Page 70 of Love Me Tomorrow

His beard scrapes the inside of my thighs as he offers me a rare, devilish grin. “All you need is me, sweetheart. And I got you.”

Like he’s prepared to feast, his hands tighten their grip on my ass, and then everything in me positivelytinglesas his tongue makes contact again with my clit. He starts slow, with little flicks, like he has all the time in the world to go down on me. My shoulders scream in protest, not because having my wrists linked behind my back hurts, but because I want to touch him. I want to encourage him, using my hands. I want toparticipate,goddammit.

He’s not the only one who’s been waiting ages for this moment.

Supporting me with his right hand—whoisthis man with superhuman strength?—Owen catches the underside of my thigh and drapes it over his shoulder. I’m splayed open. To his relentless tongue, to his softly nipping teeth, to his thick, inked finger that plunges inside me and hits methere. I cry out, fingers scraping the glass table, my ass writhing in his palm. And then he pushes me one step further by rocking my hips against his mouth, like he’s giving me permission to take back some semblance of control.

No need to tell me twice.

I roll my hips, and like the Prince of Darkness that he is, he groans deep in his throat and takes it all. He’s going to kill me. That’s really all there is to it. I’m going to combust in an explosion of pleasure, and I’ll be lucky if there’s enough of me left to scrape together by the time we’re done. Then his tongue grazes my core, and any hope of survival disintegrates on the spot.

Whimpering at the sensation, my head falls back and what little stability that I have left, using my hands for support, crumples. The hand on my ass zips up, to the middle of my spine, and lowers me gently to the table.

Rough. Gentle.

Demanding. Giving.

I was right: Owen Harvey is the most complex person I’ve ever met.

Complex and unyieldingly persistent.

Another flick of his tongueand I splinter on contact, coming so hard that I gasp out loud, even as Owen chuckles low, husky, like a man who knows he has the skills to back the dirty talk.

“Untie me,” I demand, struggling to sit up. With a hand to my shoulder, he props me upright. “I need you. All of you.” I cast a meaningful look to his jeans, and to theveryobvious erection that the well-worn denim is cupping lovingly.

Unabashedly, he plays with the brass button of his jeans. A lazy smile tips the corner of his mouth. “I like the belt.”

“Well, I’d like it if you were naked, but only one of us has what we want right now.”

That lazy smile of his stretches only wider, making butterflies launch to life in my belly. “Evening the playing field,” he muses, “I can do that for you, Rose. All you had to do is ask.”

The man has jokes. I’m bound with tingly limbs that may or may not be the result of the best orgasm of my life, and he’s laughing it up.

Time to the tip this scale in my favor.

I drop to my knees on the rug.

Angle my head back so I’m looking up past his muscular thighs and that angel-wing tattoo that is so wrong in all the right ways, and up to his face. “You going to undo that button, Owen?” I give him my most taunting, challenging smile. “It’s not nice to keep a woman waiting on her knees.”

A harsh breath pumps his broad chest up and down. “So much sass,” he husks out.

Playfully, I lick my lips, just to see him sweat.Oh, how the tables have turned.“What’d you say about evening the playing field? That all I had to do is ask?” I lean forward, my hands still linked behind my back, and make a show of breathing softly onto that bulge. Owen’s ribbed stomach sucks in, like even the prospect of having me this close to his cock is too much to handle. “I’m asking to see you beg for me, Harvey. How do you feel about that?”

He doesn’t respond with words.

But his inked fingers, which have confidently tattooed my skin and brazenly touched me in ways that I have rarely allowed another person over the years, visibly shake when he unfastens the button. The zipper comes next, so loud, so very present in making this moment concrete. Real. Not a fantasy.Almost there.

I’m nearly eye level with Owen’s hips, and when he reaches into his jeans to pull out his cock, I experience a split second where I’m not sure whether to pray at his feet, reel back in shock, or immediately put my mouth to work.

His hard-on is long and thick, flushed a deep, ruddy blush, and capped off with a glistening silver barbell at the crown.

My chest caves with an expelled breath. “Y-you’re—”

He wraps a hand around the base of his cock, slicking it up. He wasn’t wrong. My grip will be overflowing. My mouth, on the other hand?Stuffed.

“Scared, Rose?” he husks out, a challenging edge to his tone.

Rendered mute, I watch that hand glide upward, flick the piercing, before sinking back down to the root.

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