“No one’s going to believe us.”
“Sure they will. You’re panting for me.”
“And you’re full of yourself.”
“I know what I bring to the table.”
“And what’s my worth to you?”
He gives me a darkly wicked look as his fingers brush against my bare, wet flesh again. I gasp, eyes fluttering shut as he parts my flesh, dipping into me, fingers curling as he does so.
I shudder and shake, and when he touches my clit, I almost scream from the contact.
“You need to earn your worth with me, and you’re starting from way down there, near the bottom.”
“As are you.”
His fingers move in me, plunging deep then curling as they slide back out. The pressure in my clit is throbbing hard, like it needs something. It needs him. His heat.
And as he keeps up the strokes inside me, my pussy clenching around him, I want more.
It doesn’t matter how I feel. Sex is sex, and this isn’t even that. Just stolen pleasure. Something that needs to be finished so I can forget him.
“You say all these words, Molly, spitting fire at me, but your body whispers sweet, filthy nothings to me. You’re sucking at my fingers, little ripples that invite me in. And I realize, in everything we ever did, I never did this.”
“What?” The word’s ragged as it comes out. Is he going to try to fuck me on the chair?
We’ve fooled around, he’s sucked my breasts, felt me up, fingered me to orgasm after orgasm, slipped a finger in my ass as he’s gotten me off. And in the bathroom on myknees, I took him in my mouth, gave him a blowjob. He came, and I loved it. I’m sure I wasn’t good, but he wanted more, because the next time I tried, he barely resisted. I never did. I wanted to have sex with him. I wanted…I wanted to hear every word he whispered to me. All those sweet promises of soon when it came to sex.
The slick, lying bastard told me he’d take me somewhere for our first time, that he wasn’t taking me in a club or a car. Even though I begged, he said he wanted it to be special. And I…
I believed him.
But he never even went down on me. Topher did that. I liked it because it was nice, but?—
Oh. My. God.
Rivulets of desire burst into a deluge as his tongue touches my inner thigh and he licks up, along my outer lips.
“S-stop.”
He does and my heart turns. If I could hit him, I would. But my hands, like my feet are tied.
And I’d be lying if I pretended not being able to move made this terrible. It makes it hot. Filthy. Something I think I need.
Just like when he’d touch me in public, on the dance floor, all that made me burn hot.
“Is that ‘stop’ as in ‘stop?’ Or ‘stop’ as in I want it?”
I keep my mouth shut, and close my eyes, sliding forward as much as I can, on offer to him. What I don’t want to do is say it. But he doesn’t touch me.
“Molly,” he murmurs.
I open my eyes. “Fuck you.”
“Now?”
“I hate you, Declan.”
