Page 79 of Broken Vows

Fingers run though my hair, hips move against me. She’s a goddess. A queen. I’m her servant, licking and worshiping the way she demands, the way she deserves. Oh, the luscious moans. The sounds trigger a ravenous craving. This right here, is not enough.

When I stop and stand, the cry that leaves her mouth leaves me breathless. In a flash, I pick her up, grip her naked beautiful ass, and lay her on the table. Her hazed eyes widen as I hike up her dress to her hips and open her knees and Oh, Jesus Christ…

This angle is one of my favorites. She’s so fucking beautiful. My hands trace her creamy pale thighs, and I’m trying to slow down, to savor, but I can’t. The sight of her wet exquisite cunt is too much. My cock screams to thrust in her, but my mouth wants her just as much.

“Please…” She squirms against the table, reaching for me.

I push her knees back and trail one finger against her silky slit. “Tell me how much you want my mouth on you.”

Ragged, sharp breaths release as her chest moves up and down. “Theo… please.”

“Tell. Me.” I growl the words, drunk on power and desire and needing to hear it as much as I need to taste her. She’s powerless. Begging.

My hands brush, slide, inch to where she needs me. She seizes my wrist, dragging me to her, but I hold back.

“Please, please, put your mouth on me. I need this.” Red fills her face and she swallows. “I need… you.”

The words impale me, an arrow to my soul, and my eyes close.

And then… I devour.

My tongue and fingers work her over, coat in her essence, her scent, her taste. I swirl my tongue and suck on that plump beautiful clit as she moans and squirms and clenches her thighs. The moves and sounds turn me feral. I want her to scream, and I don’t care who hears. I suck and release her clit with a pop, and she yelps and grips at my head. One finger joins my mouth, then two. I slide in and out of her as I keep licking and kissing her flesh, as I drown myself in her taste. My cock is so fucking hard that when her legs start trembling, I almost come.

Her moans are a symphony, radiating in the room. “I’m close… I think I’m going to…”

“Come for me.” I sink my tongue into her warm, waiting cunt, sucking on the dripping sweet tang. Her body trembles underneath my touch, her arousal coats my chin. “That’s right, beautiful girl. Let me see you shake. Show me how pretty you look when you quiver against my mouth.”

She’s pawing, gripping, nails dig into the back of my head as her breaths grow faster, louder, frantic. “Right there, don’t stop, don’t stop… ah, fuck!” Her body curls and her walls clench around my fingers, squeezing, and pulsating. I coax the orgasm ripping through her as she shakes and holds me tight against her. The sensations push me to the edge as I gently lick her glazed skin. When she collapses back on to the table, I lick off my fingers, needing one final taste. No matter how many times I’ve done this to her these last few weeks, her dazed eyes watch me with that same wide-eyed fascination as if she doesn’t know how good she tastes, as if she can’t fathom how I’d keep my head buried in her cunt for eternity if I could.

When she reaches for me, for my cock, I put a firm hand on her wrist. “Oh, no you don’t,” I say with a grin even though everything in me wants me to unzip and stuff my painfully throbbing cock in her mouth to release. “I want to hear the words.”

“Don’t make me say it,” she says with an exhausted, satiated groan.

I grab a paper towel from the sink and soak it with warm water. I press the towel across her body, with slow, easy strokes, taking time to clean her, giving her a moment to settle.

Pale, exhausted, trembling legs. Flushed cheeks and ragged breaths.

I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.

When I’m done cleaning her, I gently tug her dress back down as she fixes her hair. “Say it,” I demand.

“Ugh.” She narrows her eyes, but she can’t hide her growing smile. “Fine. You won.”

34 Lexie

Oh, God. I know I should be more bothered about how wildly unprofessional it was to leave the wedding unattended like I did, but the way Theo played with me today—on the dancefloor, in the break room—was too delicious to regret. Completely worth it.

The images replay on a relentless loop as we make our way to Theo’s parents’ home. When I first suggested this visit earlier in the week, he was adamant about not going. But we needed to stay in Boston anyway because of the wedding and I’m desperate to know more about him, all of him, including the home where he grew up. When he checked with Michael and learned his parents would be away for the weekend, he very reluctantly conceded.

Sometimes I feel like what Theo and I have isn’t real at all—more mirage than substance. We’re living in denial, acting as though broken hearts and irrevocably altered lives aren’t waiting just beyond the horizon. I’ve tried to tell myself that I’m just being paranoid, that Annabelle and Theo are working hard to cancel the wedding, that this is simply how things work when families have obscene amounts of money and an army of lawyers.

And yet, the doubt lingers, quiet and insistent, refusing to be dismissed.

I sit upright suddenly, holding my breath, as Michael rounds the vehicle into the Astor property. My gaze sweeps past the circular cobblestone driveway, the pristine manicured hedges, the pillars nestled on top of marble steps leading to a stone archway and massive double doors. It looks like a hotel. I’ve seen homes like this—in the movies and real estate ads—but never in person.

When I glance back at Theo, his face is not reflecting any of the wonderment of mine. He’s stiff, unsmiling, and scratching at the back of his neck.

I place my hand on his thigh. “Are you okay?”