Page 18 of The Mob and his Messenger

“Girl?” I whisper. “Where are you?”

I can’t help but smile – even wider than I already am – when I hear her answering moan from down the hallway. I glance out and see her standing at the door to the spare room, head tilted as if to say, I’m right here, safe and sound but out of the way … you know, because you’ve got business to handle.

“Good girl,” I say.

She turns and slinks back into the bedroom.

Not for the first time, I reflect that Poppet is probably one of the smartest dogs I’ve ever met.

I’m about to turn to tell Dom I’m ready – but are you? are you ready? aren’t you actually incredibly nervous? – when I feel his hands loop around my hips and his groin drive into my lower back. His manhood is a solid trapped mass in his suit trousers, grinding against me.

“You’re going to cream all over my mouth,” he whispers in my ear, voice made husky with his desire. “Do you understand, Dallas? You’re going to fucking cream for me.”

I get the sense that we’ve both silently agreed to ignore the massive elephant in the room, that being Gabriel Smith, my dad, Dom’s best friend. A passing sense of guilt touches me, but then it’s whooshed away with the motion of Dom guiding me into my bedroom and shutting the door behind us. He glances around at the boxes and the general mess.

“Bad girl,” he laughs deeply, spanking me lightly on the ass.

I let out a squeal and spin on him. “Hey, who said you could spank me?”

“I fucking did,” he snarls, and then grabs my shoulders and directs me to the bed. “You’re driving me crazy in that dress. The way the material dances around you and outlines your figure. Fuck. That body was made to be worshipped and tasted and spanked. Lie down, Dallas. Lie on your back. Now.”

Lust drives me to the bed, onto my back, even as nerves hiss in my ear that this isn’t right. I’m not his sort of girl. When he finds out …

But then his powerful, certain hands are gliding up my thighs and toward my sex. And I can’t think about the what-ifs anymore. All I can focus on is the feeling of his hands tickling at my panties, gripping them and pulling them down, the fabric rustling against my skin, and causing beautifully torturous shimmers to move through me.

He tosses them to the floor and then just pauses with his hands on either side of my sex, leaving burning imprints of his palm. I risk a look down – even now, nerves pulsate endlessly around me – and see that his face has warped into something like fascination. A light smirk toys at his lips as he glances at me briefly.

“Jesus,” he groans. “I knew your pussy would be perfect, but this is something else. You’re already wet for me, aren’t you? You’re already fucking drenched for me.”

I try to reply but all that comes out is a shivering moan that breaks off into a gasp as he grinds his palm against my center. He smears my wetness over my lips and then presses his finger against my clit and holds it there, applying more pressure each moment.

“Enough games,” he snarls. “I need to taste that wetness. It’s too tempting. I—I can’t stop, not with you.”

I don’t want you to.

He leans forward and his hot breath paints my sex.

Even if you should.

He licks up one of my lips, causing my eyes to slam shut as though I’ve just been punched in the chest. But then I force them open and look down at him, his seven foot form knelt down at the end of the bed, somehow still seeming in control even if he’s on one knee. His shoulders bulge massively in his suit jacket as he buries his face in my sex.

“Ah,” I croak. “Oh—fuck.”

He moves his tongue around my clit, his mouth wide open as he gulps on the rest of me, as though drinking my wetness. He sucks on my lips and I feel as if my pussy is going to disappear into his animal’s embrace.

He digs his hands deeper and deeper into my flesh, pawing like a powerful bear, dragging me closer to him.

I feel my legs trembling as I try to hold back a budding scream, not wanting to disturb Poppet and have her clawing at the door.

An invasive thought stabs into me … What if Dad comes home?

But I can’t think about the risks, not now, not when Dom’s tongue is laying claim to my sex. My clit feels as though it’s shimmering, a completely new sensation, something a shower head or my own hand has never and could never give me.

My hips buck and I have to bite down, and hard, to stop from howling like a wolf.

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