Sfumato:a technique in painting or drawing where the use of fine shading creates delicate, imperceptible transitions between colors and tones.
"Don't you ever want,"he started, his breath whispering over my ear, "to do something bad, little sparrow?"
I was nodding, purring in response before I could think better of it. And why did I have to think better of it? I did not.
"How do good girls feel about getting their fuck in the back of a Jeep?"
Again, I didn't think. Couldn't think. "I'd enjoy that now, please."
His index finger edged under my panties, between my folds. He thrummed my clit hard enough to cross my eyes and buckle my knees. I reached for him, anchoring myself with my fist tight around his belt. "What then?" he asked, his words rough, strained. "You ride this dick a time or two"—he pinched my clit between his thick fingers and I choked back a sobbing scream—"and then you're done?"
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves. I've only agreed to riding your dick once. I'll see how that goes before planning an encore."
His teeth pressed into my shoulder, just shy of biting the skin through my dress. He growled out a sigh, saying, "I'm parked around the corner, Neera. Let's go."
Gus took a step to the side, one arm locked around my waist with my dress in hand, the other working my clit. "Have you forgotten we're in a rather indelicate position?"
His fingers stroked my seam just enough to fray the last of my nerves. I was throbbing, bursting,dyingwith need.
"Haven't forgotten."
A small laugh tumbled past my lips. "If I'm to exit this establishment with you, I must ask that you release me."
"Is that the proper thing to do? Or is that what you want?" Before I could reply, Gus continued, "Because I think you want me to strip you down, spread you out on one of those long tables back in the restaurant, and fuck you until everyone—everyone—knows you're not even close to a good girl."
Without conscious thought, my body tightened against his words. "Yes."
Gus tugged my hand away from my center, sucked my fingers into his mouth. Before I could react to the sensation of his tongue against the pads of my fingers, he delivered a sharp slap—then a second, a third—to my pussy. The startled gasp I heard must've belonged to me but I couldn't process any thoughts beyond the need vibrating through my body. The clench in my core was real, spine-bending pain and I knew I'd do anything, anything at all to soothe it.
"Come now, little sparrow." Gus straightened my dress and ran his hands down my sides, raking his fingers over my nipples as he went. "You might be delirious from the idea of an audience but I'm not ready to share that much of you with that many people. Not yet."
Whether the walk to Gus's car was long or short, I couldn't say. I wasn't sure where I'd left the jar of saffron. The only sound between us was the slap of my flats against the sidewalk and the hum of the city around us. The summer sun was still high in the sky but I couldn't say whether the air was hot, cold, or wet because I was melting from the inside out. All I knew was the aching desire to be filled by him…and to be seen. I didn't want to examine that urge closely, didn't want to uncover its true meaning. But I wanted to feel filthy and depraved and—and gorgeously used.
By him. The man who irritated the hell out of me with his arrogance. The man who invented the art of condescending to me by saying little more than my name.Thisman. He was the one I entrusted with a desire so fresh and raw that I didn't know whether it'd lived dormant in me all this time or it was a product of his presence.
"This is what you want?" Gus stopped on the sidewalk, opened the black Jeep's back door, crowded me against it. His lips mapped my neck, jaw, cheeks, mouth. The hard line of his arousal bumped against my belly.
A breath caught in my throat and my entire body wavered as an emphaticYespulsed through my veins. But I steadied myself and hit him with a chilly stare. "Are your eyes bigger than your cock, Mr. Guillmand?"
"You get those panties off or I'll rip them off," he answered, his thumb and forefinger busy twisting my pierced nipple through my dress. "I will rip them right off you, sparrow."
I slipped out of his hold and into the Jeep, intentionally forcing my skirt up my thighs as I scooted over the bench until the lacy purple peeked out. "Yes, it does seem like you'll need to do that."
Gus glanced down the street, rocked back on his heels, and rubbed a hand over his brow as he murmured, "Fuuuuuck."
Then he lunged for me, his hands fisting around the delicate fabric and pulling it taut between my folds. The band cut into my hips, certain to leave marks, but I couldn't care about anything beyond the unchained gleam in his eyes. That was forme.
With nothing more than my panties as leverage, he dragged my body closer to the open door. Still rooted on the street, he bent over me and traced his nose along the waist of my panties. He whispered to my skin in a language I didn't understand and shredded the lace in one brutal tear.
When the cool evening air met my swollen skin, a shiver twisted through my body. "Gus." It came out as a pant, as a plea, and he required no further direction. His mouth covered my mound, sucking and licking until I was there, I wasright there.
Until he stopped.
"No." His gaze skated up my body as my breath came in ragged, heaving pants. "No. Not yet."
I glared at him. "You are so fucking smug."
He straightened, tucked a thumb in his pocket, brought his knee to the seat. "I love the wayfuckingsounds on your lips." He climbed inside the vehicle, slammed the door behind him. "Will you say it again? Will you say it while you're on my dick?"
