Page 22 of Vows in Sin
My legs parted like this, exposing my heat and wetness to the cool air. I have no idea what he has in mind. Punishment? Pain? Pleasure? My heart thumps in my chest, and I can barely breathe.
Big hot hands are back on my hips, fingertips digging in. I hope to have circular-shaped bruises on my skin in the morning.
What is he going to do to me?
His tongue answers my curiosity.
His hot, wicked, relentless tongue.
He doesn’t tease; instead, he devours like he’s punishing me with his mouth.
Every flick of his tongue reminds me that I came here for one thing. Him. My moans get louder. My body bucks, writhes—buthe holds my hips so I’ve nowhere to go, no choice but to stand there and take everything he wants to give me.
Absorbing every ounce of pleasure.
His right hand slips down from my hip, grabbing the front of my thigh tightly, then dragging his fingers up. My cries choke off in the back of my throat. My acrylic nails dig into the crate so hard I might break one.
And I don’t care.
My knees tremble—sharp, helpless shivers crawling up the backs of my thighs. His mouth works me over like he already knows me. My body. What I need. Like he knew I’d be here tonight.
He knew I needed what only he could give me.
The tip of his hot tongue does all kinds of filthy things, tracing circles, dragging heat up and down, flicking harder when I whimper.
My hips push back towards his face without my permission, in my need. I’m greedy and soaked, my inner thighs wet. He grips me tighter, spreading me more. My hair hangs around my face in damp strands. I taste sweat on my lip, biting down to keep from crying out.
The first quakes of the orgasm threaten to destroy me. I try to hold back. But then he does that thing—tongue fucking deep, slow, curling up—and my eyes roll back. I choke on a moan, legs buckling. My belly clenches like a fist, low and tight as I snap—a jagged, electrified wave tears through me.
I want to scream his name.
I don’t even know his real name.
I pulse against him in waves, but he doesn’t stop.
His tongue is buried deep inside me. I can’t see anything but bright white stars as I come, fingers clinging to the crate, hoping he doesn’t release me anytime soon ‘cause I’ll collapse.
When he’s finished, I’m exhausted. My hand presses against the wall to steady my shuddering self. Suddenly, he surrounds me. The heat, cloves, man. His chest presses against my back.
Flattening one hand against the wall on each side of me, he moves his mouth to my ear in that way I’ve quickly come to want. “I don’t want you wandering around at night. It’s not safe.”
His words echo, creating a fluttering feeling that surprises me. I yearn to face him. His arms are so close right now, one on either side of me. I want him to wrap those arms around me and hold me. I long to lay my cheek against his chest and inhale him.
I’m shocked to find tears pricking at my eyes. The longing is so deep within, and I feel so empty right now. I know he could make this ache go away with just one kiss. But he’s pulling away from me, heat and muscle, gone. He’s ready to send me away.
He’s gone.
And I’m alone. Naked from the waist down, my skirt on the floor, liquid dripping down the inside of my thighs, my blood pressure hovering somewhere around stroke.
He’s just left.
He didn’t even say goodbye. Or tell me he’s sent for a car. Which, instinctively, I know he will.
A silly hope wells up in me as I sense him returning.
He’s kneeling behind me. What is he doing? I glance over my shoulder, watching as he holds a warm damp cloth up to my skin. With the gentleness you’d bathe a newborn, he cleanses my skin. When he’s satisfied, he pulls my skirt from its puddle on the floor. He brings it up my legs, stretching the waistband to settle it in place.
The dangerous man has a soft side. His attention touches me. I manage to whisper a shaky, “Thank you.”
