Page 106 of Double Bucked

I grasp the back of her head. Her soft hair bunches in my hand. I murmur against her mouth, “Call me whatever you want. Name me. Claim me. I’m yours.”

She gasps. I use the opportunity to hook my fingers in her mouth.

“Open wider,” I instruct.

The problem is:

I know everything about Claire.

Every dark fantasy she penned in her diary. Everything.

I know she acts tough and hard, but secretly, she gets off on being knocked down a peg.

Degraded.

Forced to submit.

She trusted me to take her there when I was James.

But does she trust Everett?

Her blue eyes flare, but then she opens her mouth, accepting my fingers.

That’s a yes.

I coax two of them inside, pressing against the soft muscle of her tongue.

“Suck,” I demand.

She wraps those beautiful lips around the digits and closes her throat, tugging. It’s as though there’s a direct line from the pull of her soft lips around my fingers to my cock. I swell inside her, and my blood sings.

“Good girl. Now, ride.”

I draw my fingers from her mouth and drop my hand between her legs. My darling is very, very wet. I slip against the crease of her. I touch the space where our bodies meet. I trace her entrance, pleased to feel her stuffed full of me. Her breath shudders against my cheek when I draw my fingers back and find her small, swollen nub. I butterfly my fingertips around that sweet, sensitive part of her.

She rocks over me, gliding against my hand. Her thighs squeeze me, and her arms wrap around my shoulders. Her nails dive into my hair and sharply trace my skin, sending a shiver up and down my spine. She moves with slow, deliberate purpose, chasing her own pleasure with every rut of her hips.

The gentle, rhythmic beat of her breath on my neck twists me open, like turning a lock.

I feel my lower muscles tensing. Wanting. Aching for a release I won’t permit.

Not yet.

Not until my Claire has had her fill.

I can’t, anyway. Not like this. Her movements are too slow. Too subtle. There is a feral hound inside of me. Something with no home and no discipline. Something that bites the hand that feeds it. Something that can only get off with a hard, deep, animal fucking.

But the gentleman prevails.

The gentleman will wait his turn. Will let Claire crumble and shake to pieces in his lap. Will kiss her, and hold her, and lick her through every wave of pleasure.

The gentleman would spend every second of his life devoted to Claire’s pleasure, if she permitted it.

“Ever—” she starts my name, but she chokes on it when I pinch the swollen nub of her clit.

“Ever.” I breathe against her neck. “I like the sound of that. Do it again.”

Her legs tremble. “Ever.”

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