Page 27 of Root

“Nikolai’s off limits.”

“Jealous?”

He laughs and though his lips are near mine he doesn’t kiss, doesn’t touch, doesn’t taste. “It’s Rose you need to watch out for. Not me.”

There’s something in that, more than what it just says out in the open. But before I can play his game and ask, he flips me again. Firm, not rough and it makes me rethink the vanilla.

My front’s pressed against the wall and he’s there, pushed up against me.

That thought just dissipates as his mouth comes down on my nape and short circuit’s my brain.

And without warning, I spasm in an orgasm, right as he sinks his teeth in.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Rush

She tastes like the good parts of sex.

Yeah, sure, all parts are good, even when it’s mediocre, but I don’t mean that.

I mean the other things. Those unexpected thrills, the soar of the orgasm, the banter that’s sometimes sex itself, those parts.

That’s how she tastes.

Like a mix of hedonism and heaven’s highs, the sin and dirt of no-holds barred fucking. The sweet moments that are singing intimacy.

She tastes like sugar with a kick.

Bourbon, that’s her taste, one heavy on the oak barrel and vanilla. One laced with honey to hide the high-octane level of alcohol. She’s the kick that’s wrapped in sweetness. And she’s jagged edged and dangerous like her fucking knife.

I suck where I bite, ingesting her moan, taking it deep inside.

Women are everywhere, I know that: they throw themselves at me all the time. And I dip in and take my fill. What man wouldn’t?

Some are class, some are cheap, some are barely worth the morsels they offer. But they’re all their own level of delicious, even the fast-food ones.

Point is, I’ve had the lot.

Almost.

Because this one? I’ve never tasted someone like her before. Like she’s the rarest thing in the entire world.

And I’m here for it.

I slip my hand down between her thighs, her ass pushing back into my erection.

Damn it feels good, soft in the right places, firm where I can hold on to.

I stroke against the front of her cotton panties, taking all the liberties. If she guts me, it might be worth it. She still has her ring… Her pussy is hot, it’s bare; I don’t feel the telltale springiness of hair, or even the stubble of fuzz.

Somehow, I stifle the groan and go lower. The little jumps and shivers from her are like a song in the air.

I want to feel her up, nudge the panties aside and slide over unadorned flesh. Shit, I just want to go the whole sixteen-year-old feel up over the fucking panties route. Which is kind of what I’m doing now, but this has more X-rated connotations because no one in this room is sixteen.

I settle on stroking her upper inner thigh, and her breathing changes.

How the fuck have I been to Bunny’s before and not done anything other than order drinks from her?

---