Page 71 of No Asylum Here

The intimacy of the gesture sideswept me. This was the closest I’d gotten to him outside my dreams. He smelled of smoke, salt and the aged leather he was nearly always restrained with.

The moment the coffee hit his tongue, he fucking moaned. That sound. Dark. Desperate. Delicious. It shot straight to my center, making my pussy thrum.

Since I wasn’t wearing any panties, there was nothing to catch the pearls of arousal streaking my inner thighs.

I started to shake again, from nerves or the pills, I wasn’t sure. The coffee spilled over his mask, dripping everywhere.

The liquid was still hot, yet he didn’t so much as flinch. Instead, he laughed. “You’ve done it now. You’d better clean that up, Doc.”

I moved to grab a towel, napkins, whatever I could find to soak up the liquid.

“With your mouth,” he clarified with a growl. “On your knees, Little Nightmare.”

I folded like a metal chair at a wrestling match and collapsed to my knees without argument.

“Suck the coffee from the fabric.”

The front of his hospital-issued scrubs was soaked through with coffee, with the fabric morphing to his very large erection.

My eyes lifted to his to find him watching me intently over the lip of his mask, the devilish gleam in his orbs of gray urging me on. The coffee’s aroma tickled my nose, but it’s not what had my mouth watering. The soaking wet fabric was thin, morphing perfectly to his cock. Large. Thick. Sheathed in a complicated network of green veins so dark, they appeared black in my dimly lit office.

My jaw went slack as I drank him in. This close to him, I saw now that he was just as I’d remembered him from my dreams. Beautiful. Lethal. Broken.

Entranced by his dark allure, I leaned forward and placed my mouth over the bulge in his pants. The moment I curved my lips over his girth and sucked, a delicious groan dropped from his lips that left me boneless.

“Fuck yes,” he inhaled sharply.

I stole another glance at him to find his thick lashes fluttering and his eyes rolling into his skull.

Satisfaction burned through me, knowing I was bringing him pleasure in this world filled only with pain and torment.

“More. More.” He pleaded. The chains rattled as he bucked his hips and pushed the bulge as deep as it would go inside my mouth with his pants still plastered to his coffee-soaked skin. “Take me out.”

Eagerly, I did as I was told and hooked my fingers into his waistband, peeling them down around his hips. The appendage sprang free, smelling of coffee and a heady masculine scent that was all him.

My eyes bulged at the sight of it. Erect, but with so much weight that it struggled to stand on its own. It was full, throbbing and already leaking fat beads of pre-cum.

“When’s the last time you did this?” It wasn’t my turn to ask questions yet, not until the hour was up, and we’d just started. But curiosity had the words pouring from me before I could bite them back.

“What, get sucked off by the girl of my dreams while trapped in a cartoonish amount of restraints?”

A thrill of sparks went off somewhere inside me.

The girl of his dreams?

He means literally, I mentally scolded myself. Complicated emotions too messy to acknowledge had me pressing a laugh, as if he’d told a joke. “No. When was the last time you had sex?”

“That depends. Are we counting rape?”

My heart tripped over a beat, and I sucked in a breath. “Mal…”

He could have scolded me for using his first name, but he didn’t. Instead, he sighed, shaking his head. “Every time I think you’re starting to understand just how fucked this place is…”

“Who did it? I’ll tell your father and make them⁠—”

“Tuesday. Stop it.”

I clambered up. Not because I was usually so obedient, especially when ordered about by a man, but his tone—paired with my first name in his mouth—was sobering.