Page 68 of The Devil of Downtown

A shiver slides through me as I turn my head slightly. “Oh, yeah?”

His fingers toy with the zipper at my back. He doesn’t pull it yet—just traces the metal teeth, lingering, testing my patience.

“Last chance to run, Ivy,” he warns softly.

I don’t.

He lowers the zipper with agonizing care. Cool air skims my skin, chased immediately by the heat of his mouth as he traces the newly bared line of my spine. The dress slips free, pooling at my feet.

His hands roam lazily, mapping my waist, the dip of my back, before his mouth returns to my neck, teeth grazing enough to make my pulse race.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his hands sliding down my arms. “Now put your hands on the glass.”

I obey, palms flattening against the window. My breath fogs it faintly. His hands come around me, cupping my breasts, thumbs brushing my nipples until I arch into him, a soft moan escaping.

“Look,” he commands, gripping my chin and tilting my face up.

Our reflection stares back: my wide eyes, his body caging me in.

“How fucking beautiful you are,” he groans, control slipping.

I watch, mesmerized, as his hands slide over the flat plane of my stomach, then down, fingers slipping inside me—one, then another—curling expertly.

I cry out as he gathers the slickness, spreading it.

“So fucking wet,”he whispers, lips at my temple.“So desperate to come for me.”

“Yes,”I choke out, my hips pushing back, head falling back on his shoulder.

He sinks to his knees like he’s worshipping me, spreading me open. The slow, devastating drag of his tongue steals the ground from under me. He teases me, tracing lazy circles over my clit before drawing it into his mouth. Then, his tongue creeps higher, teasing the tight furl of my ass.

Oh, sweet fucking Mary.

The world narrows to the feel of his mouth, the scratch of stubble, the wet, obscene sound of his mouth on me, the coil of pleasure tightening, tightening... I’m right there—right there—when he pulls away.

“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” he says calmly.

I almost scream. “You’re kidding, right?”

“I think we should stop,” he says, punctuating it with one last infuriating stroke of his tongue.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” slips out before I can cage it.

He rises with a quiet laugh, his fist tangling in my hair, tipping my head back until I’m forced to meet his gaze in the glass.

“Wouldn’t want anyone accusing me of coercion.” He tsks, his grip tightening enough to make the point. “Would we, Ivy?”

“God, you can be a real je—”

His teeth clamp my ear, sharp and punishing, ripping the word away.

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Oh?” I manage, breathless but defiant. “I thought you knew everything.”

A dark chuckle vibrates against my throat, his thumb finding my pulse and lingering there, feeling it jump beneath his touch.

“I don’t,” he murmurs. “But I’ll tell you what I do.”