Page 100 of Ruthless Regret

"Then don't move." Slowly, deliberately, I take her hands in mine and pin them above her head. “Hold onto the headboard.”

I trail my fingers down her arms, along her sides, and then over her stomach. My fingers open each button of her top, and I slowly pull it apart to bare the soft, warm skin beneath. She squirms slightly as my fingers stroke up from her navel to the valley between her breasts.

Lowering my head, I press a string of kisses along her throat, across her shoulder, and down until my lips meet the lacy edge of her bra. Her breasts rise and fall with every breath she takes.

My hand smooths up her spine and finds the clasp on her bra. A quick flick of my fingers, and it’s undone. I nose the material away and lift my head to look down at what I’ve uncovered.

Her nipples are a dark pink, hard, and tilted up slightly. The temptation is too much, and I flick my tongue across one tip. She makes a soft sound, and her back arches a little. My lips close over one, and I roll it between my teeth, while I reach down to find the waistband of her pants, and slowly push them down over her hips. At the same time, I shift position, lowering her onto her back and coming down above her.

I take my time exploring her body, learning every curve and dip. Each gasp, each shiver I elicit from her is a victory. A reminder that I’m in control, and when I finally claim her lips again, it’s on my terms.

Slow, deep,thorough.

I pour every ounce of pent-up emotion into the kiss—the anger, the frustration, thedesire.

Her hands stay where I’ve placed them, fingers clinging to the headboard while the rest of her writhes beneath my lips as I feast on her breasts.

It's intoxicating, this power she's given me.

For the first time since walking out of prison, I feel grounded.

Centered.

In control.

But it’s not enough. I need more.

CHAPTER FIFTY

ASHLEY

My breath hitcheswhen his hand skims lightly down my side, and drags down my pants. His breath is warm against my hip as he slides down my body and settles between my legs. His touch ignites a warmth that spreads through me, bringing with it a wave of desire and uncertainty.

I want to give in, to lose myself in this heat that’s building, but I can’t stop myself from thinking about all the pain and anger that’s passed between us.

Is this real? Or just a moment of vulnerability, of seeking comfort in the dark?

Does it matter?

“Zain?” I’m not sure if I’m about to tell him to stop or encourage him to keep going.

His head lifts, and his eyes meet mine. In the dim light, I imagine I can see the expression in them, and in my head I’m sure they reflect my own conflict.

Want. Need. Hesitation.

Do I want this? Do I wanthim?

When I don’t say anything more, he turns his head and presses a kiss to my thigh. And that’s enough to give me my answer.

I do want this. I dowanthim. The past doesn’t matter. Not here. Not now.

All that matters is the electric current his touch on my body is causing, and the way my pulse speeds up.

It takes every ounce of willpower I possess to keep my hands on the headboard at the first lick of his tongue over my clit. My back arches, and his hand flattens against my stomach, pressing me back down against the mattress. He holds me there, while his mouth devours me, tongue licking, lips teasing, teeth nipping, and the overload of sensation sends me hurtling over the edge of a cliff I didn’t see coming toward me.

I think I have an out-of-body experience, a moment where I’m looking down at the pair of us, of Zain’s dark head between my legs while I buck and writhe against his mouth. When my soul returns to my body, it’s to the sound of sobs and whimpers filling the room.

Is that me? Oh my god, is that me?

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