“I’m fine.” I breathe out, careful not to give in to the primal urge coiling deep inside, begging me to let go and frantically kiss the crap out of him.
His ego’s big enough as is.
“Until Christmas, this pussy is mine. Understood?” he says, slowly peeling off my underwear. His fingers graze along the top of my thigh, leaving a crackling fire in their wake along my skin.
I nod, burying my lips behind the whites of my teeth. “Yes, sir.”
“Good girl.” His palm slides along my curves toward my breast. With every inch, I surrender more to him, desperate for his touch to set me ablaze. It’s dangerous, sure, but playing with fire is getting to be an addiction I don’t want to break.
He strokes my nipple with the pad of his finger, and my back arches at the sensation. A breathy cry crashes over my lips.
“That sound is mine.” His tongue lashes against the sensitive peak of my breast. “You, Madeline Finch, are mine. Is that clear?”
“I’d agree for a price,” I say between heaving breaths.
“Name it, anything,” he says in a hushed whisper. With gentle reverence, he takes my breast and strokes my sensitive peak in a slow, deliberate manner. “God, you’re beautiful, you know that?.”
“I thought I was cute.” I snort.
“Darling, you’re everything.”
His fingers explore my curves as he whispers exaltations into my skin as if this bedroom is a place of worship and my body is the altar. As if he’s found a non-verbal way to tell me I might be worth something like this, after all.
Like none of this is a hassle to him, but rather the most important thing he’s ever done.
That this time spent with me is worth everything.
“Seth, I want you to make me beg again.”
He pauses his worshipping, picking his head up and studying me. “I couldn’t have heard you right. I’m sorry. What do you want?”
“Seth Aarons, demolish me.”
Okay. I know, I know. I’m all for advancing women’s rights, and I promise I’m not turning the clock back fifty years with this request. But here’s the thing, after the past few weeks, I can safely say I’ve never been in love, and I’m obsessed with the feeling.
Toe-curling. Butterflies. An incomparable warmth.
It’s intoxicating, and unfortunately, when Seth has me begging, I have the strongest orgasms of my life. So who’s to judge what gets me off in the bedroom? I’ll be the tough, badass woman on the streets and thoroughly wrecked in the sheets. Is that so bad?
“I can do that, baby.” He smiles. “If you’re sure, I won’t take it easy on you just because you asked nicely.” He reaches for the oil resting on the top of my nightstand. I wasn’t subtle when I started kissing him about where I intended this whole thing to go.
“I’d respect you less if you did.”
Warmth gathers between my thighs in anticipation as Seth squeezes some CBD oil onto his fingers. Light streams through the cracks of the blinds, catching his shirtless torso at all angles.
I don’t know if there’s an unflattering angle for this man, but this isn’t one of them. I reach out, tracing the swirls of his tattoo, I’ve grown inexplicably attached to the black ink on his chest, and right arm like it’s a part of him, so I naturally have to love it, but it’ll be gone in a week.
His lips twitch with a satisfied smile at the brush of my fingers. “Fuck, you feel good,” he whispers.
“I wish you could feel what it’s like when you touch me down there.”
“Trust me. I have some idea.” He winks. With an incredible gentleness, Seth slides his oiled finger into my entrance, swirling around and dragging my wetness up and over my clit. “Always so ready for me.”
He continues with his slow, gentle strokes, and I close my eyes, savoring his fingers. “Thank you for taking your time with me,” I whisper.
“Baby, you don’t have to thank me for anything.” He brushes my hair out of my face and traces my jaw with his thumb. A tender gaze blazes over my skin. “But if you want to thank me after I’m done blowing your mind, that’s fine.”
“So cocky,” I click my tongue.
