The Collector | 18+

【44】Perfect Everywhere

"So fucking perfect everywhere," he mumbled to himself right before he lowered to engulf it between his lips.

I jolted under him at the sensation of his tongue drawing circles that teased the hard tip, his mouth sucking it in lightly. His hips followed mine, and we ended up dry humping again, with my hand held prisoner by his and my other one pushing him harder onto me. It felt so impossibly good that I couldn't imagine the pleasure getting any greater. But when he added his teeth to the mix, gently nibbling on my sensitive nip, I was proven wrong.

A small cry followed his ministrations, and I arched madly, my pussy throbbing with intensity. I was very much done with the foreplays, and I needed things to move on to the next stage or I'd go mad. When he released my hand, I instantly brought it to his round ass, pulling him harder onto me.

"I'm so wet for you," I whimpered.

His raspy groan was like music to my ears, vibrating against my nipple. He released it and moved to observe me in grave silence for a moment.

Since I hadn't gotten my fill of him yet—far from it—I lifted myself for another kiss, slipped my hands in the opening of his shirt to caress the hard muscles of his back, locked my ankles behind him, and undulated harder below him.

"Please, I need you," I moaned into our kiss. "I need you to fuck me, to ruin me, to destroy me..."

When he pulled away, I tried to keep him there, biting on his lower lip. With a surprised chuckle that resembled a growl, he forced me to let go. This time, when he met my eyes, there were no traces of hesitation left. All that remained were lust, desire, and affection.

"I never want to ruin or destroy you, Mila." He paused, just long enough for me to think he would back out of this. Instead, he switched to one arm so he could reach between us with his other hand, fumbling with his belt. "But to fuck you? Elskling, I'm about to fuck you like you've never been fucked before."

My relieved smile was swallowed by his urgent kiss, my heart beating so hard in my chest I could feel it everywhere—in my throat, ears, and most of all, between my legs.

This was happening. Finally, after all this wait, all this aching want, I was about to have him inside of me, to feel his thick length stretch my drenched pussy. I was so impossibly horny, it wouldn't surprise me if I orgasmed by the time he was buried to the hilt.

As he struggled with his belt, I proceeded to undo the button of my jeans, and then lowered the zipper. He still wasn't done when I was, so I assisted him with nervous hands. Together, we opened the belt in a blink, and I then moved on to his pants.

I was just done sliding his zipper all the way down when a familiar melody breached through the foggy haze of lust. We both froze as it chimed all around us, echoing in the room.

Dinner was served.

I whimpered in protest, crushed by the terrible timing. It couldn't have been worse. A few more seconds and he would have slid my jeans down my legs, freed himself, and entered me. Ten seconds. Couldn't it have been ten seconds later?

Panting and trembling, I looked up at him, hoping he would know what to do next. I was too far gone for us to stop now. He had to take me, or I'd explode into a million pieces. It didn't have to be long, honestly. Two minutes would suffice for me to come. Maybe even one.

But while the influence of desire lingered on his face, it was clear to me that he was completely out of it. He was utterly shocked, as if someone had thrown a bucket of icy water on him. His doubts and hesitation were overpowering everything else again.

"Ulrik..." I began, about to beg him to keep going. But I stopped at once, heartbroken, when he pulled away from me.

Kneeling between my legs, he stared down at my rapturous state for a brief moment, and then passed a nervous hand on his face. A little lost, I rose to my elbows when he supplely stood up. For the second time today, his clothes were askew and wrinkled because of me, but I had no regret this time. He avoided looking at me, taking care of pushing his shirt into his pants.

"Ulrik," I called him again, to no avail.

The hardness of the floor made itself noticed, even though I'd been oblivious to it moments ago. I sat up and brought my knees up to my chest, struggling to contain my arousal, as well as the pain blooming in my chest. Aside from the erection that was still straining against his pants, it was as though he'd turned a switch. The passionate and heated man he'd been moments ago was completely gone, transformed into a cold and distant stranger.

"Ulrik, please..."

Once more, he ignored me. With every second that he wasn't looking at me or acknowledging me, the pain below my ribs intensified, winning over the aching need I had for him. He finished fastening his pants, took care of his belt, and then did the buttons of his shirt from bottom to top. His gestures were so precise, I could tell he's done it thousands of times.

When he was done, and after passing a hand in his hair to arrange it, he let out a deep sigh and stared blankly in front of him for a few seconds. Eventually, he turned to me. He looked so grave and serious, towering over me with all his might, that I shivered where I sat.

"I lost control. Sorry for that."

"You los— What?" Confusion spread in my mind.

"It shouldn't have happened."

"It was always going to happen," I argued, forcing myself to get up. Just as he'd done, I arranged my clothes. His cold shower had occurred when the dinner bell had rang, and mine was happening now.

"We're more than our desires and instincts, Mila. It wasn't supposed to happen, and it shouldn't have."

I had learned a long time ago that words could hurt a lot more than fists, but I was now realizing that some stuff could be even worse than that. His words were painful to hear, without a doubt, but it was nothing compared to what his detached demeanor did to me. He was so composed, so aloof, I almost couldn't believe he was the same man who'd been about to "fuck me like I'd never been fucked before."

"Are you for real right now?" I asked, doing my best to hide how hurt I was. Since I was just done buttoning my jeans and adjusting my shirt and bra, I crossed my arms over my chest to prevent myself from reaching out for him.

"Weren't you the one insisting that your visit had to remain 'strictly professional' when you first arrived?"

My jaw dropped, and the cruel jab punched the air out of my lungs. Just in case it was a mistake and he'd retract his words instantly, I said nothing for a few seconds, staring at him with shock and offense all over my face.

But he remained mute, holding my gaze with determination.

For some reason, I suddenly felt dirty, soiled by his touch and kisses. Disgust for him and for me filled my mind as I realized I'd been fooled by him. Again.

"You're such a fucking dickhead," I spat, pure loathing in my tone. Once more, he didn't reply, keeping his eyes on me instead.

Eager to set some distance between us, I grabbed my phone from the desk and walked to the stairs at a determined pace. Once I reached the upper floor, I turned back to him, noting he hadn't moved one inch.

"Great job at not ruining me, Ulrik," I sourly added, holding back tears of humiliation.

Even though I knew it was a childish and despicable gesture, I slammed the door behind me once I was out—along with Reggie, who'd diligently followed me.

As I crossed the gallery to get to the next stairs, I forced myself to slow down and take deep and slow breaths. Yuko didn't have to know what had happened downstairs. No one had to know.

Not even Gigi. Especially not Gigi.

Fuck that man.