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Why was she letting him do this? Manipulate her like this? No one else would ever get away with manhandling her.
But it got her blood boiling. Her juices flowing.
The raw, apparent need in his eyes stoked the flames inside her.
It was a look that didn’t say, “I’m done with you.” Oh no. It said, “I’m nowhere near done with you.”
Heat bloomed from her center and her muscles quivered. She didn’t want him to think she was afraid of him. Because she was anything but. However, she was afraid if she said anything, even to encourage him, he’d stop.
The truth was, she was nowhere near done with him, either.
Not even close.
Releasing her neck, he ripped her tank over her head, tossing it aside. His eyes took in her now bare breasts, the puckered nipples, the pointed tips, and they seemed to swell under his scrutiny.
Just him looking at her caused another trickle to slide from her clenching pussy.
A sigh slipped from her when he jerked forward, grabbing both breasts, not cupping them gently, but gripping them forcefully within his hands and squeezing, kneading, capturing the very tips between his thumb and forefinger and tugging.
Another trickle, another unrestrained groan.
Her hands gripped his head, the short hairs on the sides prickling her palms as he dropped his face, sucked one nipple deep enough within his mouth to scrape the throbbing tip against his molars.
A noise rolled up and surged from her throat as she slammed her head back and her short fingernails dug into his scalp.
A wet pop occurred as he moved to the other nipple, doing the same. Scraping, sucking, flicking. He squeezed them so hard the flesh turned white under his fingers and flushed everywhere else.
But it didn’t hurt... Hell no, she wouldn’t demand he stop, instead she’d beg him for more. She didn’t bother to use words, but the pressure of her hands, holding him there. Hoping he’d pick up on her unspoken need.
He muttered against her damp flesh, “Eve’s apple.”
She breathed, “What?” Had he read her mind earlier?
His answer was taking that first bite. The one that couldn’t be undone.
That ultimate sin. The mistake that changed everything.
His teeth sunk into her swollen, aching flesh, drawing a cry from her that turned into a long, drawn-out moan.
He was marking her. With his teeth. The sting both painful and delicious.
The bruise that would develop would remind her for days to come of this night. This moment.
Of allowing something she shouldn’t.
She didn’t care.
She didn’t care.
She. Didn’t. Care.
Her eyes rolled back and she forced his head to the as-yet unmarked breast. “Again,” came out on a groan.
The sharpness of his teeth almost breaking her skin made her breath rush from her and her knees wobble. A wave of heat raced downward from his bite and pooled in her pussy, another warm trickle slipping from her. The bead of desire rolling down her inner thigh, past the cotton.
She no longer cared if he saw it. Or smelled how she burned for him.
Or if he discovered how her body had instinctively opened for him. Invited him inside.
A traitor opening the door to an enemy. Allowing an insurgent access to wreak havoc.
He pulled his head free from her hands, but continued to stare at her breasts. His rough fingertips skimmed over one bite, then the other.
“Fuck yeah,” he whispered roughly.
He didn’t look up, didn’t look at her, instead flipped her around so she faced the mirror. That was when he finally met her gaze.
His eyes were dark, filled with turmoil. But what they also held sent another drip of arousal down her inner thigh.
“I smell you,” he growled softly. “Fuckin’ smell how much you want my dick in your cunt. You want that, don’t you?”
She couldn’t push the yes from her throat, so instead she gave him a look in the mirror that said it all.
His eyes narrowed and the corners of his lips curled just barely. Not a smile, but the slightest smirk.
He knew he was in control, that at this moment, she’d allow him to do anything to her.
Anything.
And nothing he could do—not even his worst—would scare her. Nothing would make her demand he stop.
Not a fucking thing.
The second she lifted her chin and gave him that silent challenge, he moved like lightning.
With a hand to the back of her neck, he shoved her down, bending her over at the hips, then he grabbed her wrists and planted both of her palms on the mirror.
She tipped her head down, not watching it unfold, but instead listening.
His ragged breath, the rush of air, the swish of the boxers being dragged down her legs until they pooled around her feet.
He dragged his fingers back up her bare inner thighs, gathering the beads of wetness, then she heard him suck her arousal from his fingers.
Her own breath shuddered, her heart pounded, her blood rushed.
