Page 55 of Lovely Venom

“Then ask me nicely.”

A quiet moan spills out of me as I try to formulate a sentence. “Please let me finish.”

“Only when I say so,” he dictates. “Now slow down and tell me why you tried to hang up on me.”

I let out a frustrated sound, because somehow I knew it would come back to this.

I’m too far gone to rationalize my thoughts, so I just set them free.

“I don’t like thinking of you with other women. I know it’s not fair, but I can’t help it.”

“Do you think you’re so easily replaceable?” He softens his tone.

I want to ask him what he means by that, but he doesn’t give me the chance.

“Show me where you want to be touched.”

It’s pure agony, but I slip back into the memory of our last time together, letting my hand roam over the places he claimed.

“There’s my good girl,” he rasps. “Do you want my attention?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“You never lost it.”

The amount of pleasure I derive from that statement leaves me drunk and restless. I can barely string together a thought as I start to beg him all over again. At this point, I’m willing to offer him anything if he’ll just relieve me of this torture.

“Tell me what you think of when you want to come.”

“You.” The truth wrenches out of me.

Another low hum of approval reverberates in his chest. “Me doing what?”

“All the things we never got to do.”

A ragged breath scrapes through the speaker, and I can tell he’s getting close too. The thought of him sitting there, legs spread wide as he strokes his cock, is the beginning of the end for me.

“Bran—”

“You can come now, dea.”

His words carry on a tortured groan, eviscerating the last of my restraint.

The orgasm explodes through me, stealing my breath and melting through my veins like the purest high. Endless waves of pleasure roll down my spine, wringing out every last contraction until I sink into the bed in a boneless heap.

It’s the most intense orgasm I’ve had since we were together, and my only regret is that Bran wasn’t physically here. This was the first time he allowed himself a release with me, and I didn’t even get to see it.

As I consider it, that thought cascades into another, and I verbalize it before I can talk myself out of it.

“Would you ever want to meet again?”

The question comes out soft and far too vulnerable for my liking.

He has every right to refuse me, and I wouldn’t blame him if he did.

As silence stretches between us, I brace for the inevitable rejection before he finally responds.

“Why?”