Not when every part of me is screaming to make her feel worshiped.
Wanted.
Chosen.
Loved.
She is. All of the above.
I can’t say it yet. Not that. But I can tell other truths. I can make her believe this is real.
So, I pull back just far enough to breathe, our foreheads pressed together, our chests rising and falling in sync.
“I want you,” I whisper. “Not because of some deal. Not because of your name or mine. I want you, Cecilia.”
She shudders, eyes wet and lips swollen from my kiss.
“Then take me,” she whispers.
She doesn’t have to ask twice.
“Move back. That’s it,” I instruct, moving so I’m lying flat on my back.
“Now, come here.”
“What?”
“I said come here, kardhoúla. Sit on my face so I can kiss you proper.”
Her pupils are blown wide and her mouth drops open.
She’s so fucking pretty. But if she doesn’t listen soon, I’m going to take the decision from her.
“Cece,” I warn.
And she blinks before she scrambles to obey, resting her plump ass on my chest as she looks at me expectantly.
I tug on the hem of her slip.
“Off. Now.”
She pulls the slip up but not off, and I’m so desperate to see her gorgeous dusky tipped breasts, the barbels glittering in the dark.
Christ, she is so beautiful. Sexy. Fine.
Tanned skin, so smooth and soft. Piercings shining like treasure. And her tattoos? Fucking divine.
Her sweet pussy is inches from where I want her, clothed in some sheer bit of fabric.
I’m not a patient man, and instead of asking, I take. I rip the elastic holding it in place, and I pull the fabric, watching as it glides across her sensitive flesh.
Her head falls back, and she moans.
So. Goddamn. Hot.
“So sexy, Cece. So goddamn tempting. Now, give me what’s mine,” I growl, no longer in control. “Sit on my face, Wife.”
She rises slightly, unsure.
