Before I can mentally talk my way out of it, I slide a hand across my chest, curving my fingers around the swell of my breast as they journey south.
The clothes they provided me were basic and thin—glorified pajamas in a dull gray, complete with an elasticated waist on the pants. There’s no way he misses the outline of my taut nipple through the fabric.
“Carmen.”
Emboldened, my hand plays with the top of my pants and the other tugs at the bottom of my tee, balling it up to expose a sliver of bare midriff, giving him a perfect view of the moment my fingers slip beneath the elasticated waist.
I can feel the flush of my cheeks as I get close enough to feel the wetness already pooling between my legs. A small whimper escapes my lips.
This is my first mistake.
Unable to look at his face, my gaze travels down to where his legs press against the bars. To where they perfectly frame the bulge of his crotch.
An insidious thought courses through me at a speed I’m unprepared for.
Suddenly, all I can think of is the image of me on my knees before those bars, begging for him to release himself into my mouth, taking him eagerly, desperately. Dante would be unable to touch me beyond the way his hands would tangle in my hair.
He’s bucking himself into my throat, whisperinglo prendi così bene.
My fingers rub enthusiastically at my clit, and Igroanas pleasure begins to jump along my veins. It’s never felt like this before.
“Look at me.”
In my haze, I obey and…well, shit.
Dante looks wrecked. His body is shaking so hard he might have collapsed if his hands weren’t wrapped around the bars. His eyes are like dark pools of pure, unfiltered desire as his tongue slips out to dampen his lip.
“Massage your chest.”
My body is puppeteered by his words. My free hand slips beneath my shirt and palms at my breast eagerly. I almost laugh at howgoodit feels when my fingers skim over my sensitive nipple. I feel almost dizzy with the attention on two different sensitive areas.
It’s enough for the dampness between my legs to coat my fingers. Curious, I lift them back out to examine the slickness.
My tongue slips out to taste it experimentally. It’s salty but not entirely unpleasant.
I suck in my fingers to the knuckle, lapping up the taste of myself with an odd sense of satisfaction.
“Fuck.”
When I look back up at Dante, fingers still in my mouth, his pupils are blown. He’s staring intently at my mouth.
I suck at my fingers again. This time, I don’t drop his gaze.
He springs away from the bars as if they’ve electrocuted him.
“Fuck no. No,” he croaks, hands tangling themselves in his hair as if to try and tug away the madness. “I’m sorry.”
My fingers fall out of my mouth. “I thought you wanted to watch?”
He swallows hard. “I can’t do this.”
The rejection stings harder than I thought it would. My confidence deflates like a balloon. He’d looked so eager. I was so sure of it in the moment. But maybe that was my own traitorous arousal clouding my judgment.
Worse, maybe Dante had more self-preservation than I had given him credit for. Maybe seducing him was entirely pointless.
“Your loss.” I try to disguise my disappointment by kicking up my legs and lying back on the bed, making sure he sees my hand disappear beneath my pants again before I throw the blanket over myself.
I can feel him watching me still, but I refuse to look at him. The arousal still courses through my body despite the rejection, so I try to focus on finding it again.
