Page 88 of Outcast’s Vow

From across the penthouse, Baptiste thunders toward me with sharp and dangerous intent, and my body betrays me instantly with his words...

Stay still, wife. Open your legs. I want to show you how thankful I am.

It’s sinful how good he looks in that leather jacket... a fantasy walking out of my deepest dreams with that tousled hair and eyes burning with unforgiving lust for me. Straight off his motorcycle, a demon who has ridden through from hell to scold me, but who found himself desperate to show his gratitude.

I thought he was going to punish me. I was ready for him to scowl. To snap. To berate me for going behind his back to help him. Any arrogant, proud man would.

But instead, he looks at me like he wants to worship me.

My throat tightens as Baptiste reaches me. He bends down in front of me and grips my inner thighs with his big hands. Firm and sure. He guides me open. His gaze lifts to mine.

“You deserve this,” he says, low. “You deserve this reward.”

And then he proves it.

A small moan slips out of me as his teeth bite at my panties, stretching them away from my pussy mercilessly. His stubble grazes my skin. I don’t stand a chance. I lift my hips for him. He must be tasting how wet I am now.

I close my eyes and sit back in my chair as my husband teases my most sensitive area with the tip of his tongue. My chair creaks under my shifting weight. My hand ruffles through his sweaty hair, needing to hang on for dear life.

“This... is... certainly you doing something for me...”

His growl is muffled by my flesh. It’s a deep sound. A very deep one.

If this is him compensating me, then I’ll move the world for him every day.

Baptiste takes his time, and it’s so delectably infuriating, taking control of my pleasure. Twisting how he coaxes me. How he effortlessly toys with my pussy and my mind as his lips, fingers, and tongue disarmingly caress my skin up from my thighs and around my flower.

“You’re delicious,” he moans into me. “Every part of you. Your taste. The sounds you make. Your heat.”

I lean back and I let myself fall into his praise.

“Oh, Baptiste...”

I can’t deny it now. I like what he can do for me. And I like what I’ve been able to do for him, both in and out of the bedroom. I moan again and look down at my man. He can no longer speak. His mouth is very preoccupied right now.

Men only take. That’s all I believed. But this?

This is a man giving.

And he keeps giving until I can do nothing else but moan his name over and over and over.

* * *

On Baptiste’s penthouse balcony, we sip incredible coffee and watch the world pass by. We can see over SoHo and downtown in the distance, exactly in the middle of New York’s beating heart here.

“How are you feeling?” I ask my man, reaching out a hand to stroke his own.

Baptiste raises his coffee mug to his lips.

“How do you think I’m feeling?” he questions me cheekily.

“Oh, I could give a guess.”

“And you’d be correct, Highness.”

“So... why are you in the Castaways?” I ask. It comes blurting out of me, uncharacteristically so. I’m usually thoughtful with the words I say.

I bite my inside cheek in embarrassment.