Page 43 of Ditching the Dragon (Fated Dates)

The “no” rests on my lips. I should say it.

But damn it all, I really don’t want to.

He caught me, fair and square. He found me. If he wants to punish me with orgasms, then maybe I shouldn’t be so quick to judge.

Reckless Annie has apparently also gotten bored with Organized Annie’s risk avoidance.

I rest a knee over his shoulder and toss my skirt over his head.

Wick chuckles, his body shaking between my legs.

Something sharp and pointed scrapes against my inner thigh and rockets off a series of shivers. It drags along my skin, not enough to break through but enough for the threat to heat my blood.

There’s a tug at my underwear, and then the fabric falls away from my body.

Wick wastes no time tonguing my center. His mouth falls onto my pussy, and the rest of the world falls away.

Music pounds in my ears, but all I hear is my blood rushing as he demands I acquiesce to the bond.

I grip the banquette beside me as he works his magic. He’s relentless, his lips and tongue on overdrive to make my thighs tighten around him.

I don’t know what completing the bond looks like, but if it feels anything as strong as seeing him for the first time in weeks, then I may willingly handcuff myself to his basement floor.

Or maybe the ceiling.

The man between my legs seems to grow in size. His shoulders must be muscling my knees wider.

He adds a finger, pressing it inside in time with his tongue rolling in circles around that sensitive spot, and I grip his head despite the fabric of the skirt.

Sharp teeth nip at my skin, and my muscles shutter and shake.

I missed him.

Not just for this. Not just the sex. Don’t get me wrong, I’m ready to melt into the floor, but I realize that I missed being with him.

It was only a night, but it was fun. Relaxing. Yes, he’s an overbearing asshole... but maybe he’smyoverbearing asshole.

Ugh, I do not have time for a crisis of faith right now. I need to figure out how to...

Wick’s tongue seems to widen as he pushes a second thick finger into me. He doesn’t fuck me with them just yet and instead hooks themjustso.

I need to get away . . .

He sucks on my clit, the roughness flicking and moving fast, and I become every awful, hormonal stereotype because there’s no circumstance in which I’ll let him stop.

I moan loud enough that it makes him chuckle, and he rewards me with a harsher nip.

Wick uses an expert touch and tongue to bring me right to the point of orgasm. Between his saliva and how drenched I am, it’s a wonder I don’t slide off the seat. The flouncy skirt has to be ruined.

My body tightens, my muscles contracting like my skin is too small.

Wick makes me want to combust, to break free of my body. My nerves are alight, and every inch of my body is engaged.

He licks with more fury, thrusting his fingers into me so hard it’s a wonder I won’t have bruises.

His demands, his loss of restraint, is this beautiful torment where I revel in being the one who made him lose control.

Gasping, my spine arches as the climax rockets through me. I grip his head under the fabric with both hands. I’m probably suffocating him, but Risk-Averse Annie cheers me on.

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