Page 39 of Sins and Secrets

He moves to the floor, and he must be kneeling because his breath is on my neck. His fingers start at my scalp, smoothing my hair before resting on my cheek. “You’re wrong.”

I know the facts. “I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.” His breath is against my skin as he whispers, “Close your eyes, I’m going to take off the mask.”

The pressure around my head releases and the brightness seeps through my eyelids. Slowly I open my eyes, his face is blurry until I blink. I’ve never seen him like this—concerned and sweet, but his eyebrow twitches like it does when he’s angry with me.

“Don’t believe any of those lies in your head.” He holds my cheeks in his hands. “I didn’t let you touch me for three reasons. One, I didn’t tell you to move your hands. Two, you weren’t following directions. And three, this was supposed to be for you, to let you explore, feel, experience. My pleasure has nothing to do with it.”

I still don’t understand. “I don’t like it.” He opens his mouth, expecting to explain more, but I cut him off before he can speak. “You gave me the best orgasm I’ve ever had. It’s selfish not to show how much I appreciate it.” I reach for the only way my brain will let me explain it. It’s kinda dirty if it’s one sided. I need things to be even. “I don’t understand why you wouldn’t want me to reciprocate, unless you’re not attracted to me or you think I’m going to be bad at it. It makes me feel inadequate.”

One for one, that’s the way it’s always been. Back when we were younger, sometimes he’d go down on me twice, or get me off twice, and I always finished him off too. This feels one sided. Hollow.

He closes his eyes before resting his forehead against mine. “I’m sorry I made you feel like that. You’re beautiful, the measure I gauge all other women by, and they never come close to you. I never meant to make you feel used, or like I’m taking advantage of your vulnerability.” His lips press against my forehead. “Can you stop crying for me?” His voice is sweet, every word laced with compassion.

“Uh-huh,” I whimper.

Before I process what he confessed, his face fills my field of vision. His gaze is dark and focused. The shift in mood almost gives me whiplash.

“Now, get on your knees, and wrap those soft, sweet lips around my cock.”

Oh. Wow. All the moisture leaves my eyes and instantly pools in my panties.

ChapterSeventeen

Lukas

I’m so stupid.I didn’t explain everything to her, and she felt rejected. Of course she would, in her mental state. Throw in Waverly needing to take care of everyone and I should’ve seen it coming. What I don’t understand is how she could ever believe for a moment I wasn’t attracted to her. She’s haunted my dreams since I was a teenager.

I’m not doing this because I need her to suck my cock the way I’ve been dreaming about for the last week. I mean, I really do want it. But this isn’t about me. She needs to feel desired, and I won’t let her leave thinking she isn’t the most incredible woman I’ve ever met.

She wipes the tears from her cheeks. “What?”

I raise my eyebrow. “Are you going to make me repeat myself?”

She nods. “Yes. I’m checking if I heard you correctly.”

Her eyes flutter shut as I brush my thumb across her plump lower lip. In a low growl, I say, “I want your luscious lips around my cock. I’ve been hard since you walked into my bedroom.”

“That second part is new, right?”

“I’m giving you more context.”

She blinks at me for a moment. I guess if I didn’t have my hand on her chin, she could see my hard-on. I can’t read her mind, and her mental state is so fragile, I shouldn't push it if she’s not ready.

She’s careful to unzip my fly, which I appreciate. Once she frees my cock, her grin grows wider and there’s a wicked glint in her eyes. She takes a long lick from the base to the tip and, holy shit, I could die now and be happy. She hums in satisfaction as she wraps her mouth around me like I told her to. Her tongue and lips are fucking magic. “Jesus Christ,” I groan.

Waverly’s big eyes glance up at me, gleeful, adoring. Her hand follows the path her mouth paves. She’s worshiping me, on her knees, humming her prayer, rendering me temporarily brain dead.

When her hair falls in front of her face, I tuck it behind her ear but keep my hand on her head. She gives me another hum and moan and I groan out, “You feel amazing.” She shimmies her shoulders. She really likes praise.

“Take me down your throat.” My hand guides her head, pushing her mouth deeper around my cock. Her body rejects it and her eyes water. “Breathe, love, breathe,” I instruct, and she does, relaxing and pushing past her reflex.

My shirt keeps blocking my view of her bobbing mouth. With one hand still on her head, I whip my shirt off over my head with the other. Her eyes widen, what is she looking at? Oh. My tattoos. Her left hand slides up my stomach, following the nest of snakes I got three years ago. She moans and the vibrations shoot through my cock into my core.

I want her to feel sexual and beautiful, but all she wants is me. The blatant desire is on display in her eyes. I groan at the realization. Her hands and mouth speed up. Praise, she needs praise.

“Waverly, your mouth is a fucking sin.” My voice is hoarse and deep. Her fingers dig into my skin as she claws at my stomach. The comment urges her on harder, each thrust deeper.

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