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Their Wicked Cage

Page 102

by Lara Buckheit

I tug the tie loose. The fabric parts like water, revealing pale skin and a constellation of love bites. I drag a finger over them, tracing each one.

“Look at you, little witch,” I murmur. “All marked up by me.”

She bites her lip, gaze locked on my hand as I map her body.

“I’ll go easy on you tonight.”

She opens her mouth as if to argue, but I silence her with a kiss. Deep. Sensual. A battle of tongue and teeth until we’re both desperate for air. Then I kiss lower. Her breasts. Her ribs. Her hips. Lower still.

My hands grip her thighs, spreading her wide open until her cunt is on full display.

She’s glistening. Swollen.

And I haven’t even touched her yet.

I can’t help myself. I lean in and lick her. A single unhurried sweep, a teasing taste, straight up her center. She curses, calls me something filthy. So I do it again. And again. And again. She hooks her legs over my shoulders, burying my face in her as I feast. She’s moaning my name as if I’m a god, the sound lighting a fire beneath my skin. By the time I finally take the bundle of nerves into my mouth—sucking, gently nipping—she’s trembling. Arching. Bucking into my face.

So fucking wet. So fucking perfect.

I make myself pull away, take a breath.

“No,” she pleads. “Don’t stop.”

She’s splayed out on the bed, skin damp with sweat, eyes glazed.

“I wasn’t going to,” I say, voice low. “But then you got greedy.”

I reach down and stroke my cock. It’s jutting forward. Aching. Rock hard.

So fucking ready to ruin her.

“Do you know what happens when you get greedy?”

Her silver eyes burn with need. “Tell me.”

“How about I show you?”

I slap my cock against her cunt.

Her whimper is holier than any prayer I’ve heard.

I do it again, and she fists the sheets. Her grip is white-knuckled as I slide the tip through her slick center—up, down, over and over—teasing her entrance.

“Riven,” she gasps. “I can’t take any more teasing. I’m going to⁠—”

I slap her cunt one last time, and she breaks apart, body wracked with pleasure, gooseflesh rippling across her skin.

“Now,” I drawl, lining up with her core and nudging her entrance, “we’re even.”

She’s still shaking when I plunge into her, all the way to the hilt.

The sound she makes is part moan, part cry, and I echo it in kind.

“Black hell, Gwyn. You’re a dream come to life.”

“No, you,” she gasps, looking at the space between our bodies where my cock slams into her, thick and gleaming. “Yes. Gods. Just like that. Fuck⁠—”

Her inner muscles squeeze around me.