Page 82 of Promise of Destruction
One finger swipes along my seam, testing my wetness. I can imagine the smirk on his face, but it’s swallowed in a wave of pleasure when he thrusts his fingers inside me.
Oh fuck.
I draw in a breath so deep I think my lungs may explode; his fingers slide slowly out of me, leaving me missing them before they’re gone. When it’s just the tips, he drives back in, and I press myself further against the mattress, lifting my hips to him, granting him permission for the thing he’s already doing.
“You’re so wet, Soren.” He says, his breath whispering over my lips. “So fucking wet for me.” He sounds a little strained, like he’s struggling, but the hint of mockery is still there.
He loves the power he has over me. In this moment, so do I. In this moment, I want to give him all of me and who gives a damn what he does with it, I’ll deal with the rest later.
I moan as he strokes me, coaxing more of my slick wetness onto his fingers. It feels so good, little flurries of pleasure swirling deep inside me.
I recognize the pleasure building deep within— a sensation that only gets built this intense in the last year since Marissa cheekily bought me a vibrator. It’s not the first time she did, but I threw the last one away when Vin saw it and got weird about it.
Declan ruined my last orgasm, taking away some of it’s power by watching me through my window. Before that, it hadn’t beenthatlong since I’d felt this intense building, since I’d gotten the release. I’m acting like it though—I’m acting like a sex-starved whore, desperate but not willing to ask for what I want. I lift my hips more and feel the smirk on his face. My eyes snap open, self-conscious.
“You’re watching me?” I accuse, feeling acutely more exposed than I had a moment ago. His mouth has been on my breast, his fingers are pumping inside me, drawing a series of moans and thick breaths from me, but I feel suddenly far more vulnerable, knowing he’s studying my face, watching each of his touches play out on it.
“You should watch yourself, too.” He says. “It’s pretty fantastic.”
I want to argue with him, to tell him to close his eyes, but his thumb brushes over the sensitive nerves between my legs. Disarmed, I fall back and let him circle me with his thumb. It disappears every couple of seconds so he can thrust back into me, then lands again on my swollen clit, rubbing gentle circles around it.
I moan—loud—and hear the rush of air from him that passes as a laugh.
My eyes snap open to find his waiting expectantly.
He stops thrusting and focuses his attention on dragging his thumb over me, building the need in me. He wants me to keep my eyes locked on his, doesn’t want me to look away, but it’s too intense. I squeeze my eyes shut at the first sign that I’m nearing the edge, and Declan slows.
I immediately lose the progress, just as if I let go of a rope and slipped back a few feet.
“Soren,” he says, prompting me to open my eyes again.
When I do what he wants, he resumes the pace he’d had before like he’d never stopped. Guess there are some benefits to that one track mind.
It’s hard not to close my eyes—the pleasure doesn’t match up with the room around us. I feel like we’re lying on a cloud, somewhere no one will ever be able to reach us. I let my head drop but crane my neck so that he knows I’m still watching him ruin me, his willing victim.
Don’t stop.
“Say my name, Soren.” He sounds like he’s swallowed a bunch of rocks, and his voice is reaching out through the spaces between them. It’s hoarse, strained.
He wants me as bad as I want him right now—needhim.
“Call out for the man who’s going to ruin this pussy before he ruins you completely.”
Outrage flutters beneath the pleasure, my brain fighting with my body at what I’m allowing him to do, what I want him to do.
But saying his name feels like an admission of defeat. Calling his name in pleasure feels like I’d be forgiving him for forcing his way into my life, for buying the company I work for, for stalking me, for watching through my windows, forcing me to join him on this trip.
Saying his name feels like defeat.
I’m so close to the edge, so damn close to falling off of it. I could say his name, two maybe three times, and then I’d get the relief I need.
But then what? Spend the rest of our trip together knowing that I let him win, that I’m helpless against him, that I’m a needy whore?
No.
I don’t say it, and his touch disappears, the way I knew it would. I clench my jaw before I can cry his name out in desperation.
Declan knows I’m not breaking yet.
