Page 27 of Cage of Thorns and Blood

“How about we find out?” he says.

He reaches for my jeans and expertly unbuckles the belt before popping the zipper open and sliding his hand down inside.

I gasp in shock.

This is not how I expected this to go. I thought he’d seduce me slowly. Kisses and caresses, and nibbles against my neck before he slowly undressed me.

Holy hell, his fingers are in my panties, and he slides them over my clit. I gasp again, and my head falls back against the marble behind me.

“Yeah, you don’t need a shower,” he murmurs against my throat. “You’re already soaked.”

His fingers stroke over me as he watches me. It’s almost disconcerting the way his gaze focuses on my face. As if he’s more interested in every subtle, fleeting expression on my features than he is in seeing me naked or anything else. It makes me feel exposed and vulnerable, so I put my hand on his wrist and halt the movements of his fingers.

“Kiss me,” I demand.

And he does.

If I thought that would help me in any way, I was wrong.

Oh, Lord, his kiss. It’s not soft or tentative; his kiss is a storming of my walls. It’s breaking down my barriers. His kiss is everything.

His mouth claims mine and owns it. He bites at my bottom lip and when I groan, he pushes his tongue inside and tastes me. He tastes of wine, and he smells amazing. I don’t know what aftershave he wears, but it makes me want to do sinful things as his scent and taste fill me.

He cups my head and angles it the way he wants, but his other hand is still in my panties, not moving, but pressing. His palm is right against my core, and the sensation of pressure without any movement is an exquisite torture.

I pant into his mouth, our breath mingling until I don’t know where I end and he begins, and then he breaks off the kiss. He stares down at me, his gaze full of desire and something else. He almost looks angry.

His fingers finally leave my panties, but only to pull my silk shirt out of my jeans.

“Hey, this shirt cost a fortune; take it easy.”

“I’ll buy you another one,” he growls as he roughly pulls the buttons undone.

Holy hell, Matteo as a man in his thirties is nothing like Matteo as a boy of seventeen.

He’s dangerous, I realize with a scared jolt.

Not physically, or at least not to me, but emotionally? This man is a grenade, and I just pulled the pin.

As he pushes my shirt down over my arms, I shiver at the sensation of the silk caressing my skin, and then he throws it to one side on the shelf behind him. He stares at my breasts in my lacy push-up bra.

This bra cost over two hundred pounds, and if Matteo’s ravenous gaze is anything to go by it was money well spent.

“Christ, you’re even bigger,” he says as if in awe.

“I am.” I shrug, pretending to be nonchalant, but dying inside at the way he’s looking at me.

I’ve gone up another cup size since we were together last, and because I’m tall and have curvy hips and thighs, I carry it well. But it’s the bra that makes my girls look so damn good. I spend a lot of money on lingerie. To me it’s like the gift wrap for an expensive present. I wouldn’t buy an expensive gift and wrap it in cheap paper, so why wrap the gift of me in cheap lingerie?

I think he might be going to unhook my bra, but instead he spans my upper rib cage with his hands and runs his thumbs under the wire of the bra as he pushes my tits up even higher.

Then he pulls the lace down, exposing my already peaked nipples to the air.

“I always loved your tits,” he says.

He pushes my breasts together, bends his head, and sucks both nipples into his hot, waiting mouth. “Oh my God,” I moan as my fingers curl into his thick, dark hair.

A tender scrape of teeth has me shivering. I like a bit of pain with my pleasure. My husband was always such a gentleman, and it bored me rigid. He liked everything vanilla and pleasant with me, but I later learned he was into degradation and humiliation with others. It seemed that he believed his wife and he should only be intimate on Sundays, under the covers, and in the missionary position.

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