The Suspect

chapter 31

I've had three orgasms so far. I'm not sure my body can take anymore, but Tatum geez, his stamina is one of a cheetah.

The first one was with his fingers, the second was his cock, and the third was his mouth. Throughout all, he didn't come once. My legs are trembling as I come down from my high, his face sandwiched between them. This man was made to fuck, and he just proved that claim after he took me up against the wall and from behind.

He licks his way up my body, his mouth stopping to tease my nipple. His strong arms wrap around and lift me up.

"Does your room have a mirror?" he asks and I pinch my brows together.

"Um weird question but yes it does, right beside my bathroom why?"

I see his lips pull into a smug smile, "No reason."

He takes me to my room and kicks the door open. I cling to him like a sloth on a tree as he pauses in right in the middle. His head tilts and moves around until it lands on the mirror. Like that was a signal, the tall man holding me stalks to the bed and throws me on it. I yelp at the contact, perplexed at what he's doing.

"I'm not a throw pillow. Don't fucking throw me around like that," I grimace at his actions and he just straight up ignores me.

Grabbing the rolling chair from my desk, he rolls it right in front of the mirror and takes his place on it.

His eyes are heavy-lidded, his voice hoarse when he speaks, "Come here."

"You come here," I blurt at his words.

I'm not a fan of his demanding tone, as if I'll comply with it. My eyes try their hardest not to drop below, right where his cock is. Hard and erect. He must watch me drooling at it since a deep chuckle makes his abs flex. My eyes now move to the marks I left on his body, my hands itching to make more.

"Shut up and get your sweet ass here," his voice is taunting, luring almost. I'm in a haze, my view clouded by the perfect picture I painted on his torso. Fuck, did I do that? I move my legs but I realize I'm sore. In all my late teenage and adult years, I have never been fucked like that.

Men always took what they wanted, the pleasure they wanted to feel. But Tatum, he did it more for mine than his. He fucked me for my pleasure; however, ate me out more for his...not that I'm fucking complaining. The skin around my nipples is red and slightly swollen, the effect of his mouth clearly evident by the marks forming on my breasts.

"Willow," he snaps me out of my haze and I meet his eyes.

"Mhm?"

"Come. Here."

I sigh and lie back down on the bed. My back immediately relaxes, so do my legs. This feels nice. My little spree of relief is only short-lived since I'm now being yanked by the ankle. I shriek as I almost fall off the bed, but Tatum rolls the chair forward and grabs my hip, keeping me in place at the edge of the bed. He moves back to give me space as his long fingers slowly wrap themselves around the sides of my waist. He tightens his hold and lifts me, making me stand up.

I comply this time. Not sure why. He moves his feet, forcing the chair backward and I slowly move forwards as he moves in the opposite way. Once he seems to be satisfied with where we are, his mouth meets my stomach and leaves sloppy kisses all over.

He cranes his neck, looking up at me with his chin lightly resting on my stomach. He pushes me forward, making me fall into his lap and my legs automatically straddle his hips. His cock rubs against my slit and I feel myself getting wet again.