Page 23 of Ruthless Redemption

Focus. Focus. Focus.

He gently glides his thumb inside me. I can’t stop my pussy from eagerly clamping around the intrusion. I can’t quit staring at the gaze that calls to me like home. He’s attempting to infiltrate my heart all over again, to decimate what little strength I have left.

“I can read your thoughts,amore mio.” He curls his thumb inside me, hooking the digit, circling to find the perfect spot that makes me buzz. “You want this.”

He’s right.

The pulse in my core thunders. My abdomen heats. And my breasts. Dear Lord, how they throb.

It takes all my restraint not to plead for him to make me come.

“You wantme.” He increases his rhythm, stroking with that hooked thumb, delving it deeper inside.

I don’t answer with anything other than a gasped breath. I can’t hold it in. My pulse is too rampant. My desire too strong.

I claw my fingers against the table, scratching my nails into the gloss.

It’s useless to deny what he stokes inside me. I’m not naive enough to even try. Instead, I continue staring into those fathomless eyes as I roll my hips, grinding into his hand. His breathing increases to match mine, each exhale a muted growl of approval.

He doesn’t attempt to deepen the connection. There are no kisses. No lingering touches. He’s waiting for permission. For me to cave.

I arch my back, the jacket parting farther to barely cover my shoulders as I thrust my breasts toward him.

His gaze treks the temptation. His tongue swipes out to lick his lower lip. He wants to take this further. Wants to grasp and suck and bite. His restraint only makes me hotter.

I cherish his suffering. Devour it.

“Tell me you forgive me,” he growls. “Tell me we can move on.”

“Never.” I grind harder, faster.

With every roll of my hips, I delight in my progress toward the finish line, knowing he won’t reach the same pinnacle with me ever again. I use him, cheapening every heated moment we’ve shared as my pussy clenches around his fingers, the slickness of my arousal coating the inside of my thighs.

His exhales become animalistic. The heavy rise and fall of his chest simulates a beast in battle. I can sense the stiffness of his cock. Can practically feel how hard he must be throbbing because every ounce of blood in my veins does the same.

“Forgive me.” He pulses his thumb, wilder, sharper, demanding submission I will never give. “For the love of God, forgive me,amore mio.”

I let my head fall back, blocking out his sickening pleas, the mistruths, and allow my eyes to roll with the approaching orgasm.

I relax into the wave of gluttonous pleasure that overwhelms me, and come with a breathy whimper. Over and over, my core contracts, the thrill consuming my limbs. My heart. My mind.

For the briefest seconds, there’s nothing but bliss.

Pure. Effortless. Freeing.

The peace I previously found in him returns as if it never left. The world corrects itself for a few brief moments.

I’m at home. Happy. Alive.

Then with each ebbing pulse of euphoria, reality seeps in.

I blink back to the here and now, where the sponsorship deal for my life is still owned by misery, and sit up straight.

He removes his touch from my body, his eyes intense with potent hunger as he raises a hand to his mouth. He swipes his thumb over his lower lip, coating the darkened flesh with my glistening arousal before deftly licking it away with his tongue.

My breath catches as his eyes close briefly and a low rumble of appreciation hums from his chest. I could come again from the visual alone. Not only his enjoyment of my taste, but the adamant bulge against his pants zipper.

I’ve always been hypnotized by his want for me. It’s a weakness I can no longer afford to indulge, but it’s perfect to exploit.

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