Page 50 of Cozen

The pout was quickly erased when Sargon came close enough to grab her face, and yank her toward him. His fingertips dug into the sensitive skin of her jaw as he brought her close enough for his warm breath to wash over her lips. She had found earlier that his mouth tasted like whiskey, and mint.

Quite a combo.

Two of her favorite things.

Sargon’s gaze pinned her in place, and she let out a shuddering breath. “I don’t ever give more than I want to—I always make the rules, and control how they are executed.”

Cozen blinked. “I see.”

He had told her something, after all.

In more ways than one.

“Do you understand?” he asked.

“Well enough.”

“Do you have a problem with that—do you have a problem with me controlling how I use you, fuck you, or otherwise?”

“I have a problem with ropes, but not much else.”

Sargon’s eyes flashed with something unknown as his gaze dropped to her lips for a brief second. “Why ropes?”

“I simply prefer something less bulky.”

He let out a strangled sound that came off like both a groan, and a growl. “Jesus Christ, woman.”

Cozen let out a breathy laugh, but Sargon quickly quieted her by slamming his mouth down on hers. He was all teeth and lips and tongue when he kissed her, then. A war started between them with that kiss, one that she was sure she could not win. She didn’t mind surrendering to the way his tongue struck against hers, and wore what was left of her control down.

The spots where his fingertips dug into her skin sung with a sting that she was sure would linger for days. She didn’t mind a bruise or two; she knew how to cover them.

Sargon bit her bottom lip hard enough to make Cozen whine before he pulled away from her kiss. Like the first time, he took a step back. Far enough that there was a good foot or two of space between them where she could not reach out to touch or grab him. Certainly not to bring him closer.

He waved a finger at her. “Remove your clothes.”

The order—it didn’t even come off like a demand—washed over her senses with a devastating intent. She was the type of woman who always needed to be in some kind of control, and maybe that was why during sex, she liked to give it up.

Be wild.

Free.

Unrestricted.

“And then get on your knees,” Sargon added.

Cozen’s fingers hesitated on the zipper of the dress, and she glanced up at Sargon. The edges of his lips had curved in the most sinful smirk she had ever seen. The kind of grin that likely melted panties, and broke hearts.

She wondered if she would be immune.

“Backing out?” he asked.

“No.”

“Then hurry up, Cozen.”

She tugged the zipper on the side of the dress down, and then shimmied out of the piece until it fell to the floor. Just like that, it was forgotten. Sargon’s gaze traveled over the red and black lace bra and panty set she had on underneath. He lingered on the junction where her panties met her inner thighs.

“Waxed, bare, or trimmed?” he asked.