Chapter 7

Chris's POV

I’m dying. No, literally — I can’t breathe. I’m on my knees, swallowing this man’s cock, working my tongue around the shaft, circling the head, trying to do my job. My jaw aches. He’s too big — unfairly, absurdly big — and the worst part is that he’s still soft. If you’re not into guys, why order a male escort and put me through this? I’m just kneeling here, licking salt and skin, gulping down saliva so I don’t make a mess while I suck his fat cock.

I try not to look him in the eye. I focus on the task. But he fists a hand in my hair and yanks my head up to meet his gaze. He looks at me with no expression at all, and I swear I see something glint in his eye. Cold. I don’t like it.

Fuck. He’s hardening in my mouth.

That’s a turn of events, and not the convenient kind. I could barely handle him at soft. Now he’s growing, swelling, filling my mouth beyond what it can contain. He starts moving his hips forward, thrusting deeper. Each push takes up more space than I have to offer. Tears start building in my eyes. I’m suffocating. But I have to make this perfect — or at least give him no reason to complain.

His thrusts start slow. Measured. Then he builds momentum. Deeper. Stretching my throat. Air can’t pass. I can’t breathe.

I can’t take it anymore. I pull out. I cough, gasping, sucking in air like I’ve been drowning. This man is trying to kill me. I glance down at his length — fully erect now, standing like a blade, pulsing with each heartbeat. Veins rise along his V-line. He’s into it now. The sight of me choking on his cock did something to him.

Fuck. Back to work.

I wrap my hand around his shaft and take him in my mouth again. He pushes forward immediately, deeper this time, and his rhythm turns rough. Brutal. Fast. Relentless. He fucks my throat at a punishing pace, and I gag around him, my tongue grazing the underside of his cock with every thrust. He groans through clenched teeth, low and controlled, but I hear it — I hear the pleasure bleeding through.

I start to taste him. Pre-cum, salty and warm. He’s close.

But before I can settle into it, he pulls out. He exhales deep and measured, forcing himself back under control. With bated breath, he says:

“Get on the bed. On all fours.”

My stomach drops.

Is he really going to put that thing inside me? Every drop of moisture evaporates from my mouth. I obey. Shakily. I climb onto the bed, pressing my palms into the sheets, my knees spreading wide, my ass raised in offering. He pulls my briefs down in one rough motion. Cool air hits my exposed skin. I’m completely bare now. Fully erect myself, which is humiliating. My face burns pink.

I feel the hefty weight of his cock rest against the small of my back. He strokes it there, once, twice, like he’s taking aim.

Wait. He hasn’t used lube. He hasn’t prepped me at all.

“Uh — sir, you should —”

“Shut the fuck up.” The words come quiet, barely above a whisper, laced with the ragged edge of his arousal.

“But you can’t just —”

“I said shut the hell —”

And then I feel it. A sharp, dry thrust forces into my sphincter. The pain lances through me, white-hot and blinding. My entire body seizes. My ass clenches around his invading length, and he groans — a low, guttural sound of pleasure.

“Unclench,” he demands.

I try. I force my muscles to relax, to yield, but they’ve locked up from the shock. The pain is unbearable. Why won’t he use lube? This isn’t a cunt he can fuck raw. I feel him tearing into me — not fucking me, splitting me open. He pounds into me with merciless rhythm, and I have no choice but to stuff the bedsheet between my teeth to muffle my whimpering. Tears stream down my cheeks. I don’t think I’ll survive this.

He grunts above me, but I can’t focus on him. My entire consciousness narrows to one desperate thought: let this be over.

After what feels like an eternity, I feel a hot pulse inside me. He’s coming. He fills me with it, thick and warm, and I feel so full it’s nauseating. But the pain drowns everything else. He pulls out with a wet sound and collapses onto the bed beside me, breathing hard. Satisfied.

And I remain here, trembling and aching, the object of his satisfaction.

“Go clean yourself up in the bathroom,” he says.

He rises, his broad back turning to me as he settles into the chair by the bedside table. He doesn’t look at me. I limp to the bathroom on shaky legs. When I look down at my thigh, I see blood trailing along my skin.

Fuck. I’m bleeding.

I grab a wad of tissue and twist in front of the mirror, straining to see the damage. I clean myself as best I can, wincing with every touch. I think his cock tore something inside me. I’ll need to get that checked. I step into the shower, and the water hits my raw ass like needles. I grit my teeth and bear it.

When I step out and return to the bedroom, I see it: a stack of cash on the bed. Thick as a brick. Hundred-dollar bills, bound and neat. He’s gone.

I dress quickly. I pocket the money. I limp toward the door, and his bodyguard escorts me to the waiting car.

Sitting down is agony. I brace myself on one cheek, clenching my jaw against the pressure.

As we pull through the gates of his compound, I tell the driver I need to stop at Silver Slippers. He says nothing. I assume he heard me. I have to report to Esteban.

Leaving this mansion, I carry only one thought: I never want to come back here. I never want to see that man again. And I’m carrying lube with me to every single job from now on, because I am never letting this happen again.

Fuck. My ass still hurts.