Page 46 of Filthy Little Games

“I mean, I’ve had a man’s tongue down there before, but only like a few swipes if I wasn’t wet enough for him. I’ve never been close to…finishing that way.”

“Wait. Iz…he fucked you, even though you weren’t wet for him?” he asks, his voice getting louder. I don’t fail to notice that he didn’t finish saying his name.

“He wasn’t the only one.”

“He wasn’t?” Creed repeats. “These…stronzos couldn’t take the hint that you weren’t wet because you didn’t want them?”

“They didn’t care.”

“They hurt you?” When I don’t give him an answer either way, he asks, “What are their fucking names, Zara?”

Shaking my head, I tuck a damp strand of hair behind my ear and try to explain without going into details. “It’s not as bad as it sounds. It was consensual.” I never technically refused. If I had, I’m not sure it would have made a difference, though. It was easier if I took something to help relax me right before, pills they both gladly provided, which is why I failed the most important drug test of my life.

“Consensual but not…enjoyable?” Creed asks for clarification.

I nod, even if it’s a lie. The older I get, the more I realize that what happened was wrong even if I didn’t try to stop it. Sometimes I wish I had at least tried, although I doubt it would have mattered.

“One day, you’re going to tell me who else hurt you, and I’m going to kill them,” Creed promises.

“You already killed one,” I reply with a small smile.

“Piece of Shit.”

I nod and he tosses the covers off me so he can move his bigbody between my legs. Lying down on his stomach, his large, tattooed hands curl around my thighs, pulling me down the bed toward him until I’m lying flat on my back with my legs draped over his broad shoulders.

“Between the manipulation and selfishness, no wonder you weren’t sad to see him go,” he says. And seeing this larger than life, intimidating mobster’s face between my legs makes me feel cherished for the first time in my life.

“I’ll go slow.” Creed gazes up at me, the sides of his hair tickling my thighs. “If you don’t like it, just tell me to stop. If you give me a chance, though, I promise I’ll have you forgetting all about those other assholes.” His lips gently press against my inner thigh, stealing my breath. “Twenty-seven-years-old and you’ve never come on a tongue?”

“No. Never.”

“Then we’ve got some catching up to do.”

The first long swipe of his warm, wet tongue is all it takes to erase the last of my inhibitions. Each kiss and lick after that makes me melt a little deeper into the mattress. I cradle Creed’s head to my body, my fingers buried in his hair, urging him to keep going, to never stop.

“Creed!” I scream when the tip of his tongue flicks rapidly over my clit. Nothing has ever felt so good.

I’m right on the edge for this mobster, this cold-blooded killer, my new husband and... “Oh god! Creed!” The pleasure bursts free and my body trembles through the wonderful spasms.

I think I temporarily lose consciousness.

There’s no time to even recover. He just keeps licking me like his sole purpose in life is to make me come.

So, he does, again and again.

Creed said he wanted to worship me.

I didn’t know he meant it so literally.

There’s no other way to describe what he’s doing to me as I ride out the waves of pleasure, my hips bucking against his face for what is the third or fourth time.

I’m a hot, sweaty mess, barely able to open my eyes.

God, what is this man doing to me?

Anything he wants is the answer because it all feels so good.

His lips, his tongue, his fingers begin pumping inside of me, sending me over the edge again.

---