Page 152 of Tell Me Something True

“For the record,” he murmured, scanning her face intently, “I don’t regret what happened last night.”

She licked her lips and his gaze went hot and hooded as he followed the movement of her tongue. “No?”

He lifted his gaze back to her eyes. “No.”

Then he edged back an inch, and before she could tell herself the twinge in her stomach was relief and not disappointment, he lowered himself into a crouch before her.

Her heart slammed against her ribs, her fingers twitched with the need to thread through his dark hair. She clutched the tote against her chest, needing something solid to hold onto.

“I probably should,” he said mildly, just a man squatting in front of a woman in her kitchen, mesmerizing her with his low, gravely tone, his words unhurried, as if perfectly content to kneel at her feet, his mouth inches from her pussy, for as long as it took for him to say his piece. “I should regret keeping you on your knees so long while I used you that way. I should feel bad about these,” he continued as he skimmed his fingertips across the faint red marks on her knees. “But I don’t.” He looked up at her his mouth curved in a sexy smirk. “Not when you looked so pretty on them for me, your lips wrapped around my cock.”

Her breath stuttered out. Her nipples tightened almost painfully, and she hugged the tote harder, but that only made them want more contact.

Preferably of the pinching, licking, sucking, or biting kind.

And only if those things came from the fingers, lips, teeth, and tongue of the man crouched in front of her.

“I should regret fucking your mouth like I did,” he went on, still in that slow, easy manner, tormenting her with his words. Teasing her with those light touches on her knees. Tempting her simply by being him. “I should regret being so rough. Going so deep. Pushing you so hard.”

Watching her, he slowly stood, somehow even closer than he’d been before, his shoulders brushing her forearms, his thighs pressing against hers. He kept himself angled to the side, giving her plenty of space. A way out if she needed it.

“But how can I,” he murmured, all silky tone and knowing, confident gaze, “when you took me so well? When you liked it so much?”

A moan rose, unbidden and unwelcome, in her throat and she bit her lower lip to keep it from escaping.

But, oh, God, yes, she’d liked it. She’d liked it too much.

“I should, at least, be sorry for coming in your mouth,” he continued, unyielding in his torment. He skimmed the pad of his thumb against her lower lip, forcing her teeth to let go. “But I’m not.” Sliding his hand around to the nape of her neck, he slid his fingers into her hair and gently tugged her head back. “Because you, greedy girl, swallowed every last drop.”

“Good girl,” she corrected, unable to stop herself.

He froze at her low, husky words. “What?”

“I wasn’t a greedy girl. I was a good girl. I was your good girl.”

His nostrils flared, his fingers tightening in her hair, his expression turning possessive. “You were my good girl. So good, I can’t regret any of the things I did.” He paused, the slight hesitation proof he wasn’t nearly as confident as he might like her to believe. “Unless you do.”

“I don’t,” she said, once again unable to stop herself. Unable to give him anything but the truth. “I don’t regret any of it.”

He searched her eyes, his fingers now loose in her hair, his thumb rubbing back and forth under her ear in the exact spot he’d marked her with his precum. “If I did anything that made you feel threatened or unsafe…”

She couldn’t let him think that. Not even for a second. “You didn’t. You were right. I liked it.”

He traced the curve of her collarbone with his fingertip. She shivered, her nipples beading tighter. Her core clenched as she grew damp.

Hadn’t she realized this man was a danger to her? That he held too much power over her?

She was wet and aching and practically panting because he was touching her collarbone for the love of God.

“Did you make yourself come?” He kept his gaze on his finger as it continued its back and forth along her newly discovered erogenous zone. “Last night when you got home?”

She shook her head and he stopped, curling his hand around her shoulder. Brought his other hand around to cup her chin as he nudged her head back, forcing her to meet his eyes.

“Why not, baby?”

Hearing him call her that, in his deep, rumbly tone, had another shiver going through her, this one accompanied by a warmth in her chest that had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with the sense that her heart had somehow expanded in her chest. Growing bigger and bigger, feeling fuller and fuller, until it threatened to burst.

It was the endearment he used to call her, but he’d only used it once since she’d moved to Mount Laurel. That day on the sidewalk when he’d tried to cajole her secrets out of her.

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