Page 64 of Outcast’s Vow

I flash him a smile.

“And I’d happily tease you like that again...”

Baptiste interrupts me with a deep growl.

“I want you to shut up and put those pretty lips around my cock.”

I hold his gaze. I’m going to make him wait.

He can’t shut me up. Not that easily.

“Make me,” I snap back.

Baptiste’s hand traces along my cheek, wet. I shudder at his warm touch. His fingers cup my chin, guiding me up to him.

“I don’t have to make you,” my husband says, in full control. “You want to.”

Damn, he’s got me there.

It seems like he does know me.

“You want me to worship you?” I ask. “To surrender to you?”

“Yes.”

“Then watch me choose to. My way.”

I hold his cock in my hand. I lean down. And I put my pretty lips around it. My free hand rises over his skin, my nails digging into his tattoo of my name. Baptiste takes a fistful of my hair to steady himself. The hot tub jets power into the back of my legs.

For the second time today, I make my husband lose control. I make him shake. I make him groan. He hisses my name, voice breaking and body unraveling.

“Sylvie...”

My name is laced with so much feeling on his lips, just as it is on his flesh.

And I see it.

He needs this... me... more than he lets on. It scares me and thrills me in equal measure.

I don’t stop. Each shudder from my husband proves it more and more... I am dangerous to him.

As I draw my man to completion, he leans back, grasps my hair with his dripping wet hand, and roars into the winter sky like he’s exposing himself to the world, bare and unguarded. And I smile to myself with the knowledge of how much power I have over him, even if he won’t dare confess it.

25

SYLVIE

“So, you’re a professional skier and a licensed pilot? What other secret careers are you hiding from me, husband?”

Baptiste turns to me in the helicopter cockpit, his hands steady on the controls, with a big, infectious smile on his face.

“Don’t get me wrong,” he says. “I’m on my mission to impress you, and I’m not done yet.”

I shake my head at the man and glance out of the window at New York City sprawled below us, taking an awe-inspired breath.

“Yeah,” I murmur into the headset microphone. “I hate to say it, but you’re getting there.”

Less than an hour ago, we touched down in Baptiste’s private jet from the honeymoon and, as we made our way down the stairwell, my husband informed me we’d be getting into his private helicopter, and that he’d be flying it.