Page 42 of The Devil's Spawn

His words arrowed straight between my legs. “Master?” I breathed, fighting the urge to cover my suddenly aching nipples as visions of the two of us tore through my mind.

“What is it, baby?”

“I’m so wet.” A whimper drifted from my lips, and I pressed my thighs together.

“Spread them,” he ordered, a seductive timbre holding his voice captive.

“But what if someone—”

“I don’t care who’s watching. Spread your legs.” And he truly didn’t give a fuck. His gaze remained on me, and he brought his hand to my cheek again, preventing me from searching our surroundings for bystanders.

Wetting my lips, I inched my thighs apart, horribly self-conscious as a hint of air drifted up my legs.

“If you don’t spread your legs like you mean it, I will bend you over my lap and expose your ass.”

Oh, fuck. That shouldn’t make me so hot, but it did.

I spread wide open, and he slipped a warm hand underneath my full dress. He didn’t bother easing into it—his fingers filled my pussy in a forceful thrust.

“Master,” I groaned, arching my back.

“So fucking wet.” He licked his lips. “Who owns this sexy-as-fuck cunt?”

“You do, Master.” And he was driving me crazy because he refused to move his fingers. They’d laid claim to my drenched opening, and they seemed content to stay seated there as if my body was but a glove for those digits.

“Please,” I practically sighed, falling into the deep sea of his eyes. No one else existed—it was just the two of us, nose-to-nose, his left palm on my cheek while his right hand drove me insane.

“You can beg all you want, but you’re not coming.”

“Why are you doing this to me?”

One corner of his mouth lifted. “Because I can.” Leaning forward, he dipped his tongue between my parted lips. “Because I love to watch you come undone, nothing holding you back.” He crooked his fingers inside me, and I moaned against his lips. “If I told you someone was watching us this very minute, would you still beg me to fuck you with my fingers?”

“Yes, Master.” I kissed him, eyes fluttering shut, and spread my legs as wide as my tired muscles would allow. He tangled his tongue with mine for a few lust-filled seconds then pulled away.

“What if I wanted to lick your beautiful cunt while strangers watched? Would you beg me to do it?”

“God,” I choked past the desire strangling my throat.

“I’m not your God, but I am your Master. Beg me, Kayla.”

“I need you,” I said with a whimper. “Fuck me, Master. I’m begging.”

“Mmm,” he murmured, scraping his teeth over the sensitive part of my neck, “your cunt is begging. Know the difference, baby.”

“It needs you. Bad.”

“Yes, it does. But your belly is growling, so your cunt will have to wait.” He rose to his feet, and it was a good thing he pulled me to mine because I knew my legs would have folded without his support.

He led me back inside in time for the first course of an elaborate meal, and I wondered if everyone could guess at the mess between my legs with one glance at my flushed face. My lust for Gage consumed me, and I was certain I gave off whore-like pheromones that no mask in the world could disguise.

20. A Test of Trust

I made it through dinner and dessert in a daze, politely nodding upon what I hoped were the right cues, and speaking only when directly spoken to. But my mind had zeroed in on the hot need between my thighs. Gage had mastered the art of controlling me through denial, and when he played with my head like this, I might as well be a puppet dangling on the other end of his strings.

Sometime later, long after we’d eaten our last course, he dragged my reluctant feet to the middle of the dance floor. Couples crowded around us from all sides—at least that’s what it felt like despite the cathedral ceiling over the spacious ballroom. My husband’s unyielding finger titled my chin in his direction, demanding my undivided attention. He pressed a hand to the small of my back and brought me into his arms. We swayed to the music, lost in our own world, mindless of the time passing. I could dance like this with him forever, one cheek nestled against his chest, moving more to the sound of his heartbeat than to the music.

“It’s time,” Gage whispered into my ear.

---