Page 37 of Wicked Ends
“Wake up, Ari, or I’ll fuck you and leave your face covered in cum for you to find in the morning.” I took my fingers from her cunt and pinched her ass, hard.
Her eyes snapped open, and her head tried to rise, her mouth opening to shout out, but my hand was there, faster than her reflexes. I slammed my wet hand over her mouth, sealing her scream inside.
Her huge eyes stared at me; she was startled and sober now. I could see her thinking through where she was and how she’d come to be here. Slowly, I eased my fingers from her mouth and pressed the one that had been inside her to her lips.
“Taste yourself and pretend you didn’t want me to climb into your bed, just like this. I dare you,” I said lowly.
Her tongue swirled around my finger, and her teeth teased me; she considered biting down but thought better of it. She’d already slapped me today, so maybe there was a line she drew somewhere.
Unluckily for her, I had no such lines.
She was still lying on her front, her head turned my way. I sat up and straddled her thighs, and she protested around my finger.
From this position, her juicy ass was right in front of me, and her creamy back was a long, uninterrupted line, except for…
I leaned down, my finger still sunk in her mouth, silencing her, to inspect a long scar across one shoulder. I explored it with my other hand. It was ridged, like poorly done stitches. Maybe a home-stitch job. I was well acquainted with those. How had I not noticed this before?
“What’s this, Professor?” I leaned down to rub my nose along the line, curiosity pricking at me. I’d always been fucking curious. Curious about other families, with their happy lives and warm homes. I’d been curious about people’s relationships and how it was that someone could trust another person so implicitly. I’d always wanted to know people’s stories, and something in my gut told me that finding out Arianna Moore’s wouldn’t be easy.Shewouldn’t be easy.
But that was okay. I liked difficult things.
“It’s—nothing, don’t look at it. It’s ugly,” she said softly.
I tutted at her. “You want to be like everyone else?”
She was quiet, and I had the feeling she was holding her breath.
“Scars are beautiful. They tell a story. Your story… and it’s fucking fascinating, birthday girl, just like you.”
I licked the scar, dragging my tongue up and along the ridged flesh. Someone or something had hurt this woman and then done a piss-poor job of fixing it. Just like the thought of her well-meaning friend undressing her, imagining someone hurting Ari bothered me.
She stilled. I licked at her scar and then moved downward. I slid my hands from her mouth, nestled myself between her legs, and pushed them wide.
“Marcus! We can’t,” she whispered.
I took my first hit of the scent of her cunt in front of me.
“We are,” I told her instead and leaned in and pressed my face against her, licking her from clit to ass.
She jerked, her whole body jumping in shock, and I clamped my hands around the backs of her thighs.
“Oh my God,” she moaned.
I focused my tongue on her puckered asshole for a beat.
“You can’t do that, I mean—you shouldn’t…”
I poked my tongue inside her hole.
After I’d thoroughly explored her ass, I moved down and found her cunt.
“Fuck, you’re wet. You like being tongue-fucked in the ass, Professor? What would Dean Eastwood say about that? Hmm?” I hummed against her skin.
“Fuck you,” Ari managed.
“I’d much rather fuck you.” I grunted and sat up, shifting so I straddled her thighs again. “And I’m going to, wherever and whenever I want.”
My cock was leaking precum like a fucking faucet. It was her taste and smell. It seemed to have some kind of direct connection to my balls. I couldn’t stop wanting to come on, around, or preferably inside this woman. A biological driving force. A chemical reaction.
