When in Rome Pt. 7

The room smelled faintly of cologne and hotel linen, sharp and clean beneath the haze of wine clinging to Kiara’s senses. She didn’t even remember the door shutting, not clearly—just the sudden blur of movement, Lucian’s body pressed into hers, and the wall at her back catching her with a thud that rattled a frame on the wall. Her head tilted up without thinking, lips crashing against his, tongue finding his like it had been waiting all night. Her breath came hot and uneven, heart slamming against her ribcage as his hands slipped beneath the curve of her thighs and lifted her like she weighed nothing. Her heels dangled for a second before instinct took over, her legs clamping around his waist and locking at the ankles, holding herself against him with a grip that felt more **** than she could admit.

Her arms wound tight around his shoulders, nails grazing the back of his shirt as though she were trying to fuse herself into him. The slip dress had ridden up dangerously high, silky hem flashing her thighs and the tops of her stockings as he ground her harder into the wall, each kiss wetter, rougher, deeper than the last. She tasted him in every breath, the mix of wine and salt on his lips, the low growl in his throat that vibrated against her chest. Her body was betraying her, hips rocking down into him as though she were begging for something she could never let happen.

“Fuck—” Lucian groaned into her mouth, the word muffled, guttural, and then his weight shifted. He turned, carrying her effortlessly across the room. She clung to him, dizzy with the motion, her head falling against his cheek for a moment as he stumbled them both backward onto the bed. They landed in a heap, the mattress dipping, Lucian flat on his back, Kiara straddling him, her thighs spread wide across his hips, her slip dress rumpled around her waist.

She caught herself on his chest, lips parting against his jawline, trailing sloppy kisses down his neck as she giggled softly, drunkenly, her body burning with the kind of heat she couldn’t think her way out of. His hands roamed her waist, her back, her ass—rough, searching, unbuttoning every inch of restraint he had left. And then she felt it—the tug at his belt, the sharp clink of metal undone.

Panic surged, slicing through the fog of ****. Not the kind that stopped her, not even close—but enough to make her act. She couldn’t let him see. Couldn’t let him find what lay trapped between her thighs, caged and hidden beneath layers of silk and lace. Her breath caught as her hand darted to his, stopping him mid-motion.

With a slurred smile and a slyness she didn’t even know she could summon in this state, she pressed her lips back to his, kissed him hard enough to distract, and then pulled back just enough to whisper, “Mmm… how about I take care of you tonight?” Her words came out breathy, playful, like she’d been planning it all along.

Lucian stilled, his belt hanging loose now, his eyes searching hers in the dim light. And then the smirk spread—slow, hungry. “Yeah?” he murmured, voice low, roughened by desire. “You’re sure?”

Instead of answering, Kiara kissed him again, sloppy and heated, tasting the approval in the way his hand gripped her hair. She broke away with a little laugh that sounded so natural, so feminine, like it had always belonged to her. She slid down his body, her knees sinking into the mattress, hands following the path of his chest, over the loosened shirt, down to the waistband of his trousers.

She looked up at him through her lashes as her fingers toyed with the fabric, her plump, glossed lips still parted from their kiss, her cheeks flushed pink with both wine and arousal. Then, with a teasing little tug, she yanked his pants down herself.

His cock sprang free, heavy, hard, thick in a way that made her breath catch for reasons she wouldn’t admit even to herself.

Her heart hammered in her ears, her body still humming from the wine, her mouth dry, wet, wanting. And before she could stop herself—before she could think—her lips curved into a slow, sultry smile as she leaned closer.

Kiara’s manicured fingers curled around him first, soft and deliberate, her long nails grazing the base of his shaft as she stroked him lazily, testing his weight, his heat. He was thick in her hand, heavier than she expected, the kind of size that made her lips part instinctively as if her body already knew what came next. Her thumb dragged across the slick bead at his tip, smearing it over the flushed head before circling again in a drunken tease. She let out a half-giggle, half-breath, head tilting as she slurred, “Mmm… fuck, you’re… so big…” The words stumbled out syrupy and crooked, but her grin made them land like a dare.

Lucian let out a low laugh, his chest rising as he propped himself up on an elbow to look at her. His voice cut rough through the dim room, sharp with desire. “Big enough to shut that pretty mouth up if you keep talking.” He smirked, watching her hand stroke him again. “Go on, princess. Show me if you can take it.”

Her stomach tightened at the name, at the command laced beneath the tease. She swallowed, her tongue darting over her lips as if she were stalling, but her thoughts weren’t steady enough to argue. They blurred into one mantra, one memory: I’ve seen enough porn. I know how this goes. I can do this. Celeste trained me for this. She could almost hear her sister’s voice telling her to be pretty, to be sensual, to let her lips do the work while her eyes sold the fantasy. Just act like the girls in the videos. That’s all this is.

Her hand pumped him once more, slow, deliberate, before she leaned forward, lashes fluttering down. The head of his cock brushed her lips—warm, damp, impossibly real—and for a second her stomach twisted with the old disgust, that voice inside her screaming no, no, no. But the wine muted it, blurred the edges until it was just a dull whisper drowned out by Lucian’s groan when her lips parted.

She wrapped her mouth around him, just the tip at first, her gloss slicking him as she closed her eyes and let the taste hit her tongue. It was strange, heavy, sharp with salt—but the **** smothered the recoil. She didn’t flinch. Instead, she hummed softly like she’d seen in videos, as if she liked it, as if it was natural.

Lucian’s hand slid into her hair immediately, fingers curling at the base of her skull. “That’s it,” he muttered, voice thick, roughened by the way she looked kneeling there between his thighs, her painted lips stretched around him.

Her cheeks hollowed as she tried a slow suction, letting her hand stroke what her mouth couldn’t reach, finding a rhythm almost accidentally. Up, down, twist of the wrist, swirl of her tongue—every motion a borrowed script from hours of porn and Celeste’s relentless drills. And yet, it felt… easier than she thought it would. The drunken haze dulled her nerves, made the slick slide of him against her tongue just another sensation to mimic.

Lucian groaned low, his hips flexing up into her mouth just enough to make her **** lightly, a wet sound that had him grinning. “Fuck, you look perfect like this,” he said, his voice a strained whisper, his hand tightening in her hair.

Her eyes flicked up at him instinctively, wide and glossy, lashes heavy, and she saw the way his jaw clenched at the sight. The reaction fueled her, sent a hot rush through her chest. _This is working. Just like the videos. I can do this. _She bobbed her head a little deeper, sucking harder, her other hand sliding to his thigh for balance.

The taste faded into nothing, replaced by the rhythm, by the wet heat of her mouth around him, by Lucian’s groans spurring her on. She was still so drunk that every motion felt reckless, like her body was moving ahead of her brain, but her body knew. It had been taught, rehearsed, perfected under Celeste’s guidance until even like this—tipsy, reckless, humiliated—she looked like she belonged there.

Lucian’s breaths grew heavier, his words tumbling out in broken, dirty fragments. “God… just like that… yeah, fuck, take it, Kiara…” His tone was half-mockery, half-reverence, like he couldn’t decide whether to worship her or use her.

And Kiara—no, Kieran—swallowed the sound, lips stretched around the thick length of him, sliding up, then down again, deeper this time, her throat tightening as her body gagged faintly. She pulled back with a wet gasp, drool slipping from the corner of her mouth, and giggled drunkenly through it, wiping her lip with the back of her hand before diving back down as if it had been nothing.

Lucian’s groan was louder this time, his hips jerking despite himself, his grip on her hair firming to hold her steady. “Fuck, you’re gonna kill me…” he muttered, head tipping back against the pillows, his muscles taut as he gave in to the sight of her—the perfect heiress, on her knees, drunk and eager, lips wrapped around his cock like she’d been born for it.

Her lips slid lower around him with each pass, wet sounds filling the dim, quiet room as Kiara found a steadier rhythm. The wine still swirled hot and dizzy in her veins, loosening every thought, dulling every hesitation. Her mouth moved the way it had been trained to—soft pressure, gentle suction, her tongue swirling under the head, her hand stroking the base in smooth counterpoint. Celeste’s endless rehearsals, the hours of whispered coaching, the videos studied like textbooks—it all bled into muscle memory. She barely had to think.

Lucian looked down at her, eyes half-lidded, breath coming in slow, uneven pulls. His hand rested lightly against the back of her head, not pushing, just there. “Christ, Kiara…” he groaned, voice husky, the syllables dragging as if they were pulled straight from his chest. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this.”

She let out a muffled hum around him, the vibration pulling another sound from his throat. Pulling back, lips slick and glossy, she gave him a breathless smile, her words slurred but playful. “Mmm… you like watching me, don’t you?” Her voice dipped lower, teasing, though her breath hitched as she caught herself giggling. “Bet you didn’t think the heiress would end up on her knees for you tonight…”

Lucian chuckled, deep and warm, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “I was hoping. But fuck, Kiara—you’re even better than I imagined.” His thumb traced the corner of her wet mouth, catching a glint of spit. “You’ve got no idea what you’re doing to me.”

Her lashes fluttered, that old reflexive femininity taking over as she tilted her chin and gave him a coy glance up through them. It was practiced, trained, automatic. “Oh, I think I do,” she whispered, before wrapping her lips back around him, sinking lower this time, her throat flexing as she fought the urge to gag.

He hissed through his teeth, hips shifting just slightly against her mouth. “Fuck, you feel incredible. So soft… warm…” His hand tightened in her hair—not harsh, not controlling, just as if grounding himself.

Kiara pulled back again with a wet pop, catching her breath, her chest rising and falling quickly. Her lipstick was smeared, her mascara faintly smudged, but her smile was radiant in its drunken, messy glow. “Mm… you taste… different than I thought you would,” she slurred, giggling softly before licking the underside of his shaft in one slow, deliberate stroke. “Not… bad though.”

Lucian laughed, the sound low and amused. “That might be the wine talking.” His gaze darkened as he watched her tongue trace him. “But you look like you’re enjoying yourself.”

She made a show of nodding, lips brushing his tip before sucking it back between them. A muffled, playful mmm vibrated against him, her free hand stroking his thigh like she’d seen women do on screens, sensual without effort.

When she pulled back again, spit glistened on her lower lip, a string of it clinging to him before breaking. She wiped it with the back of her hand, laughing softly at the mess. “God… I’m such a slut right now,” she said suddenly, her drunk brain bypassing all filters.

Lucian’s jaw tightened at her words, but not with disapproval. His hand caressed her cheek, his eyes locked on hers. “Not a slut. You’re perfect. Fucking perfect. You’re giving me everything I want and you don’t even know how good you are at this.”

Her lips parted, her breath shaky, and for a moment she forgot she was supposed to laugh it off. His words sank in, heavy and warm, almost comforting. Perfect. It rang in her head as she leaned forward again, sealing her mouth back around him, this time with more eagerness, more certainty.

She bobbed her head in a slow rhythm, twisting her wrist in time, every movement smoother than the last. The wine muted her inhibitions, but it also made her bolder. Between strokes, she pulled back to murmur, lips swollen and glossy, “Do you like when I go slow like this… or should I be greedy?”

Lucian groaned, his hand sliding to the side of her neck, thumb pressing gently into the hollow there. “Greedy, princess. I want to see you hungry for me.”

The word princess made her cheeks flush, and without thinking, she gave a mischievous smirk before sinking down on him deeper, gagging softly but recovering, swallowing around him like she’d seen a hundred women do on camera. Her eyes watered, her mascara smearing further, and she let him hear the messy sounds of it as she pulled back, gasping for air.

He groaned again, tipping his head back. “Fuck, Kiara… You’re going to ruin me.”

She laughed breathlessly, drunk and shameless, stroking him again while licking his tip. “Mmm… maybe that’s the point.” Then, in a softer, almost conspiratorial tone, she added, “You feel so good in my mouth, Lucian…”

Her tongue flicked, lips closing tight again as she slipped him back between them, her rhythm smoothing, her hums vibrating against him. Her body was swaying faintly with the motion, her dress straps slipping down her shoulders, her polished, feminine image just slightly undone but only in ways that made her look even more sensual.

Lucian’s breathing was ragged, his hand stroking her damp hair now instead of gripping. “That mouth of yours… I could stay here all night,” he murmured, voice thick with heat.

And she let him, sinking into the rhythm, into the taste, into the way his words wrapped around her like silk—too drunk to stop, too deep in the role she had been shaped for to even realize she wasn’t just acting anymore.

Her head was bobbing faster now, lips stretched and wet, her throat working clumsily around him. The sound of it filled the quiet of the room—slick and obscene, her own panting breaths mixing with the low, ragged groans spilling from Lucian’s chest. She could taste him already, that faint saltiness at the tip, the warning that something was coming, but her foggy mind didn’t know what to do with it.

Lucian’s voice broke, deeper, rougher, straining against the edges of control. “Kiara—fuck—wait, I’m gonna—” His hand twitched in her hair, not pulling, not pushing, just trembling against her scalp.

Panic flared sharp and sudden inside her. She didn’t know what to do—Celeste had never drilled this part into her. She thought she had more time, that he’d warn her more clearly, that somehow she would just know. But she didn’t. And now her body took over, doing the only thing it could: she just kept sucking harder, faster, sinking down deeper as though determination alone would guide her through.

Then it hit her.

A sudden, hot jet spurted against the back of her tongue, thick and shocking. Her eyes flew wide, mascara stinging as they watered instantly. Another burst followed, flooding her mouth, sliding over her tongue in heavy pulses. The taste was unlike anything she expected—bitter, musky, salty in a way that made her throat seize.

“Mmmph!” She gagged around him but couldn’t pull off, too far down, too panicked. She swallowed by instinct just to breathe, the heat burning as it slid down her throat, another pulse hitting the roof of her mouth, dripping toward her lips. The texture made her shudder, almost sticky, coating everything it touched.

Lucian groaned above her, his hips jerking helplessly, his voice raw with release. “God, Kiara… oh fuck… you’re perfect…”

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to cough, sucking desperately to get it over with, her throat convulsing around him. Each spurt was a fresh shock, filling her again, and again, and again, until she thought it would never stop. Spit and cum mingled at the corner of her lips, sliding down her chin, but she couldn’t stop, couldn’t think. She just swallowed, again and again, each gulp audible, each one making her stomach twist.

Finally, the pulsing slowed, his cock twitching softer against her tongue. She pulled back with a wet gasp, saliva and seed stringing from her lips to his tip before breaking across her chin. Her chest heaved, lungs burning as though she’d just surfaced from underwater.

Her hand shot up to her mouth, trembling, but she froze halfway. What was she supposed to do? Spit? She had no napkin, no escape. Her lips were coated, her mouth still thick with the taste of him. And so, without thinking, she did the only thing that seemed possible—she swallowed hard, forcing it all down, her throat working visibly as the last of it slid past.

The moment it was gone, everything changed.

Her head felt clearer than it had all night, as though the **** had been burned out of her bloodstream by what she’d just done. Her face was a mess—lipstick smeared, mascara streaked, spit glistening across her chin—but her mind was sharp, terrifyingly sharp.

She had just swallowed Lucian Devereaux’s cum.

The thought landed heavy, undeniable, and for the first time since the wine-soaked dinner began, she wasn’t floating or laughing or slipping into the role Celeste trained into her. She was there, fully, brutally present, staring at him with wide, wet eyes as realization dawned in her chest like a hammer strike.

And that was where the moment hung—between the taste still lingering on her tongue, the throb in her throat, and the shocking clarity cutting through the haze—leaving her breathless on her knees, with no idea what the hell she had just done to herself.