The Parlour (VDB #1) by Charlotte E Hart Page A

thousand bucks at the casino once,” I reply, slightly indignant at his tone. “And I can beat just about anyone at poker.” I’ve been told this about myself. I have a good poker face, apparently. No real expressions. That comes from years of legal manoeuvrings, never giving anything away. Probably the hours on end searching research documents and cutting through the crap that wasn’t relevant to anything. Facts, nothing else, are something I’ve become very good at, something that helped me survive the streets as I showed no fear, unlike some of the other poor girls.
    “Hmm, this is a highly unlikely outcome for someone who throws away her dissolving underwear with only a touch to her collar bone.” Possibly true, but not the point, frankly.
    “I did not give you my underwear,” I spit out, in the hope of regaining some element of control.
    “I can assure you, you did.” Condescending arsehole.
    “Fuck off!” It’s out before I can stop it. My hand flies to my mouth the instant a scowl erupts on his face. It’s worrisome to say the least, so I hitch myself a little further away from him and cling to the door for support. “Oh God, I’m sorry. That was so rude, and completely uncalled for. I didn’t... It’s just, you–”
    “I just what? Hmm? Open your mouth,” he snaps, a slight sneer now overriding the scowl that was in place, making him all the more concerning.
    “What?”
    “I feel the need to punish your overenthusiastic outburst.”
    “I…”
    “The ‘oh’ shape is preferable, but not necessary,” he says as he grabs the back of my head with such force that I yelp out in reply and kick out in hope. His rough hand yanks me down towards his lap as the other wrenches at his belt and grasps his cock out of the fly. I can smell his scent assault the air immediately as I kick out again in the hope of escape. It’s strong and musky, and my lips are so close to him I can’t help but lick them in anticipation, regardless of my useless struggling. I wish I didn’t want him. I wish there was a way of saying no and making him stop the car again, but the feeling of being forced down to him is making me moan without thinking about it. My body gives up its pointless struggle as his hand grabs his shaft and he tugs me closer to his cock.
    “You should open wider, my dear. You know you want to,” he says as he brushes the tip of himself over my lips twice, almost as if he’s asking me before forcing me. I could bite him, I suppose. That could work. Let him shove it into me and then take control of the situation by sinking my teeth in. But try as I might, I don’t appear to have a hope of controlling my response. My tongue swipes across him eagerly, against my better judgement, and I unwittingly relish the sigh that leaves him. It instantly sends more very direct signals to my knickers, and as I open my mouth a little, he pushes hard on my head and slams his hips up into me. Deep throat is something I can do, but never have I felt so filled, and he just holds me there as the whore in me savours the feel of him, almost mechanically. There is no connection here, nothing to make me feel wanted or needed, but something feels okay about it nonetheless. I couldn’t be more confused if I tried, and no matter how perplexed I may be, it doesn’t stop my hand from snaking its way to his thigh to hold him in place. It’s like my brain wants to take control of what’s happening. Or maybe I’m just trying to show him I’m willing as I swirl my tongue around him and try to move a little. This might be his form of punishment, for whatever reason, but giving an intimate blowjob is one of my favourite things in the world. He couldn’t have picked a worse form of punishment if he tried. And apparently being pushed and forced is something that appeals to my groin, too, because I can feel my already damp knickers getting wetter by the minute. In fact, if he flipped me over and fucked me, I’d probably enjoy it.