Page 21 of Wistful Whispers
“I’ve got to go.” I finish the last of my coffee, glancing at the time. My meeting is in twenty minutes, and suddenly, I feel like I need protection more than ever.
The thing is—I’m not sure I want to work with him ever again, no matter what happens. I know who he is now and I’ll never be able to trust him.
I push back my chair. Bryce waits for me, something sharp in his gaze. “You sticking with me on this?”
His question hangs in the air, tainted and heavy.
“Of course,” I say. The lie scrapes my throat raw.
When I turn away, it isn't guilt curdling in my gut.
It’s shame.
The sick truth I might sell myself out to survive.
seven
Marcella
Five Weeks Later
Seamusslamsmeagainstthe stairwell wall, one hand fisting my hair, the other dragging my leg around his waist.
His mouth crushes mine—biting, breathless, desperate.
I moan into it. Grind against him.
I need more. Needeverything.
He growls low in my ear, “You want it?”
I nod, shaking. I’m wet with anticipation.
“Say it, Marcella. I need the words.” He cradles my ass, pulling me against his cock.
“Yes,” I breathe. “Touch me, Seamus. Please.”
He groans, pushing up my skirt. His hands skim the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, stopping shy of where I ache for him.
“You're so soft,” he rumbles. “Spread wider for me, baby.”
I allow my legs to fall open, baring myself. His appreciative growl sends a thrill through me. He traces the damp cleft of my panties. “Ah, you're soaked. Because of me?”
“Yes,” I whimper as he rubs me through the drenched fabric.
Unbutton your blouse,” Seamus commands, his voice low and raspy. “I want to see those gorgeous tits.”
With shaking hands, I obey, revealing my lacy, black bra beneath.
“Now take them out,” he orders. “Let me see you.”
Tugging the cups down, I free my heavy breasts. He fills his hands, squeezing and plumping my soft flesh. I watch him work my nipples between his fingers, pinching and rolling, until they’re furled and pebble-hard.
“Look how pretty they are, baby.” He licks his lips in approval. “Luscious brown berries, all tight and puckered for me.”
Seamus ducks his head, sucking one into the wet heat of his mouth. I cry out, sparks shooting straight to my core as he nibbles and laves the sensitive bud. He moves back and forth, suckling and gently biting them until I'm writhing, desperate for more.
“Ohmygod,” I keen shamelessly.
