“We’re not dating,” I state, turning to look at the painting again, wanting to get him off my back.
Xander grips my chin and turns my head to him. “Shut the fuck up, you’re mine,” he tells me. “She’s mine,” he nearly growls out to reaffirm the fact to the guy before he takes my hand and pulls me away.
“Xander, what—” I start.
“As if you didn’t know that already,” he huffs out, leading me back out of the exhibition and into a room that is empty except for a few tables standing around. He closes the door behind us before putting his hands under my arms and lifting me onto a table. “I am going to kiss you now,” he tells me, grabbing my throat possessively and crashing his lips down to mine.
It’s not like the gentle kiss he gave me on New Year’s. It’s rough and possessive. He claims my mouth and leaves me breathless. Then he bites my bottom lip.
“Say it. Say you’re mine,” he commands.
“I’m yours,” I whisper.
“Good girl,” he praises, threading his hands through my hair and pulling my head to the side to suck on the delicate skin of my collarbone.
“Fuck,” I gasp out before he swoops back in to deepen the kiss, our tongues tangling in a violent kiss that makes me feel like we share the same breath.
His hand wanders down to the V-neck of the dress, then dives beneath the fabric, finding my breast and squeezing it, making my breath catch.
“Mine,” he murmurs in that deep voice against my lips. His hand shifts to my other breast, squeezing it too. “Mine,” he repeats, his tone possessive, and a shudder runs through me.
The hand in my hair yanks my head back, allowing him to trail his tongue up my throat. His other hand ventures to the slit of the dress, gliding up my thigh. When his fingers discover my lack of underwear, he stiffens.
“Are you trying to kill me? Where are your panties?” he asks huskily against my skin.
“They left an imprint on the dress, so I left them at home,” I explain, my breath heavier.
“Fuck this,” he mutters, grasping my thighs, pulling me to the edge of the table and kneeling before me, parting my legs.
“Xander,” I hiss out, feeling exposed with one of my tits out, knowing damn well that someone could come in this room at any time. Then he licks up my slit, making me moan.
“Mine,” he growls out against my pussy, his beard tickling me.
“Yours,” I declare on a breath.
He starts to lick me, his tongue finding my clit with shocking accuracy, circling it while his hand wanders up my thigh until one of his big fingers pushes inside me.
“OhDio,” I whimper.
“I want to mark you, make you mine, let every fucker know that this pretty pussy belongs to me,” he declares, his thumb circling my clit.
“Then do it,” I challenge, the pleasure fogging my thinking.
“I can’t do that here, Carolina. I need you in my bed, satisfied and relaxed. Then maybe we can try just the tip,” he explains, making my head spin with what he means. “But what I can do right here and right now is make you come all over my face so I have your sweet scent on me for the rest of the night.”
He dives back in, licking me while his finger fucks me relentlessly. He brings more pressure on my clit at the same time as curling his finger a bit, finding the perfect spot.
“Yes!” I moan, one hand gripping the table, the other finding his hair, pulling on his man bun.
“Come for me,” he commands, and I fall apart, his tongue leaving me trembling on the cold table. When I look down at him, he pulls his finger out of me, licking it clean before he pulls me gently upright, kissing me and making me taste myself on his lips. “You’ve been so good for me tonight,” he praises against my lips. “My girl.”
My insides are all gooey from the orgasm and his words. He leans down, nipping at my nipple, then gently pulls my dressback into place. It’s then I see the enormous imprint of his cock in his dress pants and look at him with wide eyes.
“I need to get you home, Carolina. I really want to see how far you can take me.” My pussy clenches, and I nod like a bobblehead, incapable of words, making him chuckle. “Come on,” he beckons, lifting me off the table and taking my hand.
TWENTY-EIGHT
My mind is spinningwith thoughts. Xander’s hand is on my bare knee, squeezing gently while he tries to navigate through the increasing snowfall. The streets are nearly empty. It seems few people dare to drive in these conditions.
