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He breaks the kiss suddenly, his eyes aflame.
He doesn’t look away from me as he pushes his chair back, his stare still cutting into mine when he lowers himself to his knees.
This isdefinitelynot the place.
Then again, neither was the cabaret, and that worked out pretty well…
I don’t even pretend to protest as he reaches out to grab my legs.
I don’t bicker when he pulls them apart.
Behind me, the monk never even slows. The rod continues its rhythmic tapping.
Lock doesn’t check if the monk is watching, obviously determined no matter what.
I’ll give him that much. When the man sets his mind to something, it’s probably gonna happen.
Unless I’m involved, of course.
Tonight being the obvious exception.
I feel his hands slide into my dress, pushing the fabric up my thighs and grabbing my thong in one fell swoop.
The flimsy material gives way in a single tug, tearing easily.
I grip the seat of my chair with both hands, willing myself to stay still no matter what.
I’m already dripping wet by the time his tongue finds me.
He starts out slow, seeming to savor the taste of me.
I groan, equal parts pleasure at his touch and frustration at my limited movement.
He answers with a moan of his own, wrapping his lips around my engorged clit and sucking gently.
My hands dig harder into the chair, knuckles turning white at the effort.
“Fuck, Sammi,” he groans, releasing me for the briefest moment. “You’re so fucking sexy.”
I release the chair with one hand, risking the movement to pull him back to me.
His tongue finds me with increased resolve, flicking steadily across my clit.
His hands are on my inner thighs, and he pushes at them, spreading me further open.
I let my hand stay on his head, twining my fingers deep into his sandy hair.
Each tap of the tattoo rod sends a small spark of pain racing through me. Each flick of Locks tongue sending pleasure up to meet it.
The two seem to meet in my core, mixing and building until I can’t tell one from the other.
I close my eyes, losing myself completely in the warring sensations.
When Lock’s fingers slip inside me, I gasp, pulling hard at his hair.
It’s all but torture, staying still when my every instinct screams at me to move. To thrust against him, drive his fingers deeper into my aching pussy.
Instead, I grip his hair even harder.
