Chapter 292: My Agent (Minor R-18)

I reached down, fingers curling around the hem of my shirt. Slowly, deliberately, I lifted it over my head. The fabric slid away, revealing what lay beneath.

Ava’s breath hitched—a sharp, audible gasp.

My body wasn’t just toned—it was a masterpiece of carved stone and liquid shadow. Shoulders broad, chiseled like cliffs, muscle ridges cutting sharp lines beneath skin that glowed like polished bronze in the dim light. My chest was a landscape of sculpted planes, the definition so deep it cast shadows even in the soft glow.

My abs weren’t just defined—they were cobblestones, each ridge a testament to power, tapering down to the sharp V-lines that disappeared into my waistband.

No imperfections.

Just perfection. Divine. Unearthly.

Ava stared, mesmerized. Her lips parted, a soft, almost reverent sigh escaping. Her eyes darkened—no longer just curious, but

worshipful

. Her fingers lifted, trembling slightly, as she reached out to touch me.

Her fingertips brushed my collarbone—hesitant at first, then braver. She traced the solid ridge, following the line of muscle down to my shoulder, where the definition deepened. Her touch was feather-light, almost reverent, as if she were afraid I’d vanish beneath her fingertips. I stayed still, letting her explore, letting her feel the heat, the hardness, the raw power beneath my skin.

When her lips met my collarbone, it was soft—warm, open-mouthed. A kiss. Then another, just below it, her tongue flicking out to taste the salt on my skin. My cock throbbed in response. She felt it—smiled against my flesh—but kept teasing. Her kisses trailed lower, down the center of my chest, over the solid planes of my pecs, her tongue tracing the valley between them.

Her touch was worship, slow, deliberate, devotional.

My hands moved too—one slid up her back, fingers tracing the line of her spine through her tactical top, feeling the subtle tremors running through her. The other slid

under

her top, fingertips brushing the warm skin just above her hips, but not higher.

I teased the waistband, tracing the dip of her lower back, feeling her muscles quiver beneath my touch, but refusing to give in to the temptation to touch her breasts. Not yet.

Her hands and lips explored my upper body with increasing hunger—fingers splayed across my shoulders, nails grazing lightly, not scratching, just

marking

territory. Her mouth closed over the peak of my pec, sucking gently, not biting, just claiming. Her tongue swirled around the sensitive nipple, and a low groan rumbled in my chest.

I shuddered. She felt it. Smiled against my skin.

Her kisses traveled lower, down the ridges of my abs, her tongue tracing the lines of muscle as if memorizing a map. She knelt slightly, her breath hot against my skin as her mouth moved lower, following the V-line down my abdomen, her fingers gripping my hips, thumbs digging into the hollows near my waistband.

My hands tightened on her—not pushing her away, but holding her steady as I let her worship me. My fingers slid deeper under her top, tracing the dimples just above her ass, feeling the warmth of her bare skin. Her breath hitched—a soft, needy sound.

I could feel the heat radiating off her, the tension in her body, the way she arched slightly into my touch, wordlessly begging for more.

Then, finally, my hands slid up—slow, deliberate—under her top. She lifted her arms without hesitation, letting me pull the fabric up.

When I finally peeled her top away, it wasn’t just exposure—it was revelation. The soft fabric *slid* down her arms, and her breasts spilled into view like a gift unwrapped in moonlight, but bathed instead in the dim, electric glow of the hotel room lights.

They weren’t just large. They were

sublime

.

Full

—heavy enough to create a shadowed valley between them, yet high and firm, sitting like ripe fruit on the strong curve of her ribcage.

The skin was flawless, smooth as alabaster, but marked with the subtlest, sexiest imperfections: the faint blue veins tracing beneath the surface like rivers on a map, the faint tan lines from tactical gear cutting across her upper chest, the

darker, pebbled texture

of her nipples already hardened into tight, desperate buds.

The way they moved was

sin

—a soft, breath-catching bounce as she shifted, the weight of them swaying with every tremor that wracked her body. The contrast between the pale, delicate skin and the deep crimson of her areolas was absurdly erotic—like forbidden fruit waiting to be tasted.

And her nipples... gods, her nipples—already hard from my touch, from my kiss, from the sheer weight of my gaze on them. They weren’t just erect. They were aching,

pebbled into tight, flushed peaks that begged to be sucked

, to be nipped, to be worshipped with the same devotion I’d given the rest of her body.

When she arched her back slightly, pushing them closer to my mouth, the sight was decadent—the way they lifted, the way the curve deepened, the way her breath hitched as my breath ghosted over one sensitive peak.

I could see the delicate

thrum

beneath the skin, the sharp intake of breath as she waited for me to touch her there. To finally claim what I’d deliberately denied us both.

The view was sinful in its perfection—pure temptation made flesh. The kind of sight that made a man want to fall to his knees and worship. To taste. To devour.

And I knew she

knew

it too.

The way she watched me watch her—eyes dark, lips parted, chest heaving—was the final confirmation.

She wanted me to starve.

And I was

starving

to give in.

So, I did.

My mouth closed over one straining peak—not gently. I

sucked

—

hard

.

Her back arched like a drawn bow, a sharp moan tearing from her throat as her hands

fisted

in my hair, pulling me closer.

Wet

heat flooded my mouth—the taste of her skin, the subtle salt, the

sweet ache

of her arousal.

My tongue swirled around the tight bud, teeth grazing it—just enough pain—and her hips

jerked

against me, a broken whimper tearing from her lips.

"More..." she begged, grinding her hips against me, her breasts

rubbing

against my chest.

I gave it to her.

My mouth

claimed

her other breast, sucking just as hard, my hand sliding up to roll the first nipple between my fingers—pinching, twisting, tormenting as I devoured her.

Her moans came faster—broken, desperate. Her entire body

shuddered

—her hips rolling, her thighs pressing together, her nails

scraping

down my back.

"You wanted me to see?" I growled against her skin, teeth grazing her nipple. "You wanted me to worship you?"

Her

eyes rolled back

, a choked sob escaping. "Yes... please... Eros..."