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“All.”He pushed his index finger deeper into me.
“The fucking.”He sank his teeth into the flesh of my neck.
“Time.”His hand snaked to my trousers, unbuttoning them expertly.
He slid my slacks down, then my panties. I craved his kisses. The taste of him when he devoured me in the courthouse like I was his favorite dessert.
With my clothes still gathered around my ankles, I stayed bent, waiting for his next move. Riggs decided to neglect my southern region, using his finger to skim the shape of my areola through my shirt. A ripple of desire blasted through me, and I pressed my heavy breast into his palm, begging for more. I didn’t recognize myself in my actions. In my need for something so primal and basic.
“You like it?” he whispered in my ear, his scent drugging me.
“Yeah.”
He grabbed the edge of my shirt, jerking it down along with my bra. My breast sprang free from its confinements. He cupped it from the bottom and pushed it toward my face. “Lick.”
I swirled my tongue around my breast, no questions asked. He groaned behind me and desire flooded me, making my blood sizzle inside my veins. The thought that I could make this near-perfect creature react this way made me gratified.
He clutched my waist, grinding his erection along my bum, his forehead dropping to the back of my head with a sigh.
“Your body’s too delicious to be wasted on a prick like Cocksucker.”
“Thank you,” I managed. Barely.
“It’s not a compliment, it’s an observation.” His hand—coarse like sandpaper—slid down from my hip bone to between my legs. “Never have I wanted to kiss a mouth and shut it up so equally.”
“I—”
“Just ride my fingers and don’t ruin this moment for me, Poppins.”
He tugged me up by my hair, plastering my back against his chest. I let out a whimper. My head dropped against his shoulder. He was still grinding against me when his thumb found my clit, swirling teasingly around it, never quite touching it. I squirmed, chasing his touch, desperate for more.
“Please . . . ,” I moaned.
“Please what?” His lips moved against my throat.
“Please touch me there.”
He did. Oh, he did.
My eyelids drooped and I shuddered all over. I was close to climaxing, and I never had orgasms while having sex. It was why sex with BJ had become taxing. I considered it mandatory cardio. Like Pilates.
Riggs’s tongue ran along the side of my neck, toward my shoulder. He picked up the pace between my legs, thumbing my sensitive bud in circles, applying the perfect amount of pressure and withdrawing just when I was teetering on the edge. Of course he was better than avibrator. I should have known. What a curse of a husband Riggs Bates was. Wrong in all the places he needed to be right—no prospects, no money, no emotions, no loyalty—and good where sin and abandon were concerned.
After a few minutes, I felt my knees buckle and I released a loud sob. The pleasure was insufferable, and a wave of heat washed through me. I writhed and twisted, the sensation too much, too good, too loud.
“Ahhhhhhh,” I moaned.
“No.” Riggs moved his hand from my sex—which was still throbbing—pushing my lips open with his thumb and forcing me to taste myself. “Say my name.”
“Riggs,” I panted loudly. “Riggs. Riggs. Riggs.”
Was I a screamer?
“Bugger,” I muttered. “I can’t believe I screa—”
Before I could finish the sentence, I was yanked backward and somehow found myself lying down on the floor.
“My turn.” Riggs’s face was close to mine, looming over me. My lips parted on their own accord, inviting him to kiss me. But he was already frowning at the space where our bodies would connect soon, freeing himself of his jeans.
