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"Fuck," he groans. "You're good at this."
"Shut up and let me work. Or put your fucking tongue to work at something useful and eat my fucking pussy," I mumble against his length, biting down just enough to rile him up even more. His fingers dig into my hips, leaving marks I know will be there come morning, but I don't care. All I can think about is reducing this cocky bastard to a quivering mess beneath me.
His breathing picks up speed, and I know I'm about to get what I want.
But then his tongue does something in concert with his fingers that makes my back stiffen, my mouth and tongue freeze around his throbbing cock, and my eyes slam shut.
A moan erupts from inside me, and I teeter on the edge while the cock of the man that I hate sits deep in my throat.
I shake my head. Focus.
I have to beat him.
Even though my legs are tingling, my hips are pulsing, I have to win and make his hard, pulsing cock erupt with come in my mouth. He can’t win.
I swallow him, filling my throat until I gag. A moan — heated, lustful — erupts from Dixon’s mouth and his movements become more desperate, his tongue and fingers relentless. But I can feel his control slipping. His hips buck into my mouth; his breaths ragged; his groans guttural — this is it.
"Yeah, fuck you, you asshole," I gasp. I stroke his cock in rapid, firm strokes, like I want to squeeze every drop out of it. "Still think you're going to make me come first?"
I can taste him on the edge of my tongue — the salty prelude to victory.
His body tenses beneath me, muscles coiling like springs wound too tight.
“Fuck you,” Dixon gasps as his cock releases in my mouth, a pulsing, salty, thick flood that I swallow with a smile on my face. Every drop goes down my throat. When his cock ceases pulsing, when there’s nothing more than a scant drop of cum at the head of his cock, I release a contented moan.
Victory.
Then my eyes go wide.
He’s stopped moving, and I can already feel my orgasm teetering, fading, and I refuse to let it go. Is this his petty little way of getting back at me? I look over my shoulder at him, grind my pussy against his face.
“Just because I beat you doesn’t mean you have to throw a fit. Finish what you started, loser.”
"What? And let you win completely? That's not the game we play, princess.”
There's a spark in his eyes that reveals his true intention — he’s not done yet.
With a sudden surge of energy, Dixon flips us over with a strength that leaves me breathless. I'm now pinned beneath him, his face still buried between my thighs, and the world tilts on its axis. His tongue resumes its wicked dance, more fervent than before, as if fueled by the need to prove a point.
"You thought that was it?" he growls at me, his breath hot on my skin. The sensation sends shivers down my spine, each one a promise of the climax that hovers just out of reach.
I bite back a moan and glare at him through hooded eyes.
"You're such an—"
My words cease as a wave of pleasure ripples through me, and I can't help but arch my back against him. His hands grip my thighs with possessive firmness, holding me still for his relentless assault.
"Admit it, you love this," Dixon teases between licks that draw circles of ecstasy across my heated flesh. “You’re not commanding me to give you an orgasm. You’re begging for it. Beg, princess. Let me hear it.”
"Never," I gasp, though my body betrays me, responding to him with an eagerness that defies any animosity. His name slips from my lips in a litany of surrender as he brings me closer and closer to the edge. “Oh, fuck, Dixon, please…”
“But I will not let you finish,” he says. “Not yet.”
He swivels atop me, and now he’s between my legs.
In a moment of defiance, I reach for my clit. “If you’re not capable of doing the job, I will. Go stand in the corner and wait for me. I’ll only need a minute to do what you clearly are incapable of.”
Quicker than I can react, he seizes my wrists and pins them above my head. His lips are on mine, hungry. Then they find my ear.
