She was supposed to see me as the twisted mess I am and realise how wrong she was to choose me. Not gift me my darkest fantasies on a platter.
But it’s too late now.
Hell’s gonna freeze over before I stop this.
The bedside lamp glows across her skin, the flimsy straps of her dress caught at her elbows, the fabric clinging to her breasts, hard nipples straining through. She’sthisclose to bare, and all I can think is if I touch her now, I’ll break.
Every ounce of control I’ve clung to, shattered.
That’s why I ain’t moving.
Why I’m letting her put on this show like the depraved son of a bitch I am.
Her eyes catch mine, gold and bold. She’s daring me, pushing at the edge I’ve been living on since forever. I force myself to lean back, to look like I’m in control. Show her this is how I play: content to watch, to wait…
She doesn’t need to know I’m a beat away from coming at her fast.
Or worse, coming in my jeans like some damn kid.
She shimmies. The silk drops. The whisper of it hitting the floor as holy as the hiss I fight to swallow.
Perfect. That’s what she is.
Tall, lithe, standing in nothing but a scrap of black lace. Small, pert breasts shifting with every shallow breath she takes. Deep rose nipples, peaked high. Toned stomach quivering beneath her fingers. Lush hips leading to the sinful crease between her thighs… and legs, long and endless and set to ruin me.
My mouth waters, and I press my tongue to its roof. Grit my teeth. Stroke my stubble to keep my fingers busy and my body on this side of the room.
Then she moves, and I quit everything. Fingers. Breath. My goddamn pulse.
One hand sweeps behind her neck, arching her body into a stretch that accentuates every flawless line. The other teases over her breasts, her throat, her mouth.
Two fingers drag across her lips and slip inside.
My teeth grind as her tongue curls around them, making a slow show of wetting them before she drags the slick trail down… and pushes beneath the lace.
Fuck. Me.
She doesn’t rush. Doesn’t hide. Her eyes never leave mine as her fingers sink in, hips rolling to meet them. Her breathbreaks on a gasp, and my chest heaves with hers, cock straining, pulse pounding.
She goes deeper. Harder. Her head tips back, lips parting, eyes closing. She squeezes her breast, plucks the tight peak, moans out loud?—
‘Jesus, Tay.’ I palm my cock through the denim, clench it tight to buy myself time. ‘Look at me, Baby Girl.’
She swallows, meeting my gaze like the good girl she’s playing.
Mygirl.
‘Tell me what you’re feeling…’
‘I’m aching,’ she says, all husky. ‘I’m aching for you, Ax.’
I can hear it. Hear how wet she is. Feel her tension building as she grinds against her hand.
‘It’s like… It’s like I’ve been waiting for this since the day we met.’
Her words hit me dead in the chest, detonating places I swore I’d locked down. Memories too. The way she looked at me all those years ago. Like I was her white fucking knight. Me. Saving her. When she was the one saving me. Stealing my damn heart too.
And she can’t mean it the way I do. Shedoesn’tmean it. It’s an act. A role. But fuck, it guts me… in the greatest and worst way imaginable.
