Page 108 of Sinful Blaze

I’m done waiting.

I claim her mouth and fist my hands in her hair to hold her right where I need her. Daphne lets out a soft whimper that nearly buckles my knees.

Does she have any idea what she does to me?

I lift her just enough to slide into her seat and pull her onto my lap. With a flip of the side lever, the seat reclines all the way back. I slam the door shut again and hit the lock button.

“What if?—”

I shut her worries up with another searing kiss. Maybe, maybe making her scream on my cock will soothe the angry beast inside me demanding to mark every inch of her creamy skin.

Or maybe it will just make me want even more.

She tastes sweet and salty. As she wriggles on my lap, I get some more very bad ideas. Or hell, maybe they’re good ideas—who even knows anymore? None of this shit was scripted and I can’t think beyond the current second, and the next, and the next. I’m just absorbed in every inch of her.

If I don’t hear her moan rightfuckingnow, I think I’ll lose my goddamn mind.

This was supposed to be a fix, not ripping the lid off Pandora’s box. But now that I have her right here, straddling my lap and writhing on my dick while her breasts threaten to fall out of her dress, I’m feeling a different urge. A need to take my sweet time.

Torment doesn’t have to be violent. Definitely not with my woman. I’ll kill the motherfucker who lays a hand on her—but Daphne? She gets my personal brand of torture, long and slow and repeatedly.

“Two rules.” I palm her throat lightly. She’s going to look me in the eyes, and she is going to fucking obey me for once. “You will do exactly as I say, with a ‘yes, sir,’ every. Fucking. Time. Understood?”

Daphne nods. I growl and tighten my grip until she gets it. When she does, she sucks in a breath and whispers, “Yes, sir.”

“Rule Number Two: you will only come when I tell you to. Not even a millisecond before. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s a good girl, Daphne. That’s a very good girl.”

I pull her to me and kiss her again, taking time to nibble each one. Slowly, inch by inch, I hike her dress up her thighs and over her hips. Daphne seems to be perfectly okay with that—until I keep going up her waist and over her heavy breasts.

Then her eyes widen in panic. “What if someone sees?”

“I dare them to even try.”

Tearing her dress up over her head, I discard it in the back seat. The tiny black panties sit a bit lower on her hips thanks to her ever-growing womb, and that sight alone nearly makes me explode before I’m ready.

Goddamn.

To think I used to not want this.

To think I was avoiding having a woman like Daphne in my arms, moaning my name, lighting up my days, carrying my child.

The hell was I thinking?

She purrs to herself as I smooth my hands along her waist, lost in my thoughts as I drink her in. I almost forget why we’re here—and the fact that I’m supposed to be pissed—because every delicious curve of her body has me mesmerized.

I hook my thumbs in the waistband of her panties and slowly drag them down her hips. She lifts to help me get them off, but the way her thighs are spread around me make it impossible.

Oh, well. Time for Plan B.

Daphne stifles a scream at the sound of me ripping her panties apart. I raise the ragged scrap in my hands up to my face and inhale. They’re soaked, rippling with the scent of her.

I tuck the ruined panties into my pocket for safekeeping. Then I grab Daphne’s wrists and steer them up to the ceiling strap overhead.

“Hold that,” I order. “Don’t even think of letting go until I give you permission.”

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