Page 85 of A Forgotten Promise

I add a finger, sliding it deep inside her. “Fuck, you’re tight.” My cock twitches again, straining against my zipper. I really might blow in my pants. Jesus.

Saar gasps and arches her back as I add another finger and another; I curl them while assaulting her clit with my tongue, and she cries out.

Her walls close around my fingers, and she comes undone. “Oh my God, Corm. Oh, my God.”

I pump my fingers in and out while she’s coming, hoping to prolong her pleasure. She’s beautiful even when exhausted and scowling at me.

But Saar in the glow of her orgasm is alluring. I don’t think one hit of her could ever be enough.

I stand up, ignoring my painful erection, and scoop her up. “I need you naked. And we need a condom.”

She sighs contentedly. “And lube.”

I step inside the house and stop. What? “You want me to fuck your ass?”

“No,” she cries and slaps me.

Chapter 16

Saar

Corm lowers me to the floor. “What the fuck?”

He holds my elbow, so I can find my balance. The man is a walking contradiction. He yells at me while making sure I don’t fall?

I grew up being ignored and overlooked. I worked in the spotlight to find attention, only to realize that was even lonelier.

And now this? This gentle care and annoying control morphed into one.

“Why would you think I would give you something so intimate? Our first time, no less.” I snatch my arm away from him as if he burned me.

“And the only time, The Morrigan,” he warns. “You’re dripping wet; you just came all over my face; why would we need lube?”

Fuck. Heat rises to my cheeks. “Because that’s not usual for me. I’m not normally wet; it’s not easy for me to… to…” I don’t know how to say it, my eyes darting around the floor, hoping it will swallow me. “With my lifestyle, my sinuses are drier than normal, so are the tissues of my—”

He steps toward me, cupping my cheeks in his palms. “Sweetheart, I’m not going to hurt you. I’ll make sure you’re ready for me. I’ll slide in like my cock belongs to your pussy.”

I feel like an idiot. After the best orgasm of my life, I’m humiliating myself again in front of him. It must be the orgasm-induced fog.

As if he feels my hesitation—frankly, the mood is kind of gone—Corm pulls me closer and lowers his lips to mine. The kiss is different this time. Almost sweet.

And just like outside, for some incomprehensible reason, I feel safe. I feel safe in the arms of a man who can’t stand me most of the time, but who makes sure I eat well. Who doesn’t ridicule my endless mind spiraling while trying to figure out what I want. He simply listens, and calms down the storm in my head.

Before the wardrobe incident, in those few days, he might have believed in me more than I believe in myself.

And now he’s kissing me. Not with want or need—even though his cock is hard between us—but rather with reverence. It’s like every time I show him some broken piece of me, he rewards me.

A part of me knows it’s a false sense of safety. I can’t trust him, but I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want him to leave again and be with other women.

It’s like I need to prove to myself I can keep him here. If only for a brief moment. That I’m interesting enough for him to stay.

Fuck. I need therapy.

I moan as he deepens the kiss, his fingers sliding into my hair. His cock jerks between us, and my body ignites with a desire so strong, I stop thinking.

I twist my leg around his, and he cups my ass and lifts me up. As I wrap both legs around his waist, my core is now deliciously exposed to his length. I tilt my pelvis back and forth, and he groans into my mouth.

He carries me down the hall and stops at a console table in the foyer. He pulls out a condom from the drawer.

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