Page 81 of Threaded Lies

I make a show of sliding my palms up my bare thighs, the light fabric of my skirt bunching up with them as I go. I hook my fingers in the thin straps of my underwear and then slowly push them down my thighs—my eyes locked on his the whole time—before lifting them up and swinging them on my fingertip.

“Would you look at that? Look how wet they are?”

“Can’t imagine why,” he murmurs as he adjusts his hardening cock in his pants before pushing his chair toward me. “Sit.”

“Lucky for you, I’m listening.” I step to the front of the chair.

“Lucky for you, you know what’s good for you.” He quirks an eyebrow and looks at the chair as if telling me to obey.

I sit slowly as he watches.

“Spread your thighs.” He takes a step toward me. “Wider.” And another step as his tongue darts out to lick his lower lip. “You’re holding out on me, Sunshine. Part those thighs. I know you can go wider.”

He stands between my parted legs and lifts my knees so they rest on each arm of the chair. “Pull that skirt up, baby. I need to see that pretty pussy of yours.”

I do as he asks, the air in the room so thick with desire it’s hard to draw in a breath. The pained, appreciative sigh he emits has ache and need and greed race through me faster than a lightning bolt.

“Holden,” I whisper his name as I reach out to scrape my fingernails up the fabric of his thighs.

He drops to his knees, his face between my legs, and his fingers push my thighs even farther apart. “I’ll have you know, I don’t get on my knees for anyone.”

And without another word, he leans forward and slides his tongue between my slit.

The warmth of his mouth.

The firmness of his tongue.

The possession in his hands.

My world goes black and then sears into a white-hot heat as I begin to climb that incredible ascent forged by the dexterity of his fingers and the adeptness of his masterful tongue.

He blows.

He sucks.

He spears and slides his tongue in and out of me, up and down, before swirling it around.

There is something so damn sexy about seeing him between my thighs, looking up at me with lust owning his eyes and making his eyelids heavy.

There is no darkened room to hide behind. It’s just him pleasuring me while watching to see my reactions. To know what sets me off the most. And when he sees it, he does it all over again.

“Come on my tongue, Row. Let me taste all of you.” A lick up. “Every.” A circle around my clit. “Damn.” A flick over it. “Part.” A slide back down. “Of.” A dip back inside me. “You.”

I detonate, fracturing into a hundred tiny pieces of rapturous bliss. I don’t recognize my own cry when I hear it. It’s a feral shout I can’t control.

I’m pulled under the surge of sensations. Each one rising and then falling after catching up to the one before it. My body feels energized, my nerve endings charged.

I look down, his head still between my legs as my knees tighten on his shoulders. He licks me up and down, my body so hypersensitized I buck against him, causing even more friction that sends me into a frenzy.

I can’t think. I can barely breathe. But damn if I can feel the warmth of his tongue and the gush of my own arousal.

“Christ, Row. You taste fucking amazing.” He leans back, his chin wet and his hair mussed.

A strange sense of pride fills me. I brought the incomparable Holden Knight to his knees. And then I laugh because that sounds so ridiculous but I’m so damn giddy and on the orgasmic high, I don’t care.

“Holden?” My voice is a sex-drugged rasp.

“Hmm?” A kiss pressed to the top of my pussy.