Page 10 of Redline Communion

“Practice makes perfect.”

“Don’t stop playing with yourself, preacher boy.”

I don’t.

His fingers replace his tongue, slick and deliberate, working me open while I stroke myself above him. He stays unhurried even though everything else about this feels overdue enough to make patience offensive.

“I’m going to come.”

He doesn’t tease me about it.

That gets me more than teasing would have.

The orgasm catches hard enough that I lose the next few seconds completely. When I come back to myself, Rafe looks entirely too pleased with the state he’s put me in.

I wipe at the mess I got on him. He catches my wrist before I can pull away and cleans my fingers with his mouth just to watch my expression change.

Fuck him.

I hate that he knows exactly what he’s doing. I hate that some part of me has apparently been waiting for him to prove it.

He lets my hand go and pulls me closer. I kiss him, biting his lower lip hard enough to make him hiss because aggression is easier than admitting how much I’m enjoying myself.

Why do I want him this much?

Because he lets himself be exactly what he is?

Because he gets to want her without turning it into a rule first?

Maybe both.

“I know you’re not ready yet,” he says, the teasing finally gone from his voice. “Tell me what you want.”

There it is.

The part where I either say the thing or hide behind another rule.

“Ask for it, tiger.”

I swallow.

“Make it hurt.”

His expression changes immediately.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“If it gets too much, say pineapple and I stop. Immediately.”

I stare at him. “Pineapple?”

“Memorable.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“And?”