I ran my tongue from her clit to her rear entrance. Fuck. Sin had never tasted so good. I should know, I was the fucking devil’s master. Now that I knew the pleasure of her addictive taste, I wanted more, needed more. And before logic set in, I slid the flat of my tongue through her slickness, worshipping the honied flavor of her pussy. Hungry and too far gone to stop, I licked, swallowed, and ate her like a man possessed.
It took a few laps of my tongue before the husky sounds of her cries echoed in the room, her body trembled, and her pleading turned frantic as she rocked furiously back against my mouth, desperately chasing her release. Her orgasm built, hovering just out of reach, the need for me to push her over the edge, to give her what she required and what I desired. Biting down hard on her swollen bud, she released a euphoric scream, her orgasm exploding into my mouth, filling it with the decadence I craved.
Before I could straighten, she lifted her head slightly to look at me over her shoulder. “More, please,” she demanded, yet her face showcased the very innocence of Oliver Twist himself. I shoved my tongue back into her tantalizing pussy. If I was accused of taking advantage of her state, then I sure as fuck wanted my fill. Yet, with each desperate penetration of my tongue, I was unable to get deep enough, to lose myself in her whimpers and soft moans. There would be repercussions to my actions of that I was sure.
But I suddenly didn’t care. She was mine, for however long she wanted me. I fucked her with my tongue, teeth, and lips, my fingers burrowing into her ass cheeks, spreading her open to the greed of a starving man’s need, her cunt exactly how I’d imagined while under all those cold showers I’d endured. Sucking her clit into my mouth, I bit down on the sensitive bundle of flesh and pushed two fingers into her pussy, curling them to find that sweet spot that would push her over the edge. She was shamelessly grinding back into my face now, her fingers gripping the polished surface to keep pace with her undulating body. Soft sighs morphed into strangled moans as her third orgasm drew close. Another touch, another stroke and she unraveled, coming hard and fast, hips bucking, knees trembling before her delighted groans echoed through the silent room once more.
When I stood and gripped her hips, she rolled her ass over my crotch. “I need you to fuck me, now, Zayne,” she demanded over her shoulder, the aggression baring her unashamed need.
Smiling, I pushed down my pants and stroked my cock. As I glided the head through her drenched slit, I reached up and grasped her shoulder. She yelped. I froze recognizing pain over pleasure. “What’s wrong, Rika?”
“Don’t stop,” she pleaded.
I leaned forward and gently touched her shoulder again, watching as she flinched. It was as if someone had just thrown a bucket of ice-cold water over me, barreling my arousal like a ten-tonner as my immediate concern for her outweighed my traitorous needs. Yanking up my pants, I turned her to face me. Her dilated pupils met my gaze. “Jesus.” I tensed. What the fuck was I doing? What the fuck had I done? I suddenly felt like shit. My insides roiled as shame washed over me. I was a sick, depraved fuck taking advantage of her in this state. I stepped back, breathing hard, guilt stealing the air I needed. I had to get out of here. Gritting my teeth, I took another step back and as I did, my gaze fell to her shoulder. Even in the dim light, I made out the blue hue that tainted her flawless skin. “What the fuck?” I swallowed my emotions for the moment. “You’re hurt, baby?” I leaned in closer to inspect the bruise but Ashrika pushed at my chest.
“If you can’t fuck me, leave me alone,” she hissed. It was the drugs talking.
Cursing, I scooped her up in my arms and she instantly snuggled into the crook of my neck. I headed for my bedroom. The second I laid her down on the bed, she locked her hands around my neck and jerked me forward. Catching me off balance, I fell on top of her and before I could react, she shoved me off her. I landed on my back and she quickly straddled my stomach, her wet pussy warm against my skin.
She raked her nails over my abs, digging deep into the taut skin, her movements intense and ferocious—as if she was furious I wasn’t fucking her. And by God, I wanted to—wanted to give into that animalistic desperation to make her mine completely—to fuck her until I passed out. But this wasn’t her, me, or us. She was different, her needs were different, our love was different.
I grabbed her around the waist and flipped us, using my body to press hers into the mattress. She squirmed and pushed at my shoulders. I pinned her hands above her head with one hand and cupped her jaw with the other, forcing her to look at me. “We can’t do this, Angel. Not now,” I whispered, keeping my voice low yet firm. “You need to calm down.” She wriggled and I tightened my grip on her arms. “I don’t want to hurt you, baby.”
She stared at me, saying nothing, her chest rising and falling. Then I felt her relaxed against my hold, exhaustion taking over her petite body. I held her gaze steadfast, silently willing her to go to sleep. For once some heavenly body was on my side because she moaned a few times, closed her eyes then drifted off. I waited for a bit and when I was sure she was asleep, I rolled off her. Standing, I inhaled deeply, trying to control my anger. Dark and dangerous thoughts ran through my mind of what I would do to that asshole. I paced the room, my long strides wearing an imaginary groove in the floor, back and forth as I willed myself to calm down, to rationally think. But every time I stopped and stared down at the beautiful woman lying in my bed, my temper rose again, not just because of the asshole that had drugged her, but because of my own selfish actions.
She rolled over onto her side, one hand tucked under her cheek, appearing angelic, nothing like the frantic sex kitten of a few minutes ago or the stunning woman dressed to bring men to their knees tonight. That sexy as fuck outfit, with her hair curled and her smokey eyes, would forever be imprinted in my mind. Yet it was nothing compared to the beautiful woman I saw every day—simplistic in everything from clothing to makeup and it worked for her. She needed none of the fancy stuff to show everyone who she really was—genuine.
I leaned over her to conduct a thorough sweep of her body. Rage pricked my skin, taking the breath from my lungs and I internally combusted spotting the purplish bruises around the distinct nail marks on her hips.
“You’re dead, fucker,” I swore. Fists balled tight, I stood back and studied her sleeping form before walking to the bathroom. I returned with a washcloth and warm water. Turning her to lie flat on her back, I gently wiped her face, removing all traces of her night out. Pity I couldn’t wipe her mind clean of the bastard that had hurt her, but I could sure as fuck erase him off the fucking planet. I ground my teeth trying to rein in my rage.
Once the makeup was gone, I moved further down and cleansed the remnants of her arousal. When she woke, I wanted her smelling like she normally did—jasmine with a hint of roses—distinct, fresh, pure. And as I touched her, I cursed myself over and over for what I’d done. I prayed that come morning, she’d be willing to forgive me and even if she did, I would never forgive myself.
Done, I pulled the sheet over her, kissed her brow and stood, taking a moment to drink all of her in. To the world, she was my wife. But to her, I was her best friend, savior, and reason for living. Something she’d told me a thousand times since waking from that coma and realizing she had no past, no name and no family. And I’d just poisoned that trust.
With a resolute sigh, I switched off the bedside lamp and left the room.
