“So would you,” he says, then makes a light rumbling sound in his throat. “Though I admit hearing you beg makes my cock hard.”
I place my hand on my chest. “Me? I never beg.”
He chuckles. “Little liar,” he whispers. He’s so close, his breath warms my skin even through the mask. “Now open for me.”
My lips part, and he makes a disapproving humming sound.
“No, no, Kitten,” he breathes. “Open those thighs for me.”
Our gazes collide. My heart skips. I glance at the soldiers, but he grips my chin and forces me to look at him.
“Eyes on me,” Reaper says. His hand drops as his other tightens on the back of my neck. It slips between my legs, and he eases my thighs apart. My heart thumps erratically, and my pussy throbs. I keep my eyes locked with his as he brushes the tips of his fingers over me, caressing between my thighs through the fabric of my leggings. “If I slip my hand inside your panties, will I find you wet?”
I lick my lips, my breathing unsteady. My eyes move to the men’s backs, facing us. They are far enough away that they more than likely can’t hear us whispering, but they could turn around any second. Even though I’m hidden under the table, they would know.
Reaper makes another sound, so I focus back on his dark eyes. He’s so close, even in the dim kitchen I can make out the near-midnight color, the slight creases in the corners.
“What did I say?” he says as his fingers trail up from between my legs, to just under my belly button.
“There’s cameras,” I whisper.
“That only we have access to.” He squeezes my neck. “Now, what did I say?”
“Eyes on you,” I whisper.
One finger, then another, slips under the waistband of my pants and dips beneath my underwear. My breath catches as he moves lower.
“Keep eating.” He nods toward the tray.
With a shaky hand, I grab a grape.
“Open.”
I part my legs wider and open my mouth.
“Bite into it slowly.”
I do as instructed. My teeth cut into the flesh of the fruit as his finger brushes my clit.
“What do you taste?” he asks, his hungry gaze holding mine. That one finger brushes over me again, and I squirm as it dips, gathering wetness. “Tell me, Kitten.”
“Sweetness,” I breathe, my lashes fluttering as he moves in small, light circles. “And something a little tart.”
“That is what you taste like.” He slides a single finger into me. My breath heaves from my lungs. His gaze turns molten. “Sweet. Tart. Absolutely divine.”
Reaper adds a finger and drives them in hard. My eyes close and my head falls back, tilting my hips to meet his hand, starved for him. It’s only been a few days since he’s touched me, and I’m already desperate. That night in my room, he gave me so much, took so much of me when he left, that this hungry, yet soft touch from him feels like he’s giving it back.
His grip tightens on my neck as he drives his fingers in faster, rocking his large palm into my clit each time he drives in.
“Look at me,” he whispers, driving in harder. I turn my head to meet his gaze and grip the table with one hand, my otherflying out to grasp his thigh. “I want your eyes on me when you come.”
I rock into his touch, trying to get him deeper. My hand slides almost absentmindedly up his thigh. When I near his crotch, I hesitate, waiting for him to stop me, and when he doesn’t, I glide my hand over the huge bulge in his pants, my body loosening even more.
His eyes seem to lose focus for a second as I grip him, sliding my hand over his hardness, my arousal heightening at the realization he’s letting me. Reaper’s shoulders loosen, and he lets out a low, grating sound. A small whimper slips out of me seeing his reaction to my touch, and I bite my lip, trying to keep another from slipping out.
“Quiet. They’ll hear you. They’ll know my fingers are deep inside you,” he rasps, the idea that they could turn around at any moment bringing me higher. “No whimpering. Hush, Kitten. Don’t make a sound.”
My hips rock, legs widening, allowing him better access. His fingers hook, hitting that place that makes my toes curl and I let out a slightly strangled sound.
