Page 32 of On the Line

Feeling her get wetter around my fingers, I smirk, digging my cock into her hip while I lick the column of herthroat before nipping at her earlobe. “You like when I talk to you like that, huh James?” I taunt darkly. “You want to be called a filthy little princess, don’t you?”

Grinding her clit into the heel of my palm, her body’s reaction is answer enough. But then, through my clasped fingers still around her face, she desperately moans, “Yes, chef.”

My body flares at the sound.

“Don’t stop what you’re doing,” she pleads, her eyes falling closed, her eyebrows pinching in concentration. “Just like that, oh my god, just like that.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The things I’d do to feel her tighten around my cock.

Rocking her hips once, and then again, I feel her body shudder against me, muscles tightening, her cuntsqueezingmy fingers. She seems to lose herself to her orgasm and I barely feel deserving enough to witness it.

When she finally relaxes around me, I carefully uncurl my hand from around her mouth. Her lips are still kiss-swollen from earlier, her chest heaving as she watches me with an expression of delightful shock in her darkened gaze.

With my gaze burning into her, I bring my fingers up between our two faces, wordlessly showing her how much of her arousal is still on my fingers before bringing them into my mouth, eager to savor her once again.

The taste of her blooms on my tongue. “Even better than I remembered,” I rasp.

Pulling her in for one last kiss, I then step back and flash her a quick grin. “You better go freshen up before rejoining the party, sweetheart. You wouldn’t want your boyfriend to see you freshly fucked.”

I might not know much, but Idoknow her asshole boyfriend never made her feel like I just did.

13

JAMES

Ozzy has been gone for several minutes but I’m still standing here, against the statue, feeling like I’ve been living my whole life without my five senses. And having Ozzy touch me like he just did suddenly restored them. He might have gifted me with a sixth sense with how hard he just made me come. Zachary never made me feel like that—ever.

What the fuckwasthat?

Was it the sneaking around that made it so hot? The lingering shame attached to the whole exchange fueling my climax like gas to an already burning flame?

Or was it simply Ozzy? Tapping into a debased part of myself I didn’t know even existed. That linked with the unspoken knowledge that if I wanted him to stop, he would have stopped.

I held the power. And that makes me feel … invincible.

Like I could take on anything and come out the victor.

There’s only one thing I want to do while this sentiment lasts.

Finally shaking myself out of my stupor, I pick up my clutch from where I let it fall to the ground and take my phone out. Opening my camera in selfie mode, I quickly fix my makeup and hair before putting on a fresh coat of lip gloss. When I deem myself acceptable enough to rejoin the party, I walk out from inside the little recess Ozzy pushed us in.

Needing to pass his station to get to Zachary, I keep my shoulders straight, my gait assured while I saunter across his path. My eyes can’t help but slide his way, and I find him already staring back, a cocky grin fixed on his face while busy serving a party-goer.

I’ll be honest. I don’t hate how his gaze makes me feel. Not at all. But he’s also not the reason I’m breaking up with Zachary. Maybe our little tryst was a needed catalyst for me to gather enough courage to finally do it. But one thing I learned after moving out and living on my own was this: I’m done with the world where the decisions are made for me.

Zachary is the last tether I need to cut to free myself from this world. I need to end it before it’s too late. Although that rusty link to my former self feels embedded in my skin, I tell myself I can do this. No matter how much it’ll hurt, the relief will be tenfold.

I spot Zachary near the stage, the band now crooning some smooth jazz. When his smug gaze flicks to mine, his lips purse and I can barely stand to look at him.

How I ever found him charismatic is beyond me.

I pull him by the crook of his arm, but he doesn’t budge. A searing blade of white-hot rage impales itself through my chest and it takes heroic effort not to snap at him in front of everyone here.

“We need to talk,” I growl low. “And I don’t think you want to hear what I’ve got to say in such apublicsetting.”

Zachary’s eyes turn hard. I know he’s not above making a scene. But here, with both our parents witnessing it—well, that’s another matter entirely. He has an image to maintain after all. I’m the only oneluckyenough to experience the real him. The only one who could paint an accurate picture of who he really is with the years’ worth of emotional wounds I’ve been forced to carry since we started dating.

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