Page 46 of Wicked Sin

“Enough,” he says, his voice cracking now in anger. “Stop. That’s enough.”

“Is it?” I shake my head. “I don’t know where the line is, Detective. Sorry. But I guess you’re right about me. I guess I’m just—”

He lets go of my hand and hauls me close, one arm wrapping around me, the other hand clapping over my mouth.

Literally stopping the verbal assault that I cannot put a lid on my self.

So I lick him. I slide my tongue between his fingers, slicking his hand, and being as crude and lewd as I once was.

17

Luke

She gotunder my skin with the spanking comment. That hit a little too close to home. But right now I don’t want to paddle Taylor. Not at all.

I want to show her some basic human kindness. And I don’t want her to say anything awful about herself.

Goddamnshe’s making it difficult to be nice her.

She glowers at me, her eyes bright and spiteful, as I refuse to move my hand.

But I see what she’s doing. Taylor is testing all of my boundaries. Testing to make sure I’ll still be on her side, no matter what. No matter how rude she is and no matter what buttons she tries to push.

Slowly, without breaking eye contact, I shift my hand from covering her mouth to cupping her face. “You done?”

“You did not just cover my mouth like that,” she spits out.

Clearly not done.

I lean in, pushing my forehead against hers. “Taylor, Taylor, Tay—”

Her mouth collides with mine, shutting me up with a kiss that knocks me back a step. I’m holding on to her, so she follows, and we slam into the wall behind me.

She. Just. Fucking.Kissed. Me.

I stare down at her face. Bright eyes, wide wet mouth. Shock is written all over her expression. I know the fucking feeling.

“Taylor,” I whisper again, but this time my voice is rough and unsteady. She pushes up again until her lips are against mine.

Soft.

Wet.

I demand the next kiss, and it’s so fucking wrong and so fucking good at the same time.

She tastesright. Like her mouth is supposed to be this soft, this responsive, this perfectly matched for mine. Everything else fades into a fuzzy blur. We’re nothing but lips and tongues and hot, breathless pants as we jockey back and forth for more, deeper, harder.

“Luke,” she whispers.

Hey, Luke.

Fuck.

“We can’t do this.” A lie. A fucking weak string of noises that mean nothing, because she’s already on me again.

When we wrench apart, she stares at me.

I stare right back. The taste of her is still on my tongue.

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