Page 8 of Creed

I want him to do the filthy things that only come out in my dark fantasies. I want to submit wholly to him, fall to my knees and swallow him. I want him to slap my ass until it burns and squeeze my hips until they bruise as he pummels me from behind. I want him to use me like I’m his personal fuck toy.

I need to get away from him.

My mind tells my body to run, yet I stand there, waiting for him. Waiting for him to come and take everything from me because I’d willingly give him whatever he asked for.

My body trembles with the intensity of my need, and he’sonlywalking toward me.

His absolute, unwavering attention, solely on me—like the roomful of people doesn’t exist—makes it hard to breathe.

His hands flex, and his chin tilts up slightly. Both actions pull my attention to his tattoos. His shirt is unbuttoned to show a bit of his chest, and the ink is full coverage across his exposed skin and up his neck, where it stops at his sharp jawline. The entire backs of his hands have intricate designs.

I’ve never been into tattoos myself or found them attractive on men; however, his are hot. He’sextraordinary.

I wonder if his dick is tattooed as well.

I nearly groan, hearing the voice of myabuelain my head:Sophie Camilia Demeanus!

I need to go to confession. Maybe five Hail Marys and five Our Fathers will cleanse my head of the lustful thoughts running rampant right now.

I need to run because he is here now. Within reach.

“Angel.”

Oh, dear lord, I think wetness just exploded between my legs.

That voice… deep, low, and all sorts of rumbly.

I can’t speak; I can’t move. Because at any second, I’ll lose control and tell him to take me to his car and fuck me over the hood.

That isn’t me. I’m not that kind of girl.

And I do not need a distraction of this magnitude in my life. I have a purpose for being here. I have a goal.

One night with this god of a man won’t derail that.My mind, it seems, is hopping on the lust train with my body.Have some fun. Then, tomorrow, it’s back to focusing on your future to help take care of the family.

He drags his thumb over his bottom lip, and I almost whimper in need. “We weren’t properly introduced, angel. I’m—”

“No!”

Even I’m surprised by my nearly yelled response and my hand flying up to ward him off—like his words are some sort of confession that will alter the trajectory of my world.

But if we keep it anonymous and don’t exchange names, there are no expectations or future temptations. This will be casual. One and done. A one-night stand with a stranger who I’d never see again. I wouldn’t know his name to try to seek him out, even if I wanted to. And the same for him; he wouldn’t know me.

Well, I guess it’s decided that I’m going to fall into insanity and allow myself one night of sin and mayhem.

This is so not me.

A blush heats my cheeks. “Bob, wasn’t it?” I refer to his costume.

His magnificent frame emits a low, rumbling laugh in that perfectly cut suit. The sound is as dangerous to my ovaries and vagina as his voice.

He tilts his head to the side, and I want to rub my fingers over the shaved skin on his head right above his ear to see if it is as smooth as it looks. “Really, angel? This is how you want to play?”

I can’t help smiling, and his piercing blue eyes darken behind the glasses. When he tongues his cheek and rubs his jaw, eyeing me intently, I know I’m a goner.

“Damn, I want to make you smile every day, angel.”

My breath hitches, and I instinctively lean toward him before I catch myself.

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