CHAPTER 11

"Fuck, yeah," Troy growls, head lolling back against the headrest, hands forcing her face deeper into his crotch. "Suck it, you little slut. Take every goddamn inch. I want to feel your throat stretching."

The girl’s eyes roll into the back of her head as she gags, clearly enjoying herself asTroy’s hips begin to buck, his breath hitching desperately.

The veins in his neck bulge like thick cords. "Fuck, yeah," he growls, his voice a gravelly pit of pure lust. "Suck that head. Take it all. Drain me.”

The pink-haired girl doesn't just use her mouth; she turns it into a goddamn performance. She wraps both hands around the base of Troy’s angry dick, pumping him in sync with her lips. 

Every time she slides down his length, she moans, letting rains of saliva coat the pink skin of his penis.

She pulls back for a second, deciding to focus entirely on his balls, her tongue swirling around them with wet energy before she moves back up to the cap. 

She swirls her tongue around the flared head, teasing the slit, teasing the pre-cum out until he’s growling like a wounded animal.

Then, with a defiant look, she gathers a mouthful of spit and lets it slide down the shaft, using the extra lubrication to bury her face back down.

She gags on the thick wood for several long, suffocating seconds, her throat stretching to accommodate him. While she’s down there, deep-throating him, she raises her eyes up, locking onto his eyeballs with a wild, dark, and completely unashamed gaze.

That eye contact is the final blow. Seeing the absolute submission in her eyes while his cock is buried in her throat makes Troy lose his goddamn mind.

"God—fuck!" He’s reaching the point of no return, vision blurring as the girl continues to drain him of every bit of self-control he has left.

"I'm gonna blow," Troy warns, "Open up, you thirsty bitch."

He stands up, towering over her as he yanks his cock from her mouth with a wet pop. The veined cock pulses in the dim light as the girl stays on her knees, tilting her head back with her mouth wide, waiting as he begins to stroke himself at lightning speed. 

One, two, three heavy pumps, and then he groans deeply, and releases a thick, hot rope of cum streaks across the girl’s cheek, followed by another that lands right across her closed eyelid and forehead.

"Feed on it, bitch.” He starts beating his meat over her extended tongue, dragging the tip of his cock across her taste buds as he poured the last of his release. 

The girl doesn't flinch. She remains on her knees, a seductive, vacant smile playing on her lips. She uses her index and middle fingers to expertly scrape the creamy white mess off her skin, gathering it like expensive frosting before swiping it onto her tongue with a slow, engrossed lick.

"Naughty girl," he chuckles, voice thick with post-nut satisfaction. "Clean it all up. Don't waste a drop."

Finally, he falls back into the couch, completely spent. He reaches for his glass on the side table, drains the remaining bourbon in one aggressive gulp, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and sets the glass down with a heavy thud.

"Alright, beat it," his voice returns to its cool, arrogant tone. "I’ve got business with my boy. Go get yourself something pretty.”

The girl stands up, adjusting her tiny red mini-dress. She’s towering in heels that look impossibly high, easily five or six inches, which accentuate her long, slender legs.

But as she turns to walk past Matt, the "Captivating American" cool he usually maintains shatters. 

There, where a smooth vagina should be, is a rock-hard, bloody-looking boner, clearly not held back by any underwear or tights, straining against the dress like a caged animal. 

Matt’s gaze travels from the "girl's" face down to the unmistakable silhouette of a man’s equipment.

His eyebrows shoot up, and he nearly chokes on his own breath as the "girl" gives him a wink and sashays out of the room, hips swaying with a confidence that says she knows exactly what she’s doing.

His internal alarm bells are screaming because he can't fucking believe he’d just spent the last ten minutes with a rager, watching a man work his best friend’s rod like a world-class professional. 

He’d been so caught up in the wet, sloppy sounds and the expert way she’d handled Troy that his own hand had been drifting toward his zipper.

Worse, he’d been sitting there, striking the cap of his cock through the fabric of his tailored pants, seconds away from unzipping and demanding his own turn at that throat just like he normally would.

It’s a goddamn good thing he held his restraint.

Matt considers himself an explorer when it comes to the bedroom. He likes the cuffs, the ropes, and the absolute surrender of a partner but he’s always kept his map firmly within the borders of the feminine gender.

He’d never thought outside the box before. He wasn't a judge. London was too small for that kind of narrow-minded shit but he had his preferences. Clearly, those preferences weren't shared by Troy anymore.

The door clicks shut, leaving the two men in the musky silence. 

Matt turns his gaze back to his friend. "I knew you were a slut for anything with a heartbeat, but since when did you start drilling dudes in dresses?"

Troy just grins, unbothered, and pours another drink. "Variety is the spice of life, Matt. Besides, with a mouth like that, who gives a fuck what's between the legs?"

You really are a wild animal. I thought I knew your ‘menu,’ but you’ve gone completely off-book."

Troy just grins, looking entirely too satisfied with himself as he zips up. "Like I said, Kingston—don't knock it until you've had your brain melted.