Page 40 of Sins and Secrets

She’s a million times better than my dreams, and I curse my lack of imagination. Tears stream down her cheeks, the gagging getting to her. I should tell her that’s enough. But she’s gagging for me, and I want her to.

I’m about to tell her to play with my balls, but her hand is already there, massaging them—gentle and soft against the most tender part of me—while her other hand and mouth work at a feverish pace.

“Damn it, you’re amazing.” It’s hard to get the words out. I let out a guttural moan, deep from my soul. I don’t recognize it as my own.

Sweat starts to bubble up at her scalp, and not once does she break eye contact. And all I can think is, ‘You’re mine, Waverly Mcleod. You’re on your knees with my cock hitting the back of your throat and you’re loving every second of it.’

My hand tightens against her skull. Her moan changes, sharpens, shocked by a twinge of pain and discomfort. “I’m so fucking close.” My other hand slides down around her neck. “You’re going to swallow every bit of my hot cum like a good girl.” It’s not a request and she knows it. Her moan vibrates through my core and sends me over the ledge. My hand on her throat feels every swallow. She keeps moving but slows, keeping me on edge and making it last as long as she can.

She’s perfect.

And more than ever, I hate my cunt of a brother for making her think she is less than she is.

I tilt my head back, resting it against the wall, waiting for my breathing to return to normal.

“Pull up my pants,” I say once her mouth leaves my cock. She’s slow and careful as she lifts my jeans from around my ankles over my thighs. She’s even more gentle tucking everything away and re-zipping my fly. She’s about to buckle my belt, when I lift her by her elbows. “You’ve done enough.”

Her hair is a mess from where I was holding her, her lips swollen from her hard work. Her skin is dusted with a pink hue and a sheen of sweat.

Her eyes drift to my chest, and she lifts her hand but hesitates, gazing at me with pleading eyes.

I give her a nod. “Go ahead, you can touch.”

Her fingers brush against my skin as she leans in to see better. My chest and stomach are black and white, stylized and shaded with snakes in a coil. “You’re a work of art.”

My heart flutters, “So are you.” I press her half naked body against my skin, wrapping my arms around her waist. “Do you feel better?”

“Yes. Thank you.” Her voice is quiet and small.

With a few flicks of my fingers, her bra is unhooked. Waverly makes a little squeak. “Look at me.” She does, her face still pink and flush, all concern washed away. I need to keep her in this mindset. “It’s not going to be even anymore. But you are desired, and I will prove it to you every time I make you come and scream.”

She gasps. “Um, I don’t know…”

“Shhh.” She’s about to give me some bullshit about how she can’t have more than one. Probably because no one has done it to her. I’ve learned a lot in the past few years, and I’m about to put it all to use. On the only woman I’ve ever really wanted. “Hand me your panties and get your hot ass on my bed.”

ChapterEighteen

Waverly

His voice holdscommand over me. A few seconds later, I’m standing naked in front of Lukas and handing him my wet panties. This is really happening. He raises his eyebrows and nods toward the bed. “Hands and knees, crawl.”

My cheeks flush, am I really about to do this? My hand reaches for the bed and I pause. I can’t. No.

He rests his hand on my back, slowly moving it to my ass and squeezing it. “Go on, love.”

It’s enough to push me forward, past my hesitation. Why does he have this sort of power over me? It’s not a very big bed, it’s not like I’ll be crawling through a desert. And the bed is soft, it won’t be difficult. Still it’s slow going. One knee, another hand, the second knee and forward. I stop once I get to the headboard.

“Spread your knees further apart,” he says.

My knees fight against the blankets, but I do what I’m told. The bed sinks a little as he gets on. I can’t see him, I don’t dare look back. Instead, I focus on the headboard. It’s got decorative, vertical steel bars every six inches. It’s pretty.

He groans behind me. “My tattoo is almost as sexy as your wet pussy.” His fingers slide around my slit, the slickness surprising me. My stomach drops and a pulse scorches to my core. I squeak. Or at least I think I do. I don’t know for sure. I’ve never felt so vulnerable, on display and aroused at the same time. He holds me in place, one arm wrapped tightly around my waist while the other hand continues its path, pausing to encircle my clit. Then his fingers slide, barely inside my pussy, circling around the inner rim. It’s not enough. I need to be full.

I moan, the word ‘please’ about to leave my lips, when his finger plunges deep inside me. I cry out, but he doesn’t stop pumping back and forth. His lips kiss my spine as he works me.

The pressure builds, my breathing erratic. I’m getting close. Then his fingers leave my entrance and I feel empty and disappointed.

Figures.

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