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“No,” she breathed. “You’re mean. You’re a devil, Sebastian.”
“Yes, I am. And I’ve been in hell because of you.” He parted her legs farther and shoved his hard chest between her thighs, gazing down at her swollen sex with hot, heavy eyes. “You’re so horny I can smell you, Cleo—it makes me want to eat you.” Her cunt flooded with desire when he bent and grazed her curls with his lips. Then, ever so slowly, he flicked his tongue and licked her clit with a single deep stroke.
It was hell.
“Sebastian, please don’t…”
Don’t do this or don’t stop? she vaguely wondered. His touch felt so good yet at the same time, so very painful. She couldn’t think, couldn’t concentrate…could only feel. His swift, powerful tongue was now spearing inside her creamy pussy like a sword, killing her resistance with each thrust.
“Quit the chat and fuck her, Bas,” Jason called from behind. “Fuck those tits, man!”
“Yeah, we want to hear Cleo moan. Time to loosen up, Cleo sweetie,” Haley offered cheerily. “The time has come for you to come!”
Sebastian growled between her legs, not liking the intrusion of their voices, not a man who appreciated being told what to do. But his tongue remained, delving inside her and Cleo thought she’d die from the shame. She was ashamed that she was enjoying this, ashamed to admit that, yes, she’d always—always—wanted this man. Inside her. Fucking. Taking. Cursing. Biting.
She’d envied those women. Those loose women he always accessorized with, one on each arm, each exposing an ample share of cleavage and legs.
Cleo had been jealous but she’d swiftly smothered the feeling, telling herself repeatedly those women were whores, hussies and sluts. They had no brains and were valued solely for their bodies. Cleo frequently found herself thinking how she should pity those poor, lost creatures, and how she—Cleo Sonterra—was worth more than that, more than just a sexy body, for she had a beautiful soul. She was a giving person, intelligent and dedicated. She was worth more than those whores, more than those women who got to feel Sebastian’s hands on their naked bodies, more than those women who got to be held in a limp hypnosis in his sleek, muscled arms. Cleo wasn’t worthless because Sebastian didn’t want her, didn’t love her back. His lack of want didn’t make her worthless. It just made him mean and stupid.
Because Cleo had loved him more than anyone ever possibly could.
She didn’t love him anymore—she couldn’t. Not after he’d crushed her heart repeatedly and rendered it incapable of such an emotion.
She didn’t even like him.
He had no scruples. He was a beast who broke women’s hearts with no regard to their feelings. Lying, cheating, stealing—he did it all for the hell of it. His laugh was always cynical and he constantly cursed the world and everything in it. He was not a man she would ever introduce to her parents.
Yet she’d wanted him, still wanted him. And perhaps more than fear him, she feared her desire, for it was wild and untamed and dangerous. And it was always there. Always this longing, this wanting.
Him. Sebastian Russo. The meanest son of a bitch who ever lived.
Chapter Four
Sebastian groaned at the feel of her body, plush, pliant and shivering beneath him. This was all he’d wanted throughout his college years and every single minute of his life afterward, and though it might have been a rough way to go about it, hell—he was drunk, he was horny and he wanted her. Cleo.
Her sweet pink cunt tasted like heaven to his lips. The juices spilling from her vagina all but flowed into his mouth and her muscles tightened wantonly around his tongue as he buried it deep inside her.
Growling, he cupped her buttocks and lifted her hips higher to have better access to that sweet, tight pussy he’d so often ached to taste. She rewarded him with a soft little yelp. The sound reverberated in his insides like a penance, sending a jolt of red-hot lightning to his dick.
She no longer fought him. She was now as limp and pliant as a rag doll, and yet she was hot to the touch, sweaty with the heat of her desire. It had been useless for her to fight him anymore, just as it had been useless for him to fight this inexplicable madness of wanting her.
He’d thought four years would be enough to get her image out of his mind but instead he’d been tortured, nearly gone crazy over not being able to look at her, even if just to tease and torment her.
It bugged him—she bugged him. At every gathering during their college years she’d hardly looked at him, hardly recognized his presence, as if he were unworthy of her precious attentions. He’d sworn to himself he’d seduce her, only to realize she was immune to him, pushing his hand back when it strayed, jerking her eyes away when he looked at her with lust and thinking he was mocking her whenever he spoke one of his very rare, very sparse compliments.
All she’d done was ignore him. Brutally so. And like a brat wanting Mommy to look his way, he’d misbehaved, wanting her to turn, to look, even if just to wrinkle her perfect button nose at him. And yet not even to do that would she spare him a glance.
Even though he knew with painful certainty that she absolutely, irrefutably hated his guts, she still wanted him. By God, she did. He’d be damned if he’d misinterpreted the dewy-eyed look she’d been sending his way tonight. It was a look filled with lust and years and years of wanting. He recognized a goddamned look like that when he saw one. And by God, he’d fuck her. He’d fuck her whether she wanted him to or not. He was way past caring now. All he cared about was possessing, marking her as his own, and if wanting her like this made him the devil himself, so be it.
He heard sounds behind him—a man’s low growl, a woman’s soft whimpering—and he imagined his friends were already screwing their drunken brains out. He didn’t give a shit who was fucking who and how. All he gave a damn about was the little piece of ass he had in his hands and the cunt he was eating from, which was about the best-tasting pussy he’d had in his life. Her flavor was spicy, and it was hot and scorching on his tongue, making it tingle after a taste.
He lifted his face and looked into her eyes. Those eerie doe eyes were clouded with lust and her breasts heaved heavily with every breath she took. She had the biggest breasts he’d ever seen. Round and full, with small, perky nipples in such a soft shade of pink they almost blended with her skin. She’d been a fool to think she could hide those tits from him with those ridiculous loose dresses she wore. She’d all but made them look bigger, saucier…more enticing.
He ran his hands along her hips and up to cup that tiny little waist. Her skin was as soft as churned butter, and how that little waist could properly carry the weight of her breasts was beyond him. When his hands cupped those huge, melon-sized fruits he growled with delight. They filled his hands, overflowed his fingers, and her puckered nipples brushed against his palms, begging for attention.
He moved up to draw one perky crest into his mouth and sucked it full force, making her whimper. He sank his teeth into her skin and bit her fiercely while he sucked. He wanted to mark those breasts as his, and if he drew blood, so be it. She cried out, sinking her fingers into his hair, pulling him closer.
He didn’t need more encouragement than that.
