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“Do you still want to fight, sweetheart?” he murmurs in my ear, his voice dropping to a chilling range. “Or would you rather I make you scream?”
He rolls his hips and a thick, hard bulge settles against the crack of my arse.
I don’t know if he’s hard because we fought or at the promise that he’ll make me scream.
Or both.
He’s sick. Absolutely, utterly sick.
Apparently, I’m sick, too, because my core is slick with arousal.
“You’re an arsehole.”
His hot breaths tickle my earlobe as he bites down. “Don’t tempt me into fucking yours, sweetheart.”
I gasp then go rigid when his fingers spread my arse cheeks.
What… is he doing?
He presses a calloused thumb against my back hole. “Hmm, this looks virgin to me.”
“A-Aiden… stop.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t fuck you here… yet.” He pushes the tip of his thumb, and I stiffen. “But when it’s time, you’ll let me, won’t you?”
He can’t talk about fucking my arse when I don’t even know what it feels to have proper sex.
“Or would you rather I take it, too?” He runs his erection up and down my slick folds while teasing my other hole.
Holy…
Why does this feel so… good?
Not only his touch, but also his entire presence at my back. The way he touches me feels like he knew my body for decades.
Like he owned my body for decades.
There’s something about his absolute confidence that reduces me to a mere marionette in his hands.
“I’ll own every one of your holes… eventually.” His finger leaves my arse to slide down to my soaked folds. “But I’m starting here. I’ll fuck the memory of anyone else out of you.”
The onslaught of his words is like having his tongue licking me in that delirious, maddening pace.
He nibbles on my earlobe, sending tiny bolts of pleasure across my spine. “You’ll let me own every inch of you, won’t you, sweetheart?”
My nerve endings are so stimulated, I can’t breathe straight, let alone think or speak.
A deep moan is the only sound that escapes me.
“Fuck.” He flips me so my back hits the mattress.
His stormy eyes study my face intently as if some mystical language is written all over my features.
A language that he’s the only one to speak.
“Stop me,” he murmurs in a strained voice.
“S-stop you?”
