give you."

His jaw tightened. I could feel it under my thumb, the way his teeth clenched. But he didn’t pull away. Didn’t speak. Good boy.

I pushed my thumb into his mouth, past those perfect lips, felt the wet heat of his tongue.

"Suck."

He hesitated, just long enough to make it interesting, then his lips closed around my thumb, tongue pressing up against the pad of it. I watched his eyes close, watched the shame crawl across his face as he did what I told him. The suction was soft at first, tentative. Then harder, like he wanted to get it over with.

"Good." I pulled my thumb out slowly, dragging it across his lower lip, leaving it wet. "Just like that."

His breathing was faster now. I could see it in the way his chest rose and fell, the way his shoulders tensed. I traced the line of his jaw, down his neck, felt the way his pulse hammered under my fingertips. He was terrified. And hard. I could see the outline of him through his pants, straining against the fabric.

"I could do anything to you right now, couldn’t I?" I asked quietly. "Anything at all. And you’d let me."

He didn’t answer. But his mouth was still open, still waiting. I slid two fingers in this time—middle and index—pushing deep, past his tongue, until I felt the back of his throat. He gagged, just slightly, eyes watering. I held them there, felt his tongue work around them, the way his throat constricted.

"Use your tongue properly," I murmured. "Show me how much you’ve improved."

He did. Tentative licks at first, then more deliberate, running his tongue along the sides of my fingers, between them. The warmth, the wetness, it was obscene how good it felt. How much I wanted more than just my fingers in his mouth. But this was better. This was making him work for it. Making him degrade himself one lick at a time.

"Such a good boy for me," I said, watching his face flush harder. "Look at you. Getting hard from sucking my fingers like a whore."

His eyes snapped to mine, furious. But he didn’t stop. Couldn’t, really... I had my fingers hooked behind his teeth, holding his mouth open. He was trapped, and we both knew it.

The heat of it rushed through me, hot and sharp, cutting through the bullshit from earlier. My father’s voice in my head, the meeting, the demands... everything faded to background noise compared to this. To him.

I pulled my fingers out slowly, watched them shine with his spit in the low light. "Unbuckle it."

His hands were shaking as he reached for my belt. I could see it... the way his fingers fumbled with the buckle, the way he had to pause and steady himself. He got it open eventually, pulled the leather free. Then the button, the zipper. I lifted my hips slightly so he could work my pants down, just enough.

My cock sprang free, hard and aching, and I watched his face as he saw it properly for the second time. The way his eyes widened, just slightly. The way his throat worked as he swallowed.

"Go on," I said, threading my fingers through his hair again. "Show me what else that mouth can do."

He leaned forward, hesitant, and I felt his breath first... hot against sensitive skin.

Then his tongue, just the tip, running up the underside. I tightened my grip in his hair, not quite pushing him down yet. Let him take his time. Let him think he had some control.

He took me in slowly, lips stretching around the head, tongue working underneath. The heat of his mouth was incredible, the way he swirled his tongue, tentative at first, then more confident. Testing what made me react, what made my breathing hitch.

"That’s it," I murmured, feeling his hair slide through my fingers. "Deeper."

He took more, inch by inch, until I felt the back of his throat. Then he pulled back, gasping, spit shining on his chin. I used my grip to guide him back down, slower this time, watching his lips stretch around me, feeling the vibration when he moaned... whether from pleasure or discomfort, I didn’t care. It all felt the same to me.

He started to find a rhythm, bobbing his head, tongue working constantly. I could feel him getting into it despite himself, the way his hands came up to brace against my thighs, not pushing away but holding on. His mouth was perfect... hot and wet and eager in a way he’d never admit to.

"You’re very good at taking corrections," I said, voice rough. "Must be all that practice following my notes."

He glared up at me, mouth full, and I felt the scrape of teeth just slightly, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind me he was still fighting. I smiled, tightened my grip, and pushed him down harder, until his nose pressed against my stomach and I felt his throat convulse around me.

His hands clenched on my thighs, but he didn’t try to pull away. Just stayed there, taking it, breathing through his nose in short gasps. I could feel myself getting close, the heat building low in my spine, my balls drawing up tight.

Then I pulled him off abruptly, holding him there with his mouth open and wet, lips swollen, eyes dazed.

"What—?" he gasped, confused, frustrated.

"Stand up."

He did, legs shaking slightly, had to brace one hand on the couch to steady himself. I could see him properly now... his shirt untucked, pants tented obscenely, face flushed and wrecked. Beautiful.

I didn’t kiss him. That would have been too much, too intimate. Instead I just looked at him, let him feel the weight of my gaze as I took in every detail of how undone he was.

"You’re enjoying this too much," I said quietly.

He opened his mouth to deny it, but I was already moving, standing, pushing him back against the couch. He fell hard, breath rushing out of him, and I was on top of him before he could recover, pinning his wrists above his head with one hand.

"I want to see how desperate you get," I whispered against his ear, feeling him shudder underneath me. "How long before you’re begging for it."

His hips bucked up involuntarily, seeking friction, and I could feel how hard he was, how much he needed. But I didn’t move to touch him. Not yet. This was about making him wait. Making him suffer. Making him understand exactly who was in control here.

The night was still young, and I had hours to make him pay for those twelve minutes.