I circle the tip of my tongue around her clit, teasing her just the way she likes it, right before I suck.
Isla moans and some depraved part of me doesn’t think she’s loud enough.
How fucked up do I have to be to want every man in our vicinity to hear my girl and know without one shred of doubt she is mine.
‘Liam, I’m gunna…’
Her thighs begin to shudder and her fist finds my hair as she cums, soaking my chin with her pleasure.
‘Ride it out, baby.’
Isla mewls in response, her clit pulsing in the aftermath of her pleasure.
God, what a beautiful sight.
‘Mmm,’ I growl against her centre. ‘That’s a good girl.’
I look up, wanting to take in all of her beauty, and what I find blazing behind her eyes is nothing short of feral. My girl looks like she is about to pounce and the thought sends a thrill racing through me.
‘Fuck me,’ she pants biting her bottom lip.
‘I thought you’d never ask.’
She slides down the wall and I catch her, pinning her against the surface. My hand comes to cradle her cheek and I notice the splotches of blood staining my knuckles from my kills earlier today.
Would she mind if she saw it?
Isla notices my moment's hesitation and brings my knuckles up to inspect them. But it’s not fear or disgust I find looking back at me when she finally meets my gaze. It’s excitement.
‘How many?’
Her voice is husky as she brings my knuckles to her lips, not touching them but close enough to send blood rushing straight to my already painfully hard cock.
‘Two.’
Isla tuts, dropping my hand. ‘I would have thought you capable of more than that.’
Her teasing grin tells me all I need to know but I’m not in the mood to let her get away with being a little bratty.
‘You’re going to regret saying that, baby.’
‘Make me.’
Chapter twenty-seven
Isla
I’m all sorts of fucked up, that’s not a new revelation, but it’s something that becomes more and more obvious the longer I spend with this man.
Liam brings out a side of me I’ve spent my entire life trying to bury and I can’t say I hate it.
My mind was swirling before he found me, but I can’t seem to find it in me to remember what it was about.
Instead, all I can focus on is the feel of his rock-hard erection grinding into my bare pussy. The hard fabric of his jeans against my tender flesh is the sweetest sort of torture a girl could only wish for.
It’s beyond me how he knows — every single time — what I need. What sort of pleasure I’m craving.
Hell, I didn’t even know I got off on the idea of not knowing exactly who is fucking me until I met him.
