Page 114 of Lethal in Pink

He doesn’t rush. Each strike is measured, deliberate, connecting with the same precise force, alternating sides, building a rhythm that has my thighs shaking and my breath coming in short, ragged pulls. By the fifth strike, I’ve stopped pretending I’m not entirely undone by it. By the eighth, I’m making noises I would deny under oath, each impact sending a jolt of heat straight through my core—owning me, claiming me, turning me into something molten and desperate.

“Ten,” I gasp on the final stroke, my voice wrecked and trembling.

His palm rests against the sting, a flat and heavy warmth that soothes the sharp ache, and the sudden gentleness after the pain makes my breath catch, a deep, unsteady pull of air that feels like it comes from the bottom of my ribs.

He helps me up, turning me to face him, and his mouth finds mine with a hunger that matches the ache between my thighs. His hands are cupping my breasts over the lace, then thumbing my nipples to aching points, before sliding down to hook his thumbs into the sides of my panties and stripping them away until I’m completely bare, standing in the fairy light glow with the absolute certainty that I belong to him.

He strips his shirt off, pushes his jeans down just enough to free his hard, thick length, and guides me back onto the couch, dropping to his knees between my spread thighs.

His mouth finds my clit with devastating precision. His tongue circles slow and firm, and I arch off the couch with a choked cry. He works me with unhurried focus—building slowly, his tongue flat while two fingers curl inside me, finding the spot that makes my vision blur and my thighs clamp around his head.

He edges me.

Draws it out.

Brings me right to the brink and backs off, leaving me wet and trembling, only to return seconds later until I’m begging, my hands fisted in his hair, my hips rocking against his mouth.

“Please,” I gasp, when the third edge has me shaking. “Jae, please, I—”

He pulls back, looking up at me from between my thighs, his mouth glistening, his dark eyes holding mine with quiet, devastating attention.

“On your knees, jagiya,” he says, his voice low and rumbly. “I want to see how pretty your lips look wrapped around my cock.”

I don’t weigh my options.

I don’t calculate.

I just move, sliding onto the floor onto my knees on the hardwood, and take him into my mouth without a second thought.

He’s thick, stretching my lips, the taste of him salt-bitter and warm. His hand fists in my hair, not yanking, just holding, guiding my pace with firm pressure. I take him deep until my eyes water, then pull back, dragging my tongue along the underside before sinking down again.

He watches me the entire time, his free hand cupping my cheek, his eyes dark, focused, and entirely wrecked as he watches me take him, saliva dripping down my chin.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his accent thickening. “Look at you. So good for me. Taking my cock so pretty.”

I moan around him, and his grip tightens, his control fraying at the edges as he thrusts shallowly into my mouth.

He pulls me off before he comes, pulling me to my feet and turning me toward the couch.

“Face down. Ass up. Now.”

I bend over the cushions, and he positions himself behind me—the blunt head of his cock pressing against my entrance, wet from my mouth and my own arousal—before pushing in with one long, slow stroke that has me seeing stars.

He bottoms out, holding there for a beat that feels like forever, both of us breathing hard, his hands gripping my hips with enough pressure to leave marks.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmurs against my neck.

“It's—it’s perfect,” I gasp.

He moves, and the world narrows to the drag and fill of him, the thick stretch of each stroke pulling a sound from somewhere low in my chest. His thumb presses into the dimple above my hip, tilting me, and the new angle splits me open—each thrust landing with a deep, resonant impact that climbs my spine and dissolves behind my eyes. My fingers scrabble against the cushion. I stop thinking in sentences.

I come apart.

A violent, shuddering orgasm rips through me without warning, my inner walls clenching around him, a broken cry tearing from my throat.

He doesn’t stop. He drives into me through the aftershocks, his hand sliding around to find my clit, rubbing firm circles that have me coming again before the first wave has fully faded, sobbing into the cushion.

“Jae—fuck—Jae—”