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But then she melts like that chocolate cake.
Her lips soften and part. Her tongue releases and explores mine. Her taste floods my mouth—Chapstick, red wine, something lemony and delicious—and another whimper escapes her throat.
And she kisses me back.
I hold her there, fist in her hair, my tongue exploring her mouth, her tongue exploring mine in return, and I let myself release into the frenzy of wanting her. This is what I’ve been craving and this is what I can offer her. The perfect little princess, the squeaky-clean little angel, she’s kissing a mafia Don in the bathroom of a fancy restaurant, and she’s moaning into his mouth.
Fuck, if that isn’t heaven with a touch of hell, nothing is.
My other hand moves down her dress, down her arm. I feel her fingers gripping the edge of the sink. I continue down to her thighs, to the hem of her dress. She lets out a soft gasp, a little moan, and another one of those delectable whimpers as I pull the hem up and spread her legs.
“Tell me to stop,” I dare her, thrumming with the buzzing excitement of something dirty, something filthy, something right on the edge of being wrong.
“Carmine,” she says and her look is both loathing and pure lust. “This isn’t going to change my mind. This is only going to make me hate you even more.”
“Good,” I say and slip her panties aside.
She’s dripping fucking wet.
Soaking, goddamnsopping, her panties ruined, and the moan she makes as my fingers spread her lips and trace lines along her seam up to her swollen little clit is so wrong, so erotic, so incredibly perfect it makes me want to shove the ring down her throat here and now and claim her as my own forever.
Instead, I rub my thumb against her little bud and slide my fingers deep inside her gorgeous, tight pussy, and listen to her purr.
Her hips tell me everything I need to know. She grinds herself against my palm, panting as I kiss her. She’s honey, she’s sugar. I kiss her harder, fist in her hair pulling tight, hand between her legs working her pussy as she drips down my palm and moans against my tongue. “Filthy girl,” I whisper as she gasps and I fuck her faster. “You are a filthy fucking girl letting me touch your pussy like this on our very first date.”
Her cheeks are flushed red and her eyes are liquid desire. “Don’t stop,” she commands.
And I don’t.
I keep going, matching her rhythm. “You’re learning something about yourself tonight, filthy girl. You’re learning about all the dirty needs you have boiling along below your skin. You’re learning how fucking good it feels to be wrong.”
“Carmine,” she gasps, and I pull her hair as my lips suck at her neck. I sink my teeth into her collarbone gently, tempted to bite down hard enough to leave my mark, but I know she’ll only whine about it later. She’s not ready to be bruised and battered by me, not yet. But she will be.
“Your whole life has been so sheltered and safe and clean, and now I’m here to drag you deep into the filth. I need you with me, dirty girl, you dirtyfuckinggirl. I need your moans and your taste. I need you to be my fucking wife.”
She leans her forehead against mine, moving her hips faster and faster, her pussy dripping down along her inner thighs, and finally I feel her clench, I feel the tension peak and begin to rip into her as she comes. I kiss her, keeping her moans low, gagging her with my tongue as I keep going and going until she goes limp against me, breathing deep.
When she’s finished, I slide my fingers back out. I pull her head back gently, and I make her watch me lick my ring finger clean. Her eyes widen in surprise, and I can’t tell if she’s aroused or disgusted, but she’s probably both, and I place the tip of my middle finger on her lower lip.
“Your turn,” I say. “Suck it clean.”
She whimpers quietly, shivering, and I tighten my grip in her hair.
“Clean your pussy from my finger, filthy girl,” I whisper, staring into her eyes.
And slowly, she does it.
I think my heart might go out. It’s racing so fast I’m dizzy. Her tongue is heaven as she laps my finger, sucking like it’s my cock. When she’s done, she pulls back, breathing hard.
I lean forward and kiss her gently. “That’s a good girl,” I whisper and let her go.
She adjusts her panties and pulls her dress back down. I stare at her kiss-bitten lips, swollen pink and lovely, at her flushed pale skin, at the hairs finally straying from her perfect bun. She’s imperfect and that only makes her so much more beautiful. Perfect is sterile, it’s clean, it’s boring, but this?
This post-orgasm girl? Sitting in a bathroom with a man she barely knows? A man she fuckingloathes? Probably wondering to herself why the hell she let me do that and, even worse, why the hell it felt so damn good.
And why she wants it again.
But instead, she turns her back to me. I’m tempted to rip that dress up and fuck her raw here and now. The animal part of me wants it badly, wants to feel her tight virgin pussy quivering and pulsing around my raw and brutal cock.
