Page 82 of Twist the Knife

“What?” She struggles to sit up.

“No.” I slip my arm under her and hold her against me. “We covered this in our last lesson. It’s a good thing. Your body likes what we’re doing.”

She stares into my eyes. “I do.”

“Good, then let me continue.”

My world’s rocked sideways as she presses her heels into the mattress, lifts her hips, and slowly pushes her shorts down. That’s more than I expected. I want to praise the hell out of her, but good girl feels inadequate as fuck.

“You want help with those?” I ask instead.

She nods quickly and I drag them down her legs the rest of the way, tossing them at the end of the bed. “You’re incredible.”

I stand and unbuckle my belt, shoving my jeans off.

Her eyes widen. “God, you have really sexy legs.” She reaches out and squeezes my thigh. “Your quads are like rocks.”

That’s not the only thing rock hard on me.

“I never skip leg day.” I wink at her and climb back into bed, covering her with my body.

“I could do leg day all day every day and never look like that.” She pokes a finger into her thigh.

“You’re not supposed to.” I swat her hand away and kiss where she just jabbed her skin.

Digging my fingers into her flesh, I grab her hip and gently squeeze. “I like how soft you are.

I kiss her sternum and down to her belly.

Her body tenses.

“Relax.” I stop and stare at her sheer blue panties. “These are cute. I like.”

“I thought you might.”

“Yeah?” I trace my finger along the crease of her thigh. “You were thinking about me when you put them on?”

“I was thinking of you when I bought them.” She waves her hand toward her closet door. “All my other underwear is much more sensible.”

My tongue freezes at her sweet admission. She’s buying underwear to please me, now? Christ, that tickles some happy center in my brain I didn’t even know I had. “Sensible is overrated.”

As sexy as they are, the panties are blocking the next objective of our lesson. I tug on the thin straps at her hips.

“Don’t,” Margot whispers, squeezing her thighs together.

I trace my fingertips over her knee. “Why?”

“I don’t…like that. It doesn’t do anything for me.”

Her tentative, vague expressions are cute but I enjoy plainer, descriptive words. “You don’t like a man between your thighs, French-kissing your pussy? Licking your swollen little clit?” I stick the tip of my tongue out and wiggle it, demonstrating exactly what I’m dying to do.

She gasps and red floods her cheeks.

My lips twist into a wicked line. “You don’t think you can come that way?”

Her eyelashes flutter rapidly as if she’s scandalized by the idea of coming in any way, shape or form. Even though I already know how easy it is to unravel her.

“Margot.” I use my sternest voice. “Were you a virgin before I got my hands on you?”

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