Page 25 of Sinful Sacrifice

My clit throbs as I suck him harder. I don’t stop, even when spit drips down my chin.

I choke a few times.

Typical me.

But for the first time, I’m not embarrassed by this. He stops, allowing me time to relax my throat.

When I return to my normal pace, he grips the back of my head and grinds his hips against my face. My pulse speeds as I suck him as good as I can.

“I’m about to come,” he warns. “Pull away if you don’t want to swallow.”

I drop his balls, still working him in my mouth, and give him a thumbs-up. Seconds later, he releases his cum in my mouth. He tightens his fingers in my hair, holding me in place, as if wanting me to swallow every drop of him.

My insides vibrate, and my clit aches. But tonight isn’t about me. It’s about him.

He catches his breath while I suck him dry, and when I start to stand, he helps me to my feet. His hand lingers at my waist as I turn on the shower, grab a rolled-up washcloth, and clean his knuckles while waiting for the water to warm.

I wait for him to tell me to stop.

To pull away.

But all he does is blow out a rough breath and allow me to take care of him.

“Strip,” he demands when I’m finished.

“What?” I stutter, suddenly feeling shy.

“Take off your clothes. You’re showering with me.”

He helps me undress. His hand cups my ass when I lower my leggings, and when I unclasp my bra, he brushes his thumb along my hardening nipple.

“I’m sorry, Pippa,” he says, noticing the hickey-slash-bruise on my thigh from last night. “I didn’t mean?—”

“It’s okay,” I interrupt, standing on my tiptoes. Even then, I’m not close enough to his face to kiss him. So, he lowers his head and presses his mouth to mine.

“You have nothing to worry about,” I say. “I liked everything you did to me last night.”

He nods, but I can tell he doesn’t fully believe me.

He assists me in the shower and joins me.

It’s so intimate as we wash each other’s body.

I’m seeing a rare side of Damien. A side I’d guess not many see.

I carefully rub the washcloth along his bruised, scarred, and bloody skin, knowing there’s a chance I’m washing away crime evidence.

The blood flows down the drain, taking my sanity along with it.

8

“Are you fucking nuts?” Antonio spits from behind the desk in his home office. He slams his fist on the desk, causing shit to rattle. “My daughter is here, Damien! My goddamn daughter.”

His voice is harsh but low. He never yells when Amara is home.

“I fucked up,” I reply, massaging my temples with my beat-up knuckles.

Knuckles that my precious Pippa treated so gently last night.

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