Page 32 of Twisted Tate

I shove two fingers inside her and suck her clit into my mouth.

She screams. Her pussy clamps down on my fingers and her thighs lock around my head, and she comes so hard her whole body convulses. I feel it everywhere—the way her fingers grip my hair, the way her clit pulses against my tongue.

I don’t stop. I keep licking, keep fucking her with my fingers, drawing out every tremor until she’s pushing at my shoulders.

“It’s too much.” She can barely speak. “I can’t—”

I pull back and look up at her. She’s flushed from chest to cheeks, panting, tears on her face, her body still twitching.

And I’m nowhere near done.

“That’s one.” I rise to my feet and crowd her against the wall, letting her feel how hard I am against her stomach. “How many more can you take?”

“I don’t know.”

“Let’s find out.”

I lift her, and she wraps her legs around my waist. The head of my cock slides through her wetness, nudging against her entrance.

“Look at me.” I grip her jaw. “I want you looking at me when I fuck you. From now on, when you close your eyes, my face is the one you’re going to see.”

Her gray eyes lock onto mine.

I thrust into her in one hard stroke, burying myself to the hilt.

She cries out, her nails digging into my shoulders hard enough to break skin. I hold still, feeling her tight heat squeeze around me.

“Fuck.” I press my forehead against hers. “You feel fucking incredible. Like this pussy was made for my cock.”

“Move.” She rocks her hips, clenching around me. “Please, Tate. I need you to move.”

“Tell me whose pussy this is first.”

Her eyes flash. “Yours.”

“Say it again. Say ‘this is your pussy, Tate.’”

“This is your pussy, Tate.” Her voice is wrecked. “It’s yours. Only yours. Now please fucking move.”

I pull out until just the tip is inside—then slam back in so hard she screams.

“That’s goddamn right.” I set a brutal pace, pounding into her against the shower wall. “This tight little pussy belongs to me. And I’m going to fuck away all the things you want to forget, baby girl.”

The bathroom fills with the sound of skin on skin from how hard I am fucking her, her moans bouncing off the marble. I grip her ass hard enough to bruise and fuck her like I’m trying to break us both.

“Do you feel that?” I grunt against her ear. “This is what it feels like when a man needs you so much he’s willing to fucking die for you.”

It’s true. That still may happen. I like to think that I’m good at what I do, but it comes with risks. And we have a lot of dangerous men to deal with. But I’m still the most dangerous of them all.

“Tate.” She’s crying, but she’s meeting every thrust, grinding against me, taking everything I give her. “I need you. Please don’t stop.”

“When you close your eyes—” I thrust deep. “Whose face do you see?”

“Yours.”

“When you feel hands on your body—” I pound into her as hard as I can. “Whose hands?”

“Yours. Only—”