It started like a nightmare.
Vivienne found herself on her knees. Her pride was gone, her head screaming, her mouth full, and her hands clutching his thighs for balance. The taste, the heat, the humiliation—it was all too much. She hated him, hated everything about him, yet here she was.
Her head screamed louder than bells in a cathedral: Vivienne, what the hell are you doing. Get up. Get the fuck up. This is low. This is the lowest of the low. You are on your knees with this bastard's cock in your mouth. You hate him. You swore you'd rather die than bow to him, and look at you now.
Her eyes watered, her chest tightened, but she went on. Because stopping now would be worse. If she stopped, he'd know she was lying. He'd know she had been caught red-handed snooping. He'd know she wasn't the sweet little maid she pretended to be.
