Look, don’t touch...
SUMMARY: There's a place where she can go to play, a place where ecstasy follows the sweep of her fingers and all the men watching have to play by her rules...look, don't touch. She can't help that rules are made to be broken, as long as she's the one doing the breaking.
RATING: E (Tags: voyeurism, mutual masturbation, sex club, gloryhole)
I truly hope you all enjoy this piece. It has been sitting for some time as I deliberated on how to end it, and it is - ended. :)
/ - denote a perspective shift. // - denotes a leap forward in time.
AO3 - FF
Look, don’t touch...
She likes to be watched.
There's something about knowing that they're staring at that screen with their hands wrapped around their cocks, aching for her – that she's wanted.
But it's enough.
And if she's being completely honest, she's better at getting herself off than most of the one night stands she's had, so her 'no touching' rule isn't the detriment it might be if she had a capable partner.
She shoulders her way through the line of people waiting to get into the bar – it's a popular place, but she doesn't come here for the drinks.
The bouncer, his name is Anton – not that she makes a habit of getting names, but he's pulled enough creeps off of her that she feels he's earned at least that courtesy – nods at her as she passes, his wide girth shifting just enough to let her pass as a whine from the lengthy line behind her rises.
The bar may be trendy enough to earn both its cover and the line of hipsters waiting out front, but Emma's far more interested in what's waiting below the sleek bartop and milling drunks.
She passes through the crowd inside unnoticed. The bartenders here are paid well enough to keep their eyes on their patrons and not on the 'regulars', and the rather modest outfit beneath her red leather jacket dissuades any other interested parties.
She doesn't look like she's here to play.
If only they knew.
/
He likes to watch.
It's as far as he'll let himself go these days – a history of breaking everything he touches has seen to that.
But it's enough.
And if he's being honest with himself, he's not sure how much satisfaction he'd garner from fucking someone anyways. He'd probably just see her face – Milah – one more reminder of the truth he'd been running from his whole life.
He strides past the long queue waiting to get into the bar – it's narrow and cramped and raved about amongst the younger crowd who believe they're the first to discover the wonders of Absynthe, but he's not here for the overpriced ambiance and Instagram worthy cocktails.
While he does drop quite a bit on this particular hobby, it's spent below deck, and it affords him a respectful – if surprised – nod from the bouncer at the door as he approaches.
“Good evening, Mr. Jones,” the giant of a man murmurs, keeping his name hushed as he steps to the side to allow him entrance, “not your usual evening.”
“Aye, my schedule's changed recently,” he cedes, acknowledging the man's observance. “You have a lovely evening, Anton.”
Anton chuckles behind him and Killian allows a small smile. It's an odd thing to say to the man who's left outside checking identification while he descends to a place where lovely evenings are promised if you've deep enough pockets.
He grabs the attention of more than a few lasses when he enters the bar, everything from the clothing he wears to the disinterested gleam in his eye screaming money, but he has no interest in the leggy brunette swirling to face him on her bar stool, her lips already twisted into an obsequious smile. The redhead who casually cold-shoulders the man chatting her up as he passes does nothing to stir his inspiration either.
Once upon a time, perhaps, he would have taken one or both of them back to some bed in some hotel room, but that isn't why Killian Jones comes to the Jolly Roger – and it most certainly isn't what he's looking for when he brandishes a key card and descends to the club hidden beneath.
Neverland.
He follows the familiar path to his chosen room, glad to see things just as he'd left them the week prior. Hes not surprised to see different girls – and some men – on the touchscreen. He assumes most people who frequent the club keep to a schedule, and his has changed, after all. His eyes slip lazily over the selection, almost bored until he spots a sensuous figure moving away from the camera and toward a wide, black leather lounge. His tongue sweeps across his lip as he drinks her in, all long hard lines that fade flawlessly into where she's soft and pliant.
Desire stabs like lightning from the base of his spine and rolls down his arms on a shiver.
There's something about her, and before he can second-guess his actions, he's selected her camera feed and settled back into his chair, her body filling the screen in front of him. She's stretched across the lounge, the camera angle giving him a perfect view. Her neck and breasts, one arm draped across the back as the other slides down her firm stomach and teases her sex.
She's not waxed completely as most of the women here are, her thatch of dark, golden hair trimmed neatly and reminding him that she's all woman.
He likes it.
He doesn't normally like blondes, but he likes her.
He watches as she slides her hand lower. She's already wet, he can see her arousal glistening on her flushed skin and the finger she draws up to her lips, smiling wickedly for the camera as she licks it clean.
It usually takes him a few moments to get hard when he comes here, needing to willfully push away the thoughts of Milah, but he finds that with this woman, he's been hard from the first moment he saw her. He unzips his slacks lazily and slides his hand over his erection, rubbing it gently as he watches her swivel her hips, both of her hands returning to her thighs and sliding closer to where she's spread open and on display.
He's in no rush to end his pleasure, and it seems neither is she.
A single digit teases her clit while the rest part her folds, allowing him a view of her glistening cunt. His tongue wets his lips as he imagines how she would taste on it, how beautifully those pink folds would stretch around him as he buried himself within her. He palms his cock more firmly and rises, letting his pants drop as he sits back to enjoy the show.
She likes to be watched – he can tell by the way she teases, the way her manicured nails – no polish, just the blush of natural, seashell pink – spread her lips for him, the way she drags her arousal from her depths and smears it over her clit, circling it delicately while letting indulgent moans fall from her perfect mouth. She's enjoying her moment, taking her time with him – but even though it's the first time he's seen this siren on his screen, he feels he knows her.
Like she's an open book.
Somehow he knows that when she finally gives in, she'll be wild and magnificent and utterly free.
It makes him wish he could rut his cock into that pretty mouth and feel just how deeply she can truly give of herself.
His fingers wrap around his length, sliding gently. The head of his cock is already throbbing with need as he keeps his eyes on the wanton minx gracing his screen. She's slipped lower on the custom lounge – Neverland always did have a flair for both style and function – the full swells of her ass resting on the edge as she pushes two fingers into her entrance. The delicious sheen of her arousal is that much more obvious as she hovers near the camera, a trembling gasp leaving her lips as she begins to move, stroking against some unseen place that has her writhing.
He lets out a grunt and thrusts into his waiting hand, lost in the way her pale skin glows as she pleasures herself. Her back arches, exposing just how firm her backside really is as she momentarily leaves the couch while exploring her depths, a third finger joining the first two. He can hear how sopping wet she is, soft pleas for more falling from her lips. While he wants to close his eyes, to imagine it's his fingers she's riding, and him she's begging, he doesn't want to miss a moment.
Hot, aching pleasure thrums behind his cock, his balls full and heavy as he palms them. A jolt of electricity runs through his legs as he squeezes, imagining how it would feel to empty them in her throat, in her cunt, all over her pretty face.
She pulls her fingers from her core and returns them to the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of her sex, this time her movements rough and needy as she pushes against it and over it, a long, drawn out whimper filling the small room she's occupying. Her knees bend and she arches once more, a fresh wave of creamy arousal dripping from her folds as she shudders and comes, the evidence of her satisfaction smearing against the black leather as she falls back to the chair.
For an instant, he's disappointed. She's peaked far sooner than he'd anticipated, and while he can certainly find his release from the memory of her alone, it isn't what he's craving. He continues stroking himself, waiting to see if she'll continue. There's no limit on the room for those putting on a show, and the limit for those watching is only hindered by how much they're willing to spend. A wave of satisfaction rolls through him as the woman comes back to herself, straightening her body languidly and reaching off camera.
Killian's eyes darken, his hand tightening around his shaft as he watches her pull a dildo from wherever her things have been set aside. He catches another glimpse of her face – high cheekbones and brilliant green eyes – before she spins around, her fingers catching the adjustment on the chair with practiced ease and reclining the cushioned back of the lounge slightly. Her lithe frame stretches across it, blessing him with a perfect view of an even more perfect arse.
Shooting a coy glance over her shoulder at the camera, she pops the pink head of the toy into her mouth, her lips enveloping it as she tongues its length, wetting the thick shaft and letting it sink deep into her throat before pulling it free. His abdomen clenches as he pictures his own cock splitting her lips, sliding into that sinful heat and feeling her tongue caress every inch of him.
He's larger than the toy she's currently dragging over her ass, but somehow he just knows she could take him.
His heart races as he watches her slide the toy closer to her slick core, pushing herself up on her other arm as she angles the head of it against her folds, lush and pink and parting so beautifully around it as she presses it deeply into her channel, a low moan of satisfaction pouring from her pursed lips. His fist moves swiftly up and down, his thumb rolling over the tip and dragging his precum back down as he works himself. His other hand wraps tightly around his balls, massaging and pulling, picturing her fingers holding him, her tongue laving the salty hint of his release as she pleasures him.
Her moans echo from the large screen in front of him, and though he can select one of the other camera feeds in her room – perhaps catch a glimpse of her rosy nipples pressed to cold leather – he cannot bear to drag his eyes away from where she's fucking herself, the toy slipping easily from her drenched sheath before slamming back in.
He soaks in each noise that she give him, each soft gasp and cry as she climbs toward her second release. His hips buck upward, cock angry and red as he pushes through his fist and imagines he's reaching the deepest parts of her instead, the tip of him caressing the very end of her as he comes with a groan. His balls draw up and his finish tears through him, hot ropes of his seed spurting upward before coating his own hand and stomach, his shaft throbbing mercilessly as he continues to pump the last of his essence free.
His thighs tremble as the last waves of ecstasy roll over him, and he's glad to have finished just before her, that he can now truly appreciate the way her body arches as she thrusts back against the toy with complete abandon, her arousal creamy and painting the shaft of the object she's using for her pleasure. Her moans are a crescendo that he swears he can feel on his skin. He can't take his eyes from her, from the way her lips are bitten red and parted into the most elegant shape, her pale skin flushed a dusky rose that he wants to map with his fingers.
She thrusts a few more times desperately into herself, and then her back arches and she bucks wildly, the strength of her orgasm ripping through her, forcing the toy from her body as she comes. She holds it tremulously against her, rubbing gently, the sweet nectar of her release dripping over it and running down her thighs as she quivers.
Killian's hand is still wrapped loosely around his cock, and despite the fact that he's entirely spent, he feels himself hardening once more as the woman pulls herself from the leather couch and approaches the camera seductively, the dildo still grasped in her hand as she gets closer. His screen fills with the perfect roundness of her breasts and the taut expanse of her stomach, all of her glistening. He swallows heavily, his heart pounding in his ears as she raises the toy with a knowing smirk and brings it to her lips, never breaking eye contact with the camera as she drags her tongue up and down its length, licking every drop of her own essence from it.
A sated hum pours from her throat as she opens those beautiful lips and sucks it clean, just for him.
“That's a good girl,” he hisses, his cock half hard and yearning for someone quite literally beyond his reach.
Then she smiles one last time for the camera, and for the first time in years, he regrets his rule – look, don't touch – because he very much wants to touch her, to see that smile rise once more, but only because his fingers pulled it from her, his lips exploring it.
“Bloody hell,” he rasps, and his screen goes black, the feed cut from the other end.
/
Emma cuts the camera, her skin on fire. The taste of her arousal is still on her lips as she backs toward the lounge and drops, her thighs sticking slightly in the dampness she'd left behind.
Her eyes flicker back toward the camera and the counter set up beside it – the digital number now firmly at zero, though only moments earlier, it had climbed much higher, the digits rapidly changing from six to ten to fifteen. Something about knowing that that many people were watching her, tucked away in their rooms and pleasuring themselves to the way she played was nearly enough to make her flip the feed back on and go again, but lingering wasn't really her thing.
In and out.
She'd be back next week – the scheduled release was something to look forward to.
Taking the provided wipes, she cleans up and dresses, sliding shaky legs into her jeans and pulling back on her white sweater. Her red leather jacket and messenger bag complete the ensemble. She opens the door to the room and steps out into the lonely hallway, a few other cubicles showing the red lights that mean they're still occupied. Others have been left open for the staff to clean.
She does the same.
They're top notch here, and that's why she keeps coming. Discreet, respectful, and clean – and she's not just talking about the furniture. Just like everyone else, she submits to a monthly screening and its a relief to know there aren't just randoms walking in off the street.
Everyone who's a member here has been vetted and approved.
She walks the familiar route back to the main lounge – the camera rooms separate from the rest of the playrooms and cubicles – and slips through the curtained entry back into the rush of Neverland. A long bar lines the far wall, well-dressed bartenders serving drinks to people who chat quietly. Though she can hear the more passionate noises that come from one of the playrooms just beyond – a den for those looking to engage either publicly, or with a group.
There's a balcony overlooking that particular space.
It's never been her thing.
Her disastrous history with Neal, Walsh's betrayal, and her stumbling, lackluster relationship with Graham – not to mention the string of unsatisfying one night stands – were all the precursor to her rule.
Look, don't touch.
She can't say she's ever had an orgasm that made it worth it, worth the risk of putting herself out there and getting hurt once more.
Being watched, it's enough, and it makes her feel beautiful and powerful, wanted – in control.
She can spot the newbies right away in the lounge, their gazes linger too long on the people around them, on the numerous doors and alcoves that sprawl from one corner to another. Most people here are regulars, and they follow the same rules that she does – don't make anyone feel uncomfortable, and keep a respectful distance unless otherwise indicated.
It's another reason why she likes this club. She's never had any of the members corner her or hit on her – even though she knows quite a few get their rocks off watching her.
But as she passes through the curtain into the darkened lounge, something draws her eye toward the bar and she sees someone new. He must be new, because he certainly doesn't have a face she could ever forget.
He's leaning against the wall, a tumbler of something amber in his hand. He searches its depths, his gaze hidden behind strands of black hair that fall across his face, a dusting of stubble shadowing his jaw. She swallows as her eyes travel lower, taking in the tantalizing view of his chest, curls of dark hair visible between the slivers of his open button down. The entire package is wrapped in a suit that looks like it could buy her apartment and every parking space on the block.
He doesn't have the air of someone new, but she's sure she's never seen him before. It's only as his weight shifts slightly from one hip to the other that she realizes she's been staring, and she hastily looks away and continues on toward the exit.
She imagines she feels his eyes burning into her as she crosses the room, but resists the temptation to turn back and discover what color they might be.
It doesn't matter to her who watches.
/
Killian steps into the lounge and catches the bartender's eye before moving to his usual place. His gaze is locked on the black curtain across the room, every sound dulled until the slide of glass across polished wood grabs his attention. He wraps his hand around the warmth of the tumbler, and bringing it to his lips, he reclines against the wall and lets it sooth the tumult he can't dispel.
It's always been so simple to take his pleasure and leave, his thoughts usually already moving on to business before his pants are even done up, but despite the camera feed being cut, images of the blonde goddess he'd just watched are still haunting him, following him down the hall and into the lounge, the echo of her moans still tingling along the length of his skin and making him half hard.
He stares down into the still liquid in his hand, searching his brain for figures and numbers that won't come, all common sense blown away by the intense green of her eyes and the curve of her cheek as she smiled. It takes him a moment to realize that the fire burning in his chest has nothing to do with the rum, and he lifts his head just in time to see the woman who'd captured his thoughts glancing swiftly away from him, a soft blush suffusing her cheeks as she strides quickly past and through the exit.
His fingers tighten around glass, it's fragility as it shatters reminding him just why he can't follow.
//
His hands are empty, an unusual state to find himself in while enjoying Neverland's atmosphere, but he'd already enjoyed a glass of his favorite drink at home, and he wants to be clearheaded for the golden haired beauty he knows will soon arrive.
Since discovering that she frequents the club on Fridays, he's made certain his evenings are free. As the weeks passed, he's found himself unable to think of much else besides her creamy skin and the pink slice of heaven she hides between them, how she spreads herself with nimble fingers and brings herself to the peak, over and over for him.
His cock throbs in his slacks as he watches the stairwell, a shiver of something dangerous running through him as he remembers all the others that will be watching her, imagining it's them thrusting into her tight heat and latching onto her full breasts as she writhes beneath them.
It's dangerous water he's treading, thinking that way.
He doesn't have to wait much longer, his eyes snapping to her immediately as she descends into the lounge, dressed in what he's come to learn is customary for her – leather and denim. This night her boots are black and high as she strides into the room, her footfalls silenced by the decadent carpeting.
She finds him immediately, a new development for which he's eternally grateful – he can't have her, but he can have this. Their shared glances are far more discreet and respectful than previously, but this time she drinks him in, a red lip drawn beneath her teeth.
She heads toward the black curtain that leads toward the camera rooms.
He's moving immediately, ready to take his usual booth – but then she stops, her fingers playing with the dark velvet as if she's forgotten where to go.
She steps back and his heart drops – perhaps she's changed her mind now that she's aware of his intense interest in her. She casts one last glance over her shoulder and drops the curtain, turning away and walking swiftly to the far corner of the lounge.
There's a narrow door, it's handle wrapped in her fingers. The door that leads to – no, she wouldn't.
He takes several rushed steps across the lounge before stopping and restraining himself, his fingers curled into fists and jaw ticking. He can't; it's against his rule – a rule he's kept for a very good reason.
“Mark my words, son,” his father spat, voice heavy with drink as he swayed on the kitchen chair, jabbing a finger at his son accusingly. “If it weren't for you, I'd of had more time with her – you're a curse, and you'll break everything you touch in life.”
His mother gone. Liam gone – and Milah as well, the only woman he'd loved, lost to him forever.
His father had been right all those years ago. He ruins any happiness that he could have. Everything he touches winds up dead, broken.
Killian stands beneath the low lights of the lounge, everything seeming to still and slow as he watches the narrow door close behind her. How long will it be before someone else follows her, before it's another man feeling the glory of her mouth instead of him?
She wants it to be him. She's made it clear enough these past few weeks that the interest isn't one-sided. The only question os whether or not he can risk it.
Unable to stomach the thought of another man touching her, sinking into her, he pushes down the warning in his gut – don't risk it – and moves as quickly as he can without running. His heart drums against his chest as he enters the long hallway of rooms and catches a flash of her red leather disappearing into one of the doors.
As soon as the door latches closed behind her, a green light flashes on, and his gaze slips to the booth that adjoins it, an arrow linking the two together.
He feels curiously outside his body as he wraps his hand around the lever and pulls, the door opening easily. He steps into its dark interior, everything slick and so clean it's practically mirrored. The dark walls reflect his uncertainty as he shuts and locks the door behind him. In the distance, he can hear the moans and grunts of someone else taking their pleasure down the line, and though his brain is screaming that he needs to leave – you can't ruin anyone else – another part of him knows that if someone else had followed her in here, he would have dragged them bodily from the room.
He doesn't know her name, but he knows he can't let anyone else have her.
Everything is silent between them – two lonely rooms and a wall – and then he hears the sound of her leather jacket dropping onto something, perhaps a bench or stool. There's the zip of her jeans and the soft hush of more layers falling. A wave of longing roars in his chest as she finally moves into his limited view, her flushed breasts and pebbled nipples appearing suddenly beyond the hole in the wall.
She raises her hand where he can see it and makes a come hither motion.
He steps closer to the wall, swallowing heavily as his view shifts to showcase her folded legs and a pair of black, lacy panties covering her sex. Her skin is pale and nearly glowing in the strange lights above them, flushed and surely more silky than anything he's ever felt – god, how he wants to touch her.
If he was thinking clearly, he'd turn and walk out. He was toxic, everything that was soft and beautiful doomed by his touch. Killian likes to think he's always been strong, but in this moment he knows he's a weak man.
He reaches for the buttons on his shirt, popping the few that remain closed and pulling it free of his slacks. The zipper is cool against his heated skin as he drags it down, his pants slipping lower, and quickly followed by the soft, black fabric of his boxer-briefs.
He hears the soft intake of her breath from the other side of the wall that stands between them, sees the way her thighs shift and rub together as she watches from her vantage on the floor, and he wastes no time taking his cock in hand – already heavy and throbbing with anticipation. He slides it through the hole in the wall, his forehead thumping gently against its hard surface as he waits to feel the hot wetness of her mouth.
/
Every memory from the past few weeks chases her footsteps as she slips through the discreet doorway – the intense looks, the barely restrained hunger in the way he runs his tongue across his lips when he watches her leave. Somehow, she just knows he's imagining how she tastes, and not the liquor in his glass.
Yet she's never crossed the distance of the lounge to approach him, and he's maintained that same distance, merely watching her like a predator from the shadows – waiting.
It should be fine. She has her rule – look, don't touch – but there's something about him that makes her want to throw caution to the wind and haul his lips against hers by that expensive suit he wears so well.
So she makes a change in plans.
Her breath feels like a flight of birds as she steps into an open booth – one of a pair is how they do it here, apparently. She catches a flash of bespoke cashmere and tousled, dark locks rounding the corner as she pulls the door shut behind her. Her heart races, a shudder sparking over her skin.
She shouldn't, but she wants this.
Her eyes drop to the wall at her left, the large, smooth hole in its glossy facade reminding her that there will be very limited touching going on here – indulging this one time won't hurt her.
She won't let it.
On the other side of the wall she hears the quiet hiss of the door opening and clicking shut, hesitant footsteps sounding as he enters and moves into the center of the booth. She still hasn't moved from her place just inside the door, but knowing he's there – the man who's face has been the inspiration behind all of her orgasms these past few weeks – she's already wet.
She needs him, needs this – needs to touch, just this once.
She slides her jacket from her shoulders and drapes it over a stool to her right, her shirt and pants quickly following as she moves into the center of the booth and kneels on the vinyl pillow that's waiting in front of the wall between them. Her view is the elegant drape of his slacks, hands slipped into his pockets and a crisp, black button down tucked neatly into his belted waist.
Her hand has a mind of its own, rising to summon him closer.
She watches as he steps forward, long fingers – silver rings glinting on his knuckles – nimbly undoing the buttons on his shirt before pulling it from his slacks, exposing a trail of dark hair that disappears into his waistband. Her mouth goes dry as those same fingers – fingers she's imagined sliding deep inside of her – tug at his zipper, both his pants and the dark fabric of his briefs sliding down his narrow hips.
She can't stop the way her breath catches in her throat, her eyes widening as she takes in the sight in front of her. His cock is nearly fully hard, but still growing as he wraps his hand around it, giving it a slow pump as he steps closer to the wall.
He's definitely worth her breaking the rule, just this once.
She presses her thighs together, trying to quell the pang of desire that lances through her as he angles the swollen head of his cock through the hole to her side of the wall – thick and red, his slit glimmering with arousal as he pushes himself fully against the booth, the rest of his cock following through, every magnificent inch begging to be tasted.
She moves forward, shaking away the stupor that's fallen over her at the sight of him, massive and throbbing. He's thick, his length traced with veins that she wants to run her tongue along. Beyond the wall she can just see a hint of what else he's hiding in those suit pants, and they look just as full and heavy as the rest of him.
Fuck, she just wants to dive in, but she also doesn't want it to be over so soon.
A one time thing.
She reaches out to touch him, satin over steel, her fingertips dragging from the base up, gently catching on his skin that rolls to kiss the flared edge of his crown before sliding back down, drawing a sharp breath from his lips. She smiles, licks her lips, unsure if he can see her. Her grip tightens and she leans closer, her mouth open, but barely ghosting along his flesh as she takes in the scent of him – musky, yet fresh, that salty tang of hot skin and the undeniable notes of precum.
She's not even being touched, but she's never been so turned on in her life.
Swallowing heavily, she presses her lips along the edge of his shaft, open-mouthed kisses that glide across the ridges and veins of his member, the heat of her mouth moving closer and closer to where she's starving to swallow him down entirely.
She finally lets her tongue explore him in the way she craves, dragging along the underside of his cock and reveling in the way the feel and taste of him are fulfilling something she hadn't known she'd been missing. A fresh surge of pleasure twists in her center as he lets out a guttural moan and pushes hard against the wall.
“Bloody hell, lass,” he groans, voice raspy and broken.
Emma whimpers. She fucking whimpers, because he can't just be gorgeous and hung, he's got an accent as well, and this entire this is just too much – but her mouth is full of him and even though she has warning bells throwing themselves at her skull, she never wants to go back.
She pulls back for the briefest of seconds, letting herself admire just how perfectly he's built before she gets to work. This can't happen again, she can't let it, so she's going to make sure it's the best fucking blowjob he's ever had. She keeps her hands busy with his shaft, because if she doesn't, she'll have her fingers buried inside herself while she sucks him off – she's that fucking desperate. Instead, she grips him gently with one and lets the other slip through the glory hole that's just big enough, cupping his balls. His body shivers as soon as she does it, a dark, pleased sound leaving his mouth and muffled against the wall between them. She rolls them in her palm as she caresses his swollen head with her lips, not fully taking him in, but teasing with how soft and wet she'll be when she does.
She runs her tongue along the underside, flicking gently side to side over where his foreskin is connected and reveling in the broken noise it pulls from him. Her tongue laves upward, teasing his slit. The hint of his essence slides onto her tongue and she can't help but think...
“...fuck, that could be addicting.”
He chuckles and she bites her lip. She hadn't meant to say that out loud, but now it was out there. He knew her voice.
But what did it matter? He's already seen every other part of her intimately. He knows how she pleasures herself, he knows what she looks like, and soon, he'll know just how she sucks cock. What do a few more words between them matter?
What does matters is that she likes this, wants it. She'd enjoyed knowing he was watching her get off every week, and now she wants a taste of what only he can give her. Doubling down, she sucks hard, grinning inwardly as his laughter turns into a choked groan as the head of his cock rubs thickly against her throat, her tongue pressing and massaging his shaft.
She'll never get all of him down, certainly not at this angle, and not without some coaxing, so she makes sure her hands are busy, pumping his shaft as she swallows teasingly.
“Bloody fuck, woman,” he growls, thrusting forward sharply enough that her hand cupping his balls is pushed roughly against the wall, “so hot and wet...tell me, is your cunt just as wet for me? Are you dripping and desperate to be filled?”
She groans wantonly around him, her jaw aching as it stretches, her head bobbing back and forth as she slowly works his length, her hand stroking every inch of him she can't fit. This man is fucking sin and he knows it.
“Yes,” she gasps, pulling free to choke down a breath and admit that she is, in fact, dripping on the cushion below her knees, her clit throbbing with a need that sparks and bites and curls into her stomach, demanding relief. She'd touch herself if it didn't mean having to let go of some part of the magnificent cock he's packing.
“Love the way you swallow me down, lass,” he rasps, his words affecting her no less for being deadened by the wall between them – and far more than any other man's hands ever have. “Could you take all of me, I wonder, if it weren't for this?” His knuckles rap against the wall, her answer lost in the muffled noises she makes as she surges hungrily down his length, all thoughts of finesse gone as she gives in to the primal need to simply take as much of him as she can.
Thankfully, he doesn't seem to mind the change of pace, whatever he'd planned on saying next lost in a tumble of curses as she squeezes his balls at the same time her throat squeezes the head of his cock that's finally slipping in, her new angle giving her a little more to work with.
Her throat won't thank her tomorrow, but right now she's full of the most delicious thing she's ever set eyes on, and she's going to enjoy it.
Saliva drips thickly from her lips as she shuttles back and forth on him, each noise that falls between them urging her farther. She's a mess, her eyes watering and mascara running as she chokes him down, barely remembering to suck in a breath each time she pulls free.
“God...wanna fucking touch you, love,” he mumbles from the other side of the wall, his eloquence roughened and gritty with need, stirring images of those words pressed sleepily into the back of her neck in the early hours of the morning – and that's what makes her realize she needs to end this sooner rather than later.
Her nails scratch on the rough side of gentle across the puckered skin of his sack, his balls heavy and pulled tight to his body – fuck, she wants to taste him so bad – and she swirls her tongue around the tip of his cock each time it leaves her throat. The room is filled with the wet sounds of her fucking him with her mouth. It doesn't take her long once she sets her mind to it, the combination of her hand and throat, her lips wrapping like velvet around her teeth and pressing just right.
He gives her some warning – such a gentleman – his muttered curse and hips crashing into the wall just before he comes, his cock throbbing mercilessly inside of her mouth.
She let's go of every worry for that instant, basking in the praise he's growling against the wall between them as he unloads in her mouth, his shaft pulsing and shooting rope after rope of his come down her throat. She swallows and draws back, moaning as the rest of his release fills her mouth.
She's not surprised he packs just as much in this department too.
His cock softening between her lips, she draws her hand away from the hot flesh between his thighs and back through the wall, caressing his skin as she releases him, her tongue licking stripes along his length until he's clean in the palm of her hand.
Everything is still and quiet, his slowing breaths answered by her own. That's when the panic hits like a freight train.
She knows he'll need a minute – she feels like she needs five – but instead she's shoving herself back into his discarded clothes, ignoring the ache that's throbbing relentlessly between her own legs.
The last thing she wants – it's a lie, she knows it even as she thinks it – is to see him, to be within reach of those long fingers and the lips she's seen all too often curved into a delicious smirk.
She's never dressed so fast in her life, barely registering the wince he makes as he pulls his cock back through the glory hole.
“Lass,” he murmurs, his accent still heavy with lust as he tucks himself back into his pants and zips them up. “That was...”
“A one time thing,” she cuts in, needing this whole thing to just stop – right here, and then she's snatching her jacket up, jerking open the door, and storming down the hall before she can change her mind.
/
Killian can only watch as the woman's blonde hair disappears through the door that leads back to the lounge. She clearly doesn't want to linger after giving him the best blowjob he's ever received in his life. It had been good to start, she was certainly skilled, and he knows he isn't necessarily an easy fit, but for a moment he'd worried it would be just that – nothing more than skill and technique.
Then she'd let go, giving and and just enjoying it – and that was rare.
Hearing the way she was very clearly getting off on sucking him down, that had done it more than anything else – her soft whimpers and moans, the way she couldn't get him back down her throat quickly enough when she needed to come up for air.
He runs his fingers down either side of his jaw, shaking his head before finishing the last of his buttons as he stands in the hall, still staring at the door she'd disappeared through. He'll be dreaming of her stretched across his bed tonight, her tight cunt a wet and glistening feast as he drives himself straight into that hungry mouth of hers – but more than that, he wishes she hadn't left.
He wishes he could have spread her out in that damned room and sampled exactly what pleasuring him had done to her, licked and sucked and nibbled her flesh until she was falling apart around him, clutching his head to her pulsing heat and begging for more, for all of him.
“Bloody hell,” he sighs, letting his weight fall heavily against the wall behind him, her parting words a sharp blade slowly working its way deeper, but from the depths of his past other words rise to the surface – a man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets.
He wants to touch her more than he wants to breathe, he's just not sure he'll ever be able to stop once he has her.
END
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