Page 168 of Filthy Elites

The façade drops, and a flicker of fear rushes over her face. I use the momentary distraction to my advantage, pushing her toward the bed. She stumbles, the back of her knees hitting the edge of the mattress. I close the space between us, towering over her, forcing her onto her back. “You tasted me. Now I’m going to taste you.”

Confusion and horror spread across her features, but I grab her waist and pin her to the bed. Control requires a semblance of balance. Giving as much as you get. Luring in your prey just before you pounce. But right now, I just want to taste her. Feel her heat on my tongue. Watch her squirm, even if she hates every second of it.

I inch down her pants and take exactly what I want.

ELEVEN

Reagan

His fingers push under the waistband of my sweats, pulling them down over the hidden curves of my hips.

“Miller, don’t,” I plead. Pretending like every time I speak, the bulge in his pants doesn’t grow bigger. “I’ll do whatever you want. Just… please don’t.” He ignores me, going for the black boxer briefs, the front packed with a pair of socks. He yanks them down to my knees, the socks falling to the floor.

He laughs, that wicked smile cutting to the bone. “Guess you can’t beat a classic.”

I curl inward, futilely trying to block my exposed body.

“Don’t worry,” he places a hand on each thigh, “I’m not going to fuck you.”

The way the word ‘fuck’ rolls off his tongue is less than reassuring. My inner thighs clamp close. “Please…”

His hands clamp down on each thigh, and his thumbs dip down between the gap, sweeping upward. “It’ll be a lot more fun if you don’t fight it.”

His grip loosens just a little. His touch is softer. The burn in my lower belly flickers and flares. I’m not ready when he drags my hips to the edge of the bed and drops to his knees. “What are you doing?”

“I told you, Kitten, I just want to taste you.”

His lips burn into the flesh of my inner thigh, licking and sucking. He makes his way to the crux of my legs, and I jolt when he touches me, thumb swiping against my heat. I hear a laugh. “I think you protested a little too much.”

Every muscle in my body tenses, and the heat that spreads across my skin is one of humiliation. It’s one thing for Miller to toy with me. It’s something else for him to know…

That I’m wet.

That he turns me on.

That I’m afraid that I’m just as sick and depraved as he is.

The self-flagellation ends when his warm breath blows over me, and his tongue, flat and slow, swipes along my pussy. My body shudders. Instinctive and pure. Belly twisting with want.

“Royer ever eat you out, Kitten?” I feel his eyes on me, but I keep mine clamped shut. “He ever make you feel good like this?”

He flicks his tongue over my nub, catching a rhythm, then abruptly stops.

“Did he?” he asks again.

I open my eyes and see him staring at me with his own liquid blue ones boring back. He’s handsome as sin. Mouth wet and slick. His eyebrow is cocked in question. It’s obvious he’s not going to continue until I answer, and I should use the opportunity to run, to get the hell out of here, but desire burns in my skin. Tickles in my belly. Beats in my chest.

“No,” I tell him. “He said it’s gross.”

He licks his bottom lip, tasting me. “He’s missing out. God, you taste good.” His tongue flicks again, drawing me back into a trance. I didn’t know a man could want you like that. I thought it was something they did out of obligation—or to get what they want. Miller’s hungry sounds make my thighs fall wider apart, and my hips rise to meet him.

He sucks me in, laughing against my clit. “No wonder you’re so pent up. So bitchy. You’re horny as fuck.”

Caught somewhere between his mouth, my body, and my brain, I realize that’s what this is all about. Messing with Royer. Getting me off because Royer didn’t. It rubs me the wrong way, but it doesn’t matter because Miller’s tongue is rubbing me all kinds of the right way. As much as I try not to, I hum from the feel of his mouth, reaching out and grabbing the back of his neck to pull him closer. My legs clamp around his ears and Iride his mouth, rutting against him, seeking the friction and wetness and heat until I’m on the pinpoint, shattering around him.

“Oh my god,” I breathe, writhing against his mouth, bucking into him with pulsing energy surging through every nerve and inch of my skin. We stay this way until the feeling dissipates, leaving me spent and limp.

Fucking hell, I think, staring up at the cracked ceiling. Miller Hansen just rocked my world.

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