How can the devil incarnate be so sweet? I don’t know, but I don’t want it to stop.
When he lowers me to his lap to check the water temperature, I feel how hard he is.
“Wow. I thought you would need time to … to, um … recover.”
“For you?” He sets me on my feet and reaches up to pull my dress off my other shoulder. It falls and puddles at my feet. I wear his necklace and nothing else. I know the old me, the one who spent all her time grading papers and doing schoolwork, would try to hide. Would cringe. Would turn fifteen shades of red.
I don’t. I only turn maybe two shades of red, and I don’t try to hide from his gaze.
He looks me up and down slowly, his eyes lingering on my sex and then higher. When he licks his lips and runs his hands along my sides, I feel my knees go weak. “For you I think I could fuck through a slab of granite. That’s how hard you make me. I’d bend you over this tub until you screamed my name again.”
He drops a kiss on my stomach, making it tremble. Then he goes lower, kissing my mound and each of my thighs, worshipping me with his mouth as he moves up again, licking the valley between my breasts and nibbling at my throat before kissing my mouth, his tongue an avid explorer.
His calloused hands rove me, and I reach for the buttons on his shirt.
He takes my hands.
“I want to see you.” I glance down. “All of you.”
A satisfied smile twitches on his lips.
I roll my eyes as he steps back and grips the back of his shirt and pulls it over his head. The now-familiar scars on him catch my eye, but when his hands go to his pants, I can’t help but stare.
He unfastens them and lowers them, his cock springing free as he steps out of them and kicks them away. I already knew he was big, but this is verging on obscene. Long and thick, I wonder how it managed to fit all the way inside me. Why am I burning, already thinking about what it feels like and wanting more?
“Fuck, lass. You’re looking at it like you want me inside you again.” He steps to me and grips my hair, leaning me back. “And I want that too, but you’re sore.”
“I am.” I reach down and grab him.
His hips jerk. “Moira,” he warns. “You’re playing with fire.”
I stroke him slowly, amazed at the soft skin over the hardness beneath.
He groans and pulls my hair harder. “You’re not ready.”
“I thinkyou’renot ready.” I stroke him faster, traveling along the full length of him.
“Fuck.” His hips buck.
I feel my power, the sway I hold over this irresistible villain, and I say the one thing I think might make him lose control. “I wonder what it tastes like.”
His eyes roll. “Lass, I told you—”
“I’m playing with fire.” I drop to my knees, his hand still in my hair.
“Lass.” His voice is gravel.
When I lick the drop of come on his tip, he barks out a curse, and when I put it in my mouth, he grabs my hair with both hands.
He’s a little salty, and I think I can taste myself on him. Just being on my knees like this with his stormy eyes on me as I run my tongue along him—I feel powerful. I feel sexier than I ever have in my life. And I feel in control.
I start to work my head back and forth along him. With no clue if I’m doing this right, I grip his base and suck, hollowing out my cheeks as I bob my head on him.
“That’s it, lass. Ah fuck.” He pulls my head forward to his rhythm, and I suck and lick, doing whatever seems to drive him the craziest.
His hips piston, pushing forward again and again. “I need to see you, lass. Keep watching me.”
Warm water falls onto my calves from the overflowing tub, but neither of us care.
