Broken by Megan Hart Read Free Book Online Page A

way to my tits without a problem. His hands are cold, too, and they slide up over the silk scarves and my tight nipples. I push his jacket off his shoulders and toss it on the floor. He bends to pick it up and hang it over the back of a chair.
    “Oh, you’re fussy,” I say, as if that’s cute.
    He doesn’t deny it. He even smirks a little. Maybe he’s proud of it. I take off my jacket and make a show of hanging it up on the coatrack, using exaggerated movements he watches without changing his expression.
    “What’s your name?” This I toss over my shoulder as I head to my kitchen and yank open my freezer to pull out a bottle of lemon vodka.
    “Joe.”
    I set out the bottle, a shot glass, the sugar bowl. I grab a lemon from the basket on the counter and slice it into quarters.
    “Joe, you want a lemon shooter?”
    When I turn for his answer, I see he’s followed me into the kitchen.
    “Sure.”
    I pour a shot, wet the back of my hand with the lemon and sprinkle it with sugar. “Bottoms up.” Down goes the shot, lick the sugar, bite the lemon.
    He does one, too. I like the noise he makes when he sucks the lemon. It’s a little half-growl. I wonder if he’d make that same noise if I sucked hard on his cock. And suddenly I want to find out.
    I move closer to him and grab his belt. I’m not as drunk as I was an hour ago but I’m still pretty buzzed. Holding his belt helps keep me steady. I’m glad I took off my tottery heels.
    “C’mere,” I tell him. “Be nice to me.”
    His hands come up to hold my hips. I don’t bother with trying to kiss him. I undo his belt with a couple quick jerks that move his whole body. He’s already hard, and I stroke him through his pants. Up and down. I look up at his face. He’s still smirking, but I recognize the bright gleam in his eyes. He wants to fuck. Well, don’t they all?
    As soon as I undo his button and zipper, I push his pants and briefs down over his thighs. He’s got a nice dick. I take it in my hand and stroke it couple of times, hard, and he puts a hand over mine to hold it in place against him.
    It’s my turn to smirk. “Too rough?”
    “You don’t want to break it.”
    He thinks he’s clever, and I have to admit, he’s cute enough to get away with it. Besides, I’m not exactly thinking clearly at this point. I stroke again, moving both our hands along his erection, but softer.
    “That better?”
    “Your mouth would be better.”
    My heart skip. “Yeah?”
    He looks down at his cock, and at our hands, then back to my face. “Yeah.”
    It’s because he’s looking at my face when he says it that I get on my knees. The tile is cold and hard but I don’t really notice. Maybe tomorrow I will, when I’m sober and my knees are black and blue, but right now I’m focused on taking him in my mouth.
    My inhibitions are loose and so’s my throat. I can take him all the way in, a skill I’m proud of. I close my lips around the base of his prick and suck, working my mouth on him a couple seconds before sliding off to add some suction to the head. He pushes forward, into my mouth. I put a hand on his cock to control it. I don’t want to gag. Drunk as I am, I might just puke all over him.
    My hand also lets me stroke and suck him at the same time, so he gets twice the pleasure. In another minute, he makes that growly noise and I smile. I suck him a little bit more, getting into the rhythm the same way I did at the club. It’s just a different kind of dance.
    He puts a hand in my hair and his fingers tangle, pulling. I wince and suck him a little harder. He’s thrusting hard, now. I let my mouth pop off and look at his cock. It’s wet from my saliva. I pump my fist up and down along it, looking up to watch his face. He’s not looking at me now. His eyes are closed.
    A second later, he opens them. “Get up.”
    I’m a little clumsy from alcohol and being on the floor for so long, but he helps me with his hands under my elbows. I laugh when he pulls