AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Kissing, nibbling, he turns me around and then stares firmly into my eyes, his mouth soaked with my release, his eyes wide and feral.
“Taste yourself,” he groans, leaning down to me. “Taste how tangy and perfect you are.”
I gasp as he presses his lips against mine, my own cream smearing over my lips, and then our tongues dance together and I do taste it, all of it, my womb and its tanginess.
It should repulse me, I know that.
But with Saul groaning like it’s the sexiest damn thing in the world, all I want to do is take pleasure from his pleasure.
He breaks off the kiss, leaning back to look at me.
“I need to feel that pussy,” he moans. “I need to feel it wrapped around my cock. You’ve got no idea how crazy you make me.”
“I …”
I want to. But I can’t. I’m just going to disappoint you.
All the nerves that were muted beneath the noise of the pleasure come surging back.
My heartbeat ricochets around my chest, and I let my gaze fall.
“Sadie, what’s wrong?” Saul asks, smoothing his hands up to my face, bracing my cheeks, guiding me so that we’re once again looking into each other’s eyes. “Is it—”
“No, not just that,” I interrupt, not wanting to hear her name after what we just did, even if we both know that’s what he was going to ask. “There’s something else. Something I probably should have told you.”
He nods slowly. “Okay then.”
I open my mouth to tell him but find that there’s a blockage inside of me.
“Can we go somewhere else?” I murmur. “This place is really awesome, but it feels a bit, I don’t know, clinical?”
“Of course,” he says, sliding his hand down my arm, every touch causing an answering sizzling sensation that screams at me to put my anxiety aside.
Just freaking do it here.
“Come on, Sparkplug,” he says. “We’ll get you nice and warm and then you can tell me all your secrets.”
I laugh, but it sounds hollow.
Oh, God.
This could end everything.
But wouldn’t that be for the best, anyway?Chapter TenSaulWe walk together to the study, hand in hand, her body feeling tense and her mood no different.
I can sense – scent – her mood, an almost-physical thing following us through the long hallways of the house.
My manhood is still thrumming but I’ve managed to get myself under some facsimile of control, even if every touch and every breath of hers tries to drive me once again to dominating carnality.
The way she looked bent over for me, her ass cheeks sticking out, so round and luscious.
And then the way she moaned as I spanked her, turning her ass a subtle shade of red, the way she …
I have to force it all from my mind before I pounce on her again like the wild jungle cat I am.
Is this about Fiona?
That’s definitely the unsaid thing that hovers between us, the silent accusation. But what if it’s just an unsaid thing and not the unsaid thing?
I lead us past my desk and the large screen where I watch racing tapes to the armchairs in the corner, the ones that look out over the garden when it’s daytime. But now, with a sheen of winter making the glass turn into near-blue icy crystal, and with the night pitch-dark, all it shows is our reflections.
I sit and stare at Sadie, having to force my eyes to stay on her face unless I lose control and turn feral again.
“So,” I say. “What do you need to tell me?”
She bites her lip – fucking hell, she’s too sexy, she’s killing me – and then brushes her hands down her legs, causing me to shiver like a starving man with a steak right there in front of him—but he’s not allowed to eat it, to fall upon it and devour it.
Not yet.
“It’s really embarrassing,” she says. “I mean, I’m twenty.”
I laugh grimly and reach across, pinching her cheek playfully. “Is that what you wanted to tell me, Sparkplug? Your age? Alright then, I’m forty-one. There, are we even now?”
She pouts, smacking my hand away. For a moment it’s like we’re going to fall back into the easy lust of the racetrack. My seed hasn’t stopped roaring at me since I tasted the sweet secret of her pussy, her lavishing cream.
But then she leans back, perhaps sensing that I’m a beast who’s going to take every inch of her luscious flesh if she doesn’t.
And she’s right.
Because she’s mine.
“It’s … listen, I’ve always been the nervous girl, okay? I know it’s weird to talk about myself like this—”
“It’s not,” I say. “I’m interested.”
“R-really?” she whispers, her stutter so endearing a crazy thought rises in me to grab her and take her someplace far away, just me and her, no thought of Fiona or guilt of any of it.
