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"I’m making a statement."
She looks at me with confusion in her eyes. "Only you can deliver praise and look like you don’t mean it."
"But I do."
"I know you do, but your face—" She shakes her head. "The expression on your face says you don’t care."
"Because I don’t?"That's it, buddy, keep telling yourself that.
Her lips tighten. "You’re an asshole."
"And I can’t stop thinking about your other virgin hole."
Her color deepens. "I didn’t come in here to be insulted." She pivots and flounces toward the door. I slip my phone out of my pocket and swipe my finger across the screen. There’s a clicking sound. When she reaches the door, she pushes at it, but it doesn’t open. She turns and frowns at me. "Open this door."
I yawn.
Her eyes flash silver blue lightning at me. "Edward, open the door," she says through gritted teeth.
"That’s not the name you used when I was inside you."
She swallows. "This is not funny, Ed."
"First, call me by the name only you do."
"You mean, douchewaffle?"
I almost allow myself a chuckle. Almost. My life is way more fucking entertaining when she’s around. I can watch her all day—which I do, whenever I get the chance, anyway—and not be bored. Every action of hers entrances me. Every word that comes out of her mouth enchants me. Her scent bewitches me. Her curves captivate me. Everything about her has held me in thrall since the day I first saw her. Since she came into my life, it’s turned into a patchwork of technicolor. I want to resist her, but my defenses are crumbling. It’s pissing me off, but the more I try to put distance between us, the more thoughts of her invade my mind. As for my body? Every part of me remembers how it felt to be buried inside her. My cock thickens, and my thigh muscles harden. I widen the space between my legs, then crook my finger at her. "Come 'ere."
29
Mira
His voice is hard with that mean edge that propels a zing of sensations up my spine. When I hesitate, he lowers his arms to his sides.
"Come. Here. Belle."
I set my jaw, “And if I don’t?”
“You know you want to,” his tone softens. “You know you want me.”
I don’t. I don’t.
“You do.” He states the fact without malice. The expression on his face is confident, but his gaze is tortured. It’s as if he senses the struggle going on inside me and recognizes it, and maybe that’s what makes me place one foot in front of the other. When I come to a stop in front of him, his eyes flash.
"Say my name," he demands.
The rasp in his voice makes my insides melt. My breath stutters. My scalp itches. He’s not touching me, but the way he rakes his gaze over my features, down the thrust of my breasts, to the space between my legs, he might as well be.
Then he sinks down to his knees, and I cry out. In seconds he’s shoved my skirt up around my hips, leaned in, and pushed his face between my legs. My knees buckle; my head spins. He inhales a deep breath, and every pore in my body seems to breathe fire.
"What are you doing?" I say breathlessly.
"Smelling my wife’s cunt," he snaps, "you have a problem with that?"
"N-noooooo!" The word is pulled from my mouth, for he’s clamped his teeth around my clit and tugged. Shockwaves bolt up my spine. My fingers tremble. My heart rams into my chest and I’m sure it’s going break out of my ribcage. He slides his big hands around my butt cheeks and fits me snugly over his mouth. Then he begins to lick me through the fabric of my panties. The combination of the smooth silk combined with the lapping sensation of his tongue is sheer torture. I dig my fingers into his hair and tug. "Edward, please Ed."
He makes a growling sound at the back of his throat, then slides his palm down the back of one thigh. He applies pressure and I raise my thigh. There’s a ripping sound and he throws my leg over his shoulder.
