Page 67 of Villainous Rise

“Drunk enough.” I forced myself to pull back. My body screamed in protest, cock painfully hard.

Her eyes flashed with frustration. “So what? I know what I want.”

“Do you?” I countered. “Or are you just reacting to nearly dying? To watching me kill?”

I leaned forward, my lips barely brushing against hers. The restraint burned like acid in my veins.

“I need you to choose me with a clear mind.” I slid my fingers up her thigh, stopping just at the edge of her panties. “So that when I’m finally inside you, there’s no question. No doubt.”

Her breath hitched as my thumb traced lazy circles on her inner thigh. So close, yet not close enough. It was fucking torture.

“I need you to choose me,” I continued, my lips ghosting along her jaw, down her throat, “every step of the way. So you can’t look back and say that at any point you didn’t want this. Want me.”

My hand slid higher, fingers brushing against the damp fabric of her underwear. She arched into my touch, a small, desperate sound escaping her throat.

“Cipher,” she gasped, her fingers digging into my shoulders.

I pulled my hand away, replacing it with my hips, grinding against her slowly. “When I fuck you,” I whispered against her ear, “I want you sober. Present. Feeling every inch of me.”

Her legs tightened around my waist. “You’re cruel.”

“No,” I corrected, nipping at her earlobe. “I’m making sure you’re mine. All mine. By choice.”

The monster inside me howled in protest. Take her. Claim her. Make her yours.

I silenced it and forced myself to stand, putting distance between us before I changed my mind. The separation felt like tearing off my own skin.

Annie sat up, her hair wild around her face, lips swollen from my kisses. Her dress had ridden up to her thighs, and as she shifted, the fabric parted further.

Black lace. The goddamn lingerie I’d told her to wear.

My cock gave another painful throb as I took in the delicate bows, the thin straps of the garters disappearing beneath her dress.

“You wore it.”

Annie’s eyes narrowed with something like defiance. “I did.”

“For me?”

“No,” she answered simply. “For me.”

I’d never wanted her more than in that moment, standing there with every cell in my body screaming to reclaim what I’d surrendered.

Then she reached down. Her fingers hooked the thin edge of the black lace and with a slow pull, she slid the fabric aside.

The fucking audacity of this woman.

She was flushed and glistening with her own wetness. The faint light from the balcony caught the slick sheen on her pussy, putting my absolute undoing on full display.

“Annie,” I warned.

She kept her eyes locked on mine as she lifted her hand, sliding her index and middle fingers right down her slick cleft. She coated her fingertips in her own arousal and then, without breaking eye contact, she pushed the fingers deep inside herself.

My willpower fucking shattered.

I couldn’t leave. There wasn’t a force in this universe or any other that could drag me out of this room while she was putting on a display like that.

I dropped to my knees right between her parted legs. There was a sharp hitch of her breath as my hands clamped onto her thighs. I anchored myself to her. I had to. Because every feral, violent instinct in my brain was screaming at me to bury my face between her legs, to lap up her slickness and devour her until she blacked out from the pleasure.