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I have the control.
“You would?” I ask, my voice so husky with need I hardly recognize it.
“Every day, and I’d thank you for it.”
I claw at his chest, gaining a satisfied hiss against my mouth. “Prove it.”
He smirks, the same one that sends a zing over my skin. It’s a beat before his hands fall to my hips in a bruising grip.
“That’s my fucking girl.”
His eyes grow dark, and the beast is unleashed. He yanks me forward, sliding my dress past my thighs so it pools around my waist.
My head falls back, a sting burning across my flesh as he rips my panties and discards the material.
Goodbye, lovely underwear.
We’re going to have to discuss his obsession with ripping my underwear. I’ll have none left.
All thoughts drift away as his lips sooth over the burn.
And just like he said he would, he kneels between my legs, hiking my foot on his shoulder.
A devilish smirk pulls on his mouth as he takes one final glance my way.
I’m glad I’m sitting because everything in me has turned to jelly, and it takes all my power to stay upright.
I don’t remember my dress feeling so clingy when I put it on.
Christ, he hasn’t even touched me yet.
The heaviness in my pelvis is too much and on instinct, I try to shut my legs, but his hand clamps down on my knee.
“Be a good girl and spread those pretty thighs for me.”
I nod and do as he says, desperate for more friction to release the tension building in my body.
Everything in me goes lax.
With the first sweep of his tongue on my clit, I almost come undone. A loud moan escapes, echoing against the walls but all I can focus on is his eyes and the expert tongue against my core.
The heels of my feet dig into his shoulders, and his groan vibrates against my already sensitive flesh.
He inserts two fingers, fucking me as his tongue delivers the most delicious punishment, and I shamelessly grind against his face. His fingers curl, beating gentle rhythms against the exact spot that makes my back bow. He works me with expertise, knowing my body like he’s spent a lifetime studying it.
A firm grip of his other hand on my hip keeps me pinned to the counter.
“Logan,” I moan, feeling heat deep in my stomach.
“I can’t hear you. You’re going to need to scream my name.”
He rolls his tongue in circles. My eyes flutter closed as my legs begin to quiver.
“Logan,” I cry, hardly hearing it as my heart thrums all over my body.
“Louder, baby,” he insists on a growl, yanking me even closer.
The print of his fingers will be on my body by morning, and fuck, I hope they are. For once, I want to see bruises on my body and quiver in all the best ways.
