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He jerked me to him, and since making out his expression was hard with the low light, I had to literally wait with anticipation as he felt me up.
As he tasted me.
His tongue flicked me through my underwear, and my thighs hugged his face. He forced them apart, the growl from his lips buzzing my pussy.
“What the fuck? Why do you taste like this?” He sounded drunk below me, and since I couldn’t see his face, I had no idea if this was a good reaction to the way I tasted or not. It might have been strategic, him taking away the light. He didn’t want to expose himself to me. It made him vulnerable.
And something told me the dark prince didn’t like being vulnerable.
He shredded my panties, ripped them clean off with his teeth, and his hands did the rest. Bracing my thighs, he drank from my center. My fingers gripped his hair as I called out, and he chuckled against my pussy. “I’d like to keep some of my hair, Sloane.”
“Fuck you.” God, we were so dysfunctional. I mean, who made love like this? We weren’t making love actually—at all. This was just sex between us.
Hot. Fucking. Sex.
Dorian knew how to eat pussy, nearly feral about it when he drove his tongue into my core and probed me deep. He hit me with piston-like pr
ecision, his hands digging into my ass cheeks.
“I told you. You wanted me to taste you.” He buried himself between my legs, his big arms sliding beneath them. Bracing them to his shoulders, he blew heat on my sex. “You’re a goddamn liar, Sloane.”
I was a liar. Everything he was doing to me felt so good.
“Don’t stop,” I called out, nearly there, but Dorian didn’t make anything easy. He left my sex, and my body sagged without his mouth.
He was such an asshole, arrogant, and I made out nothing but a dark smile on his lips when he wiped his mouth with his arm. He loomed largely over me, my sex still vibrating with need.
“Beg for me,” he said, guiding my mouth up, but he didn’t kiss me. His eyebrows narrowed. “You don’t get it until you tell me you want it.”
I had told him.
And he was playing games again.
He liked to win, and apparently, this went far beyond the football field.
I turned my face away, equally frustrated as I was annoyed. But then he played with me, his hand at my center. His fingers buried inside me, his hard body pinning me down.
“Sloane.”
I faced him, his eyes like ebony pools. They scanned mine with interest, analyzing like he was trying to figure me out. He did kiss me then, hot and hard, and I ached beneath his mouth.
“You can do worse to me,” he said, something he had said before. He turned me on my front, unstrapping my bra, but then, he crowded me.
His big hips drove into me from behind through his jeans. His growl touched the air when he tugged my hair back and bit my neck. He was going so slow, controlled, and I nearly came with him just grinding on top of me.
“Beg me,” he said again. Slowly breaking me down. He had broken me. I was fucking shattered. He laced our fingers, pinning them to the bed. “Tell me to fuck you.”
“Fuck me, please,” I cried, nearly in tears. The frustration claimed me, anger buckling me and making me want to knock him off me. I didn’t understand why he needed me to be like this, why he felt the need to control me and take whatever he wanted.
He stripped me raw, and upon turning me around, I saw him through clouded eyes. He was a beautiful monster, all darkness and little light.
I wondered how it had happened.
I wondered what had happened to him to make him feel the need to have such control. He seemed to enjoy taking what he needed, power and control meaning more than everything else.
He saw my eyes. Curling a finger, he flicked my hair away from them. He bowed his head then, kissing my eyelids. His mouth moved like he was speaking words over them.
Breathless.
