Page 58 of Wraith: Lethal Impact

The breath leaves my lungs in a silent gasp.

He's magnificent. Thick, heavy, flushed dark with blood. The size of him is intimidating—the same body that took my virginity hours ago, the same impossible fullness that split me open and rebuilt me into someone new. A bead of clear moisture rests at the blunt tip.

"Use your hand first." He takes my wrist, guiding my fingers to wrap around the base of his shaft. His hand closes over mine, adjusting the grip, the pressure. "Like that. Firm. Not delicate—I won't break. Move your hand up." He guides the stroke, slow and deliberate, teaching the rhythm. "Feel the underside. That ridge, right there. That's where you focus."

I follow the instruction, mapping the terrain with my fingers the way I've mapped a thousand choreographic sequences—through repetition, through feel, through muscle memory. Velvet over steel. He's hot against my palm, the pulse of blood thrumming beneath the thin skin.

"Now your mouth." He releases my wrist. His hand returns to my hair, cradling the back of my skull. "Open. Take just the tip. Use your tongue."

I lean in, open my mouth, and close my lips over the smooth, broad head.

The taste is immediate—salt, skin, the faint metallic tang of his arousal. My tongue traces the ridge he pointed me toward, circling, exploring. The unfamiliar sensation triggers a primal satisfaction in my core. I'm learning him. I'm finding what makes him fracture.

"Fuck." His head drops back, a guttural groan vibrating through the dark room. "Just like that. Now take me deeper. A little at a time. Slide your lips down. Keep your tongue pressed flat against the underside."

I slide down, inch by inch, accommodating him. The stretch of my jaw aches, but the ache is a gift—proof of how much of him I'm taking. I sink lower until my gag reflex threatens, then pull back, dragging my tongue along the heavy vein on the underside.

"Use your hand on what you can't reach." The instruction is rougher now, fractured at the edges. "Match the rhythm. Your mouth and your hand, same speed."

I wrap my hand around the base, stroking in time with the movement of my lips. The coordination is a dancer's second nature—matching tempo, syncing body to beat. My mouth slides down as my hand strokes up, an unbroken rhythm.

"Christ." His fingers tighten in my hair. The muscles in his thighs tremble against my forearms. "You're a fast learner."

I've always been a fast learner.

Every fantasy I buried in the back of my mind, every forbidden scenario I imagined alone after midnight—they all led here. To a concrete room in a jungle logging camp, on my knees before the most dangerous man I've ever met, wanting all of him.

"Slower." His fingers pull my head back a fraction, regulating the pace. "Draw it out. Make me feel the edge."

I switch the tempo. The rapid descent transforms into an agonizing drag. I pull back, letting my lips trace the heavy veins lining his shaft, circling the blunt tip with the flat of my tongue. I swirl around the ridge beneath the head—the spot he showed me—pressing harder this time, lingering.

"Right there." His hips jerk. The involuntary thrust betrays how close the deliberate pacing has pushed him. "Don't move off that spot."

I focus everything on that single ridge of sensitive flesh, flicking my tongue in a tight pattern while my hand maintains the squeezing rhythm below.

The control I hold over him is the most intoxicating high I've ever experienced. The stage is a lie compared to the truth of this room.

His hips buck again, chasing the fading pressure.

"Lily." My name is a ragged prayer torn from his throat.

I pull back just enough to look up at him. The moisture on my lips catches the faint halogen light. The desperation in his expression fuels the throbbing ache between my thighs.

"I want to learn everything." My voice is steady despite the tremor in my hands. "I want you to teach me every single thing there is to know about making you feel like this. All of it. The things I can't even imagine yet—I want to know them. Show me your dark side, and I'll show you mine."

A vein throbs in his neck.

"You don't know what you're asking for."

"I know exactly what I'm asking for." I press a soft, open-mouthed kiss to the tip. "I've been thinking about it a lot longer than you realize."

His restraint snaps. The instruction is gone, replaced by something rawer, something desperate. I take him deep, hollowing my cheeks, swallowing against the thickness filling my throat. My hand grips the base, twisting slightly, the way his involuntary reactions have taught me he likes.

The operator who commands every room he enters is coming apart under my mouth, his chest heaving, and the knowledge is headier than anything he could teach me.

"Stop." The order is breathless, laced with raw urgency. Then his voice breaks lower, hoarse with the effort of forming words. "If you don't stop, I'm going to come in your mouth."

I look up.