Page 74 of Fearless

His head ducks down, and it’s all the warning I have before he clamps his mouth over my clit. My hands go into fists as my body wrenches control away from me.

My hips buck, forcing his lips harder against my clit. But the sick fuck lets out a low chuckle as he leans back from me, denying me the pressure I need to build to a climax.

Instead, he slaps me again. And on wet skin, I feel that impact tenfold. I gasp, twisting away from him as much as I can.

“Sit still, or you’ll get another one.”

I freeze. Everything except my chest, of course. There’s nothing I can do about the desperate pants tearing through me. “Please,” I beg in a broken voice. “Cillian.”

“Please what, princess? Stop? Go faster? Harder? Slower?” He ducks down, and I lift my hips an inch before I remember his command. They thump back onto the mattress, and I let out a low, sullen whine as my core tightens to the point of pain at being denied his mouth sucking on my clit.

“Or were you serious when you said I could take what I want?” He sits back on his knees. If I thought he was hard before, it has nothing on the massive erection tenting his pants. I mean it’s not… romance novel big. But it’s definitely porn star big. As if he feels my eyes on his cock, he strokes himself through the fabric, a sly smile toying over his mouth. “Because, honestly, I’ve been wanting to stick my tongue in you since we met.”

Not exactly what I was expecting him to—

He drops between my legs, grabs my hips, and rams his tongue into my pussy.

If I’d been able to move, I’d have clamped my thighs around his head and never let him go. But he gives me one good, hard thrust of his tongue, and then moves away before I can urge him even deeper inside me.

“Fuck!” I yell, bouncing on the bed like a kid way past their bedtime. “Just…Ugh…just fuck me already!”

My voice is hoarse.

Cillian watches me for a second before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’ll think about it,” he says. “But first, there’s something I need you to do for me.”

“What?” I snap, feeling every inch the brat he accused me of being. “Spit it out.”

He laughs at me using his own words against him and then slaps my tit so hard I choke on an incredulous gasp.

“That’s two.”

Jesus Christ. How many strikes do I get? I whimper quietly while I wait for the sting to go away. “Sorry,” I murmur.

He holds up his hand, fingers strangely crooked. “You have five minutes,” he says, before he leans forward and rests his weight on one hand.

The fingers of his other brush my slippery entrance. I almost buck forward before I can stop myself. “To what?” I manage, barely able to form words as my panting picks up speed again.

And I was wondering if I could die of boredom? What about frustration? Or a heart attack?

“To make yourself come,” he says, a wicked smile flashing his teeth at me. “And princess, if you even try and fake it…” He rams his fingers inside me. “Then that’s three.”

I writhe around his fingers, frowning hard at him. “I don’t—what do you want—?”

His jaw tightens. “Four minutes,” he says.

“What? That wasn’t possibly—”

“Three minutes.”

The fucking—

He’s not moving his fingers, but they’re still lodged deep. A second ago he told me not to move, but now I have to make myself come?

Bit of a catch twenty-two.

“Two minutes.”

I want to belt out a whiny, “Come on!” but that might drop me to a whole sixty seconds.

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