Page 80 of Westin

“Yes, sir,” I say.

It’s funny how easily I call him that. He hums low in approval. Then, with one finger, he hooks my panties and draws them aside. I shaved, maybe out of the vain hope this would happen. My pussy is smooth, and it feels delicious when his hot tongue pushes into the crease of my sex and finds my clit.

His tongue dips out and then in again, like he didn’t get enough the first time.

He groans. My knees sway. He pulls back, and my panties drop to the ground. Then, he rises, towering over me, and unhooks my bra. My breasts fall free, and my nipples go hard.

He picks me up and carries me to the bed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

WESTIN

The night she told me she wasn’t sleeping with Thomas Garrison was the night I went out and bought everything I needed to make her mine: toys, implements, and a diamond ring.

The toys can come out tonight.

The ring should probably wait until her husband is six feet under.

She falls onto her back, naked and breathtaking. Her blonde hair is the longest it has ever been. It tumbles over my bed, like yellow flowers in the summer fields.

I kneel between her spread thighs. Her pussy is dusky pink and laced with arousal. She gasps as I lift her further up so I can bend and lick between her legs. Her spine arches. Her toes curl, and I grip her ankle, loving how small it feels in my fist.

My cock throbs. I want to be inside her so badly, but not until she’s ready.

Not until she’s broken.

“Do you want a shot, darling?” I ask, my voice hoarse.

She nods. I feel her eyes on me as I go to the cart and pour the bourbon. When I return, she’s on her knees, her feet tucked under her body. She’s breathtaking like this, sitting naked on my bed.

“Stay there,” I say.

I set the shot glass aside and go to the closet. Hanging on the wall is a collar. I take it down, running my fingers over the soft leather. I bought this for her and had the inside engraved with her name.

Diane Quinn.

Her eyes widen as I leave the closet. Her body shivers as I brush her hair back and clasp the collar around her throat. It’s black leather, and the inside is lemon yellow silk.

“Does it feel good, darling?” I ask.

She nods once. “It feels…secure.”

“Good girl,” I praise. Her body is relaxed, and she has those big brown eyes locked on me intently. I bend and kiss the nape of her neck, holding her hair aside.

“Is my hair in the way?” she whispers, lifting her wrist to show me the band around it.

I slip it from her hand and kneel beside her. She keeps still as I gather up her hair and braid it loosely. Her breasts heave, her dusky pink nipples tight. When I lean in, I swear I can smell the wetness between her legs, and it makes me want to push my face into her pussy again.

But not yet.

She stays perfectly still, watching as I retrieve the whiskey glass from the table. I circle the bed until I’m standing at the foot of it and beckon her closer.

She obeys, wriggling until she’s right before me.

“Open your mouth,” I order.

Her lids droop, and arousal makes her cheeks flush. Her lips part, and her pink tongue extends.

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