Owned by Him (rewrite)

27. Erotic Blossom

"When you blushed toward my deal, I didn't expect you to think about wanting to do this, Asta."

Marvel sipped his coffee, gazing downward at me. His eyes were on the small side, narrowing sharply, as if not to let the light in.

The pearl threads of ray transformed the morning into a brand new ambient optimism, finding me a way to express my energy. Marvel's office room was bright in the daylight, the white-painted wall made it even brighter. He was sitting on the swivel chair behind his desk, being unknowingly quiet as he was enjoying his coffee until he saw me sulking toward a certain reason.

"Don't make the face as if this whole thing is unfair for you. You chose my clothes, and I just did the same thing to return the favor."

I frowned to hear that from someone who told me to wear an apron in the office.

Right. Just an apron.

The rest of my clothes were lying beside me on the floor, while I was sitting knee-deep in silence. On the floor. Although, at this point, the floor would be the least of my problems.

Under the rim of the table, I had Marvel's eyes fixing on me as I was unbuckling his belt, my head in between his legs. From the very beginning, I should have already known that something like this would happen to me, and I should have said no.

And yet, here I am. Again.

"You made me breakfast, I was thankful, and now you're having yours, getting to do whatever you want."

Other than Marvel's monologue, the only sound in the room was his watch, ticking away, marking every second. Each passing moment only led to the next. So still, almost poignant and tight.

Behind his cup of coffee, his mouth was crooked and frigid, as if only used for the sort of smiles that masked atrocity. Perhaps, it was born from a lifetime of particular superiority that radiated contempt to mock me.

"Are you happy?" He asked softly, almost like a whisper. His voice had a husky drawl and every word he pronounced was in slow motion compared to almost anyone else I knew.

"S-so... big..." I recognized in a shaky voice, gulping hard. My nerves were already so bad that I trembled at just the thought of putting it into my mouth.

"You flatter me," Marvel suppressed a chuckle seeing me intimidated by it.

At first, it was just initial licking and sucking, becoming repetitive, until I was ready enough to push it inside, I tried to technically squeeze it with my throat.

"Oh?" Marvel expressed in a low tone, seeming rather impressed with my act. "Slow down. You don't want to choke on a mouthful of it," he simpered, slowly downing his coffee again.

The words he spoke in such well-intentioned purity triggered something in my heart. Of course, the whole previous line was sarcasm, because it was those lips that would only twitch upward when the satisfaction had been fulfilled.

By the arranged amber liquids, the picture of my head below drowning in his long and muscular legs was reflected on the whiskey bottles on the shelf, arching to follow the glassy curves. At a close range, I felt how his thighs were so powerful and sturdy, caging me in an intimidating manner. I was lying if I said that his legs were the only thing that bothered me. To be honest, it was his gaze, his presence, his everything.

Staring nonstop, he finally put his coffee on the table and his hand reached out to my head.

"What a view," he admitted. Seeing me deeply immersed in the whole process made him curious about my motivation.