“Oh, Bri.” He tsks. “You want to hate me, but you can’t deny the way you want me.” He grabs the hand that was just in my panties and slides my pointer and middle finger into his mouth, making a show of licking and sucking the juice off my digits. “The way you want this …” With my hand still in his, he brings it down to my material-clad pussy and uses my own fingers to push the fabric aside. “Go ahead, baby. Finish what you started.”
I grind my molars, not wanting to admit the truth—that I can’t finish. I’ve tried countless times since the night I spent with Kane, but every time, I get lost in my own head. It’s like once my body got the taste of true satisfaction, it no longer wanted the imitation. Even in my damn fantasy, I couldn’t finish.
“I’m not in the mood,” I mutter, pulling my hand away.
“No?” His brows furrow. “Can I?”
He nods toward my pussy, asking permission to touch me, and a lump of emotion forms in my throat. He doesn’t know what happened to me, only that I crave control, and he makes it a point to give it to me.
Except when he’s forcing you to marry him …
My legs, apparently with a mind of their own, fall apart.
Kane reaches into my panties and, when he finds me soaked, smirks devilishly. “Oh, baby, you’re definitely in the mood.”
He pulls the material down my legs and drops them off the side of the bed. I have no idea where we are or whose room we’re in—because it’s definitely not my room or one of the rooms at the country club—but before I can give it any more thought, Kane pushes two fingers deep inside me, making me arch off the bed and moan in want.
“That’s it, Princess,” he murmurs, shifting so he has easier access to my pussy. “Now, while I finger your tight pussy, tell me what you were fantasizing about.”
Oh God.
I shake my head, refusing to admit what we were doing in my dream, and Kane stops fingering me.
“If you want to come, you’re going to tell me every detail of your dream.”
Fuck, I really want to come.
“Okay,” I breathe out. “Keep going.”
He quirks a brow.
“We were in bed together.”
He goes back to massaging my walls with his fingers, and I moan in pleasure.
Kane’s right—I might hate him, but I can’t deny how much I want him.
“Keep going,” he warns.
“And I was on my hands and knees, and you were behind me.”
He shocks me when he pulls his fingers out and flips me onto my hands and knees.
“What areyou?—”
He reaches between my legs and thrusts his fingers back inside me, hard and deep.
I drop my head onto the pillow, releasing an embarrassingly loud moan, and I hear him chuckle darkly from behind me.
“And what were we doing in this position?” he asks nonchalantly, like he’s not finger-fucking me into oblivion.
“You were …”
He adds a third finger, and I curse under my breath at how full I feel.
“I was …” he prompts, finding my clit and stroking it with what I assume is the pad of his thumb.
“You were spanking me.”
