His mouth found my hot center from behind, and he licked me slowly, making my thighs quiver with pleasure. The sweet, almost seductive licks became strokes. He parted my butt cheeks with his strong hands, plunging his tongue between my folds, thrashing against my walls. My moans were becoming increasingly loud, and he threw a piece of fabric at me.

“Bite.”

I sunk my teeth into the cloth as his fingers dented my thighs red and blue.

The orgasm ripped through me was like a bucket of hot water. It washed over my body, sudden and violent. I bit so hard into the fabric I thought I was going to rip it apart. I collapsed to the floor, but Célian didn’t give me time to recover. He flipped me over expertly and climbed atop me, naked from the waist down but still wearing his shirt. I didn’t know when that happened, but I was starting to come to terms with the fact that I acted very drunk and very stupid every time he and his mouth entered my general vicinity.

I thought he was going to poke his engorged penis between my legs and was about to protest, but he surprised me by scooting farther up until his ass was aligned with my chest. He plucked the fabric from my mouth and threw it on the floor, guiding his cock into my mouth with his palm. “Still gonna fuck you today, just not the hole I was aiming for.”

“Wait,” I snaked my hand between us, squeezing his girth. Even though he was a control freak, his eyelids slid shut and he let me stroke him back and forth. “If you want me to suck you off, you need to drop the whole dry-cleaning thing. Be in charge of your own dry cleaning. Give them the clothes yourself, and while you’re at it, make an official complaint. That way, they’ll think twice before stealing, because the suit has a face. Agreed?”

He threw his head back and laughed. “Disagreed. Fuck that.”

“Apparently so, because it’s not me you’ll be screwing.”

That sobered him up quickly. I wiggled underneath him, pretending to move away, and he sank more weight against me, pressing a playful palm to the base of my neck.

“Are you blackmailing me, Miss Humphry?”

I clasped his penis harder, pressing my thumb against the pearl of pre-cum gathering at his tip, bringing it to my lips and tasting it with a sweet smile. If he was expecting an actual answer with words, he underestimated me. Actions spoke louder, and right now, I had him by the balls. Almost literally.

His nostrils flared, and his mouth pursed into a scowl. “This better be one hell of a BJ.”

With that, he grabbed the back of my head and pushed himself all the way into my mouth, until I could feel his tip at the back of my throat. I wanted to gag, but that involved showing him vulnerability, and I had managed to go without it so far. So I took it all in and even let out a sigh of pleasure. His balls tightened against my chin, and I felt myself dripping on the floor, my thighs spreading involuntarily. He began to thrust into my mouth, and I sucked hungrily, loving his taste. My hand snaked behind him, and I began to play with myself as I sucked him off. He took ahold of my hair, elevated his ass for a better angle, and thrust harder, slapping my hand away.

“My turn.”

But I couldn’t help it. The need to get off prickled between my legs. Plus, I was certain I was going to regret every moment, so I might as well leave this room thoroughly orgasmed. I arched my back, trying to grind against the air and whimpering in frustration around his cock.

“Coming,” he announced, not even asking if it was okay to do what he was about to. Warm, thick liquid swam in my mouth a second later. I swallowed it before it managed to hit my taste buds, holding my breath, as I used to do every time I was on the giving end of oral sex with Milton. Célian pushed off me onto his shins, still holding my hair in his fist. He looked as pissed as he had walking into this place, not even mildly affected by what we’d just done.

I cupped my mouth, realizing a thin river of cum was sliding from the corner of my lips.

“What have I done?” I whispered.

Reality came crashing in on me. I’d done it again. Only this time, it was a thousand times worse. Because now I knew he was my superior. He wasn’t a confident and assertive tourist; he was actually a raging American asshole.

“Your boss, it seems,” he said with his signature jaded tone, standing up and buckling his slacks. He balled my dress and threw it into my arms. It was wet and wrinkled to death. “Can’t really fuck your boss and his father, can you? Guess I made the decision for you.”

Why the hell did he think I’d sleep with Mathias?

“Also, I’d advise against walking out of here in the next hour. You really did a number on your dress,” he smirked and excused himself, sauntering out and closing the door behind him.

I threw an arm over my face and groaned. Bastard.

That evening, Dad wasn’t there when I got home from work.

Panic gripped my throat, squeezing hard. Dad never left the apartment without letting me know. His absence sobered up my Célian-induced haze quickly. I rummaged the house like he might be hiding in the cupboards, then grabbed my keys and roamed our street, shouting his name into the late-spring drizzle. He couldn’t have gone far. We didn’t have a car anymore, and he loathed the subway. The realization that I should call someone—anyone—had settled in, but with it came the recognition that I had no one to turn to.

Usually at this point, I called Milton.