Page 180 of Tell Me Something True

Wiping the pad of his thumb across the head, he collected the precum there and held it out toward her. “Is this what you want?”

Pulse racing, she flicked her gaze to his eyes. Noted the pure male satisfaction there. The arrogance. Both of which should have had her denying it if for no other reason than the man was entirely too sure of himself.

But as she’d learned already, denying him meant denying herself what she really wanted. How she liked him to treat her. The things she’d only ever felt safe fantasizing about.

Rubbing her lips together, she curled her hands into her thighs. Exhaled. Then nodded.

And opened her mouth.

He grinned.

The he shook his head.

“If you want it,” he murmured. “You’re going to have to come and get it.”

Chapter 35

She undressed. Quickly. Clumsily.

So quickly, she about took her own head off when she tried to take her shirt off without undoing the button at the back of her neck.

So clumsily, the material covered her head as she fumbled with the button.

When it was free, she yanked it off and tossed it aside, then arched her back to unhook her strapless bra. Let it fall to her lap as she unbuttoned and unzipped her shorts. Lifted her hips and wriggled out of them. Kicked them off, then flung her bra over her head.

All the while Miles watched her, glistening thumb held out. Sexy, smug smirk getting sexier, smugger and smirkier at her haste to do his bidding.

But then she slid off the bed and his grin faded.

Because she didn’t get to her feet.

She dropped to her knees.

And crawled toward him.

His cock bounced. Grew even bigger. His pupils went big and dark. His breath caught audibly, his nostrils flaring like an animal smelling its mate.

Holding his gaze, she moved toward him slowly, the ancient wood floor cool and smooth as glass under her hands and bare knees. Miles watched her, his expression stark with desire, his body vibrating with need.

And even though she was literally crawling toward him, her back arched, her breasts swaying heavily, her inner thighs slick, she didn’t feel submissive. Didn’t feel weak.

This, giving herself to him this way, trusting him this way, trusting herself this way, was its own type of power.

Time seemed to stretch out and she felt lost in the moment until finally, she was at his feet.

Settling her weight back, she straightened, inch by inch. Brushed her nose along the smooth underside of his cock—the touch as light as his had been between her legs only minutes ago. When she was upright, kneeling before him, she encircled his wrist with her fingers and, eyes on his, brought his thumb to her mouth. Wrapped her lips around it.

And sucked it clean.

The taste of him was sharp and musky and addicting.

Still looking up at him, she let go of his wrist and drew her head back slowly, still sucking on his thumb, so that when it finally came free, it did so with a pop.

“More,” she said, her own low and husky demand.

He cupped her face, his wet thumb pressed against the corner of her mouth as he curled his fingers into the hair at her nape and drew her head farther back. “Ask me nicely.”

There was nothing nice about his tone. Nothing gentle about the grip he had on her hair. Nothing tender or coaxing in the way he towered over her, his body tense, his leaking cock straining toward her.

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