Page 2 of Betrayal and Vows

I didn’t undress her.

I just shoved my hand up her dress like I owned her.

No panties.

Fuck.

She gasped when my fingers met her pussy — wet, swollen, so ready for me it nearly made me lose it.

“God, Anton?—”

I slammed my palm over her mouth.

“No,” I breathed into her ear. “No one hears you come but me.”

My fingers sank into her — two at once, deep and rough — and she clenched so tight I thought I might die from it.

Her hips rolled. Her nails raked down my chest.

She was panting behind my hand, moaning into it, soaking my fingers while I fucked her with nothing but my hand and a decade of repressed obsession.

I shouldn’t have been this hard. I shouldn’t have been this close.

But I was. Feral. Wild. Lost in the heat of her.

“Is this what you wanted?” I hissed. “Me breaking every fucking rule just to feel you again?”

She nodded desperately, mouth open under my palm, grinding down against my hand like she wanted me to ruin her forever.

“You’ve been walking around for years,” I growled, “looking at me like you knew I’d snap. Like you wanted it.”

She whispered, “I did.”

And then she shattered.

Her thighs trembled.

Her back arched.

And her pussy clenched around my fingers as she came hard — soaking my hand, her body shaking, her breath catching in her throat like a sob.

She moaned my name into my palm.

And I saw god.

Or the devil. I’m not sure which.

I held her there, fingers still inside her, forehead pressed to hers, breath ragged.

I should’ve kissed her.

I should’ve taken her upstairs.

I should’ve broken her open and made her mine for real.

But instead?—

I pulled my hand back.