Beautiful Secret

The cap came free with a tiny pop and Niall blinked away, to his own hands shaking in front of him as he twisted the lipstick to reveal the brilliant red.

With one hand cupping my chin, he reached down and pressed the lipstick to my bottom lip, carefully sliding it from middle to left, middle to right, before even more gently repeating the action on my top lip. “Ruby.”

I smiled, holding his gaze as I bent to kiss the underside of his shaft, just in the middle.

Niall’s grunt was rough, hands grappling behind him to grip the desk. “Christ.”

“Okay?”

He nodded.

I kissed lower, leaving perfect red prints down to the base.

I studied him in a way I hadn’t bothered to last night, looking at how he strained forward, filling my hands. “You’re so perfect I’m not sure what to do with you.”

Tell me, I meant. Direct me.

“L-lick,” he rasped. He understood. “Please, darling.”

I smiled, darting my tongue out and sweeping it along his shaft. Niall groaned, low and broken.

“There?” I asked.

“No. No, please.”

I smiled into another kiss in the middle of his cock. “Where?”

His eyes closed for a second as he swallowed, and then said, “The head.” His eyes met mine again. “Lick the head.”

I felt nearly liquid, chest thrumming with need, desire a wild pulse between my legs. When I slid my tongue over the wide crown of him, I tasted sweet and salt, earth and man, and felt more than heard his relieved moan vibrate through him.

Long fingers ran over my jaw and into my hair, turned into a fist when I opened my mouth and took the entire tip inside, sucking down a few inches and back, surrendering the game in favor of giving him what I suspected was his first blow job in years.

And what a tragedy. He was thick, intimidatingly long, but where his cock felt nearly savage in its size and need, his hands were gentle in my hair, shaking as he sweetly encouraged me.

Down and up, sucking, wet. I didn’t care about the sounds I made or the way I lost my breath when I took him deep, coming back with watery eyes and a gasping, wet mouth. He stared at me as if I was a glowing star in the middle of this room, and it made me want to give him every drop of pleasure a man could possibly feel.

My hand cupped him lower, the other gripped his hip, silently telling him take take take. I urged him to flex forward and he did, first a shallow thrust of relief, and then deeper and deeper with careful precision, helping me work him in and out of my mouth, across my tongue, between my lips.

I wondered if he loved the crude sound of it as much as I did, my unintentional gasps and moans when he went deep, when he jerked forward in a small loss of control, when he pulled my hair in tiny flashes of frenzy. It sounded wet, and good, and the tiny pop of him in and out of my mouth seemed to make us both frantic.

He let himself enjoy it—slowing down, speeding up, slowing down again—until he grew determined: knees bent, hips rolling easily. I watched his face as, against my tongue, he grew tighter somehow, his brow tight with what almost looked like pain, his fingers finding handfuls of my hair.

“Oh,” he gasped, and I remembered his words, could see in his eyes that he did, too: I want it. For you to suck my cock, and suck it so hungrily that you beg me with your eyes to let you swallow.

I held his eyes with mine, and begged.

“Oh, darling, I—oh. Oh, God.”

Yes

Yes

“Oh. Oh, God, here I—oh I’m—”

His eyes rolled closed, cock swelling hugely against my tongue before he spilled with a helpless groan, warm and deep inside.

Niall’s hands went limp before falling to my shoulders. I pulled away, swallowing as I kissed the head before kissing his hip and sitting back on my heels.

He opened his eyes, taking a deep breath as he stared down at me. “Well. Right. That was . . .”

I stared up at the still-hard cock lying free of his pants, the bright spots of lipstick down his torso, the look of bewildered bliss curving across his perfect mouth.

Looking up at him, I said, “I feel like a criminal with a very obvious trail of evidence here.”

He laughed, staring down the length of his body. “I certainly do not feel like the victim of a crime.” His broad hands came down, maneuvering himself back into his boxers and fastening his pants. “I’m quite at a loss for words.”

“Good.” I ran a fingertip along the side of my mouth, grinning proudly up at him.

He reached down for my elbow, helped me up. “Your knees . . . ?”

“Are fine.”

In silence, we worked together to button his shirt, and then I smoothed my hands across his shoulders while he carefully reknotted his tie. I wanted him to pull me into his arms, kiss me, taste his pleasure on my lips.