I tilted my head, dragging my gaze up the flat plane of her stomach, over the rapid rise and fall of her ribs, to her face. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips parted, her dark eyes wide and wet and begging even as she tried to hide it.
"Please what?"
She swallowed hard. Her fingers twisted in the tablecloth, knuckles white. "Don’t?—"
I smirked.
Slow.
Knowing.
Then I looked back down, letting my breath ghost over her cunt just to watch her shudder.
Oh, she hated this. Hated that she was spread out for me. Hated that she was wet. Hated that her body was already betraying her before I’d even touched her. Hated most of all that I could see it.
And fuck if that didn’t make me harder.
I leaned in closer, close enough that my next breath would be against her, close enough that she’d feel the shape of the words I didn’t say.
Her hips jerked like she wanted to pull away.
Like she wanted to run.
Too bad, Belle.
You signed the contract.
And I always collect.
The first taste of her nearly unraveled me.
I didn’t expect that. Didn’t expect the way her flavor—sweet, musky, hers—would hit the back of my throat and make my cock throb like a fucking teenager’s. My tongue dragged up her center, slow and deliberate, and the little gasp she bit back vibrated straight through me. Her thighs tensed around my head, but she didn’t push me away. Didn’t beg. Just made that broken, breathy sound again, like she was drowning and too proud to ask for air.
Good.
Let her suffer.
I flattened my tongue and licked her from entrance to clit, savoring the way her hips jerked before she locked them still. Her fingers clawed at the tablecloth, knuckles bone-white, but she didn’t say a word. Didn’t give me the satisfaction.
Fine.
I’d take it, anyway.
I sealed my mouth over her and fucking feasted, sucking her clit between my lips, swirling my tongue, pressing just hard enough to make her whimper. Her thighs shook. Her breath came in sharp, uneven bursts. I could feel her pulse against my lips, erratic and wild, and when I slid two fingers inside her without warning, she arched off the table with a choked cry.
Tight.
So fucking tight.
I curled my fingers, found that spot inside her that made her vision whiten, and worked it. My tongue never stopped moving—circles, flicks, relentless pressure—while my fingers pumped in and out, in and out, stretching her, owning her. She was dripping, soaking my hand, her body betraying her even as she clenched her jaw shut.
I pulled back just as her muscles started to lock.
Her eyes flew open, dark and dazed and furious.
"Gideon—"
I cut her off with a sharp nip to her inner thigh. Not hard enough to bruise. Just enough to make her gasp.
