Page 92 of Bishop

Not any more than I already am, anyway.

“You’re killing me,” she whispers.

“You don’t like to be teased, la mia sirena ammaliatrice?”

She moans.

“You don’t like to think about how much better this would be if you were riding my cock?” I fist her hair, pulling her head back to lick my way up her neck. “I’d make you scream, Abri.”

“Too bad you’ve pigeon-holed yourself at third base. That doesn’t leave you much to work with.”

“You need to give your imagination a pep talk.” I graze my teeth along her jaw, my mouth dry with the need to show her all the things I could do. “Because the unruly shit I could inflict upon you runs a mile long.”

She shudders. “Tell me.”

“Are you sure?” I speak against her skin. “Do you really want to know what I’d do if you weren’t you and I wasn’t me?”

“Yes.” The word is a breathy plea.

I fight a groan, my cock demanding I show instead of tell. “I would taste you. Spread you out on that bed like a fucking feast and drench my face between your thighs.” I tense my stomach against the visual onslaught. “My thumb would be in this sweet pussy while I sucked on your clit. Lapped at your slit. And that fucking perfect ass would be filled with as many fingers as you could take.”

She groans, bearing down on me as I continue to simulate sex with my hand.

“And if my mouth wasn’t enough to get you off, then I’d show you what it’s like to be fisted. To stretch you out slowly, the pleasure so close to pain you’d be mindless. I’d make you gush, belladonna. Every inch of your thighs would be drenched.”

“Dear Lord,” she whispers.

“No, my sweet villain. The heavens wouldn’t save you from me. Nobody could if I decided you were mine.”

“I wouldn’t want to be saved.” She releases my wrist, wrapping both hands around my neck, her nails digging into skin. “I just want to be lost.”

“You would be. So fucking lost you couldn’t find yourself again.” I can’t help but grind my dick against her thigh, the friction dragging a groan from my throat. “I’d tie you up and edge you for so long you’d pray for me to let you finish.”

“And what about you? How would you come?”

“Simply by watching you. I’d fist my dick at every opportunity. I’d teach you how I like to be jerked off. I’d stare down at you as you took me to the back of your throat. Then I’d spill my seed all over those beautiful lips.”

She pants. Fast. Sharp. “But you’d never fuck me?”

“No.”

“Why?”

Yeah, why, Bishop?

I steel myself against the reasons. “That’s not a conversation we need to have.” I place my thumb over her clit, adding pressure, and smother her body with mine. Chest to chest. Thigh to thigh. “My focus is on the here and now. On how your needy pussy is flooding my fingers.” I skim my other hand down her back, beneath the waistband of her loosened jeans, past her stretched underwear. “And how that ass calls my name.” I slide my fingers between her cheeks, skimming another entrance I’m itching to plunder.

“Fuck.” She jolts. “I hate that you feel so good,” she murmurs to the ceiling. “Why can’t you be like the rest of them?”

The reminder of her past stabs through me, leaving me livid. “You’ll never be touched like that again,” I snarl. “Your time being used is over. Do you understand?”

She mewls, the erotic sound nothing but a placation.

I curl my fingers into the flesh of her ass as I pump her pussy faster, harder, my mouth moving to her ear. “I said, do you understand?”

She trembles. Claws. Hyperventilates.

“I don’t like to be ignored, belladonna. Answer me or this is going to get hectic.”

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