I drop to my knees. I dip my head, my mouth brushing over the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. “Time to see if you taste better than the soup.”
I don’t give her a chance to protest. My fingers press into her thighs, spreading her open as I drag my tongue through her warm center. The sharp gasp that leaves her is like music, her body jerking, but I hold her down. She’s drenched already, her body betraying her even as she tries to hold onto that stubborn defiance.
Violet props herself up on her elbows, glaring at me like she wants to cuss me out. But her lips part instead, breath hitching as I swirl my tongue over her clit. Her fingers tremble before she clenches them into fists, refusing to give me the satisfaction of grabbing my hair like I know she wants to.
“You taste so sweet for me,” I murmur against her, letting my breath tease over her swollen, and sensitive flesh.
She huffs a shaky breath, trying to steady herself. “You—” The rest of whatever comeback she had, dies in her throat when I suck her clit between my lips, slow and deliberate. Her hips jolt, but my grip is firm, pinning her down while I devour her.
She’s wet, dripping onto the table as I push my tongue inside her, and taste every desperate pulse of her arousal. My cock strains against my pants, but I don’t care about that right now. Right now, this is about her breaking. About proving that no matter how sharp her tongue is, her body will always be mine.
“F—fuck,” she stammers, the word barely a whisper.
I hum in approval, the vibration making her legs tremble. She’s fighting it, fighting me, but I know the moment she loses. Her back arches, her thighs tightening around my head as she gasps my name. I lap up every drop of her, savoring her like the finest meal, and when she finally collapses against the table, panting and spent, I pull back.
Slowly, deliberately, I straighten, licking my lips before reaching for my spoon again.
I take another bite of the soup, eyes locked on her bare, wrecked body, while her thighs still quiver as she struggles to recover.
Then I smirk.
“Well,” I murmur, savoring the bite, “looks like dinner came with dessert.”
Chapter 32
It Was Supposed to Be a Game.
Asher
The next morning, the penthouse smells like coffee—strong, rich, and the kind that crawls straight into your bloodstream. I lean against the counter, tie loosened just enough to keep me suspended between home and work, and take a slow sip.
Violet stands at the stove, stirring something in a pan, with her hair piled messily on top of her head.Domestic looks good on her. Too good.
“You know,” she says casually, glancing over her shoulder, “for someone who had his tongue flapping nonstop last night, you’re awfully quiet this morning.”
I nearly choke. “Jesus, Vi.”
She grins and turns back to the stove. “What? After the way you wouldn’t shut up about my soupanddessert, I figured you’d still be raving about how sweet I taste.”
I set my mug down carefully, buying myself a second. “I was plenty vocal. I just didn’t think you needed praise first thing in the morning.” I let my gaze drag over her. “Unless you were hoping for agood girlto start your day.”
She hums while plating eggs, but her fingers tremble just a fraction. The flush creeps up her neck, staining her cheeks pink.
Fuck. She liked that.
I file it away for later.
She clears her throat and recovers fast. “So you admit I’ve got skills in multiple areas. Or are you just trying to keep my ego fed so I don’t starve in captivity?”
I chuckle. “If running your mouth were a skill, you’d be undefeated.”
She gasps dramatically. “Excuse you. I’m a prisoner. You should be doing everything in your power to keep me entertained.”
“Oh yeah?” I tilt my head. “Should I hire a court jester, or were you hoping for something more… hands-on?”
She shifts her weight, just slightly. “Definitely the latter. Though I have doubts about your ability to keep up. You talk a big game, but can you actuallydeliver?”
There it is.
