Page 115 of Lana Pecherczyk
The caravan lurched over a bump, sending several toys rolling toward them. One tumbled into River’s leg—a bejeweled plug that made his blood simmer.
“Oh, no, wait. I think that was the specific thing.” She scrambled off him and presented her round bottom, throwing a sultry look over her shoulder with another growl. “Call me a whore. He thought it was an insult, but hah! The joke’s on him because I kind of like it. It makes me feel desired, especially when you use me like you’ll die if you can’t have me.” Another excited gasp as inspiration struck. She crawled back onto his lap, straddling him like she belonged there. The strips had already loosened. “And I want you to choke me.” Her fingers wrapped around her throat, making an exaggerated strangled sound. “Like that, and?—”
“Whoa.” He chuckled, placing aside the plug. “Slow down.”
“Oh my god. That was too much.” She covered her face with her hands. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“Don’t be.”
“I don’t know what happened. Everything came crashing out like a wave.”
“You never had much chance to let loose, did you?”
He gently pried her hands away, and she squirmed beneath his gaze.
“No.”
“But you want to.”
A nod. A nervous lip bite that was fast joining his list of addictions. “I never had a partner willing to … spend more time with me in the bedroom than he had to.”
Anger blazed through their bond—his, hers, he couldn’t tell anymore. But it ignited a shared purpose that burned away their hesitation.
“That’s about to change,” he declared. “So I pick one of yours to explore now, right?”
“Uh-uh.” She waggled her finger in his face. “Finish your fantasy list.”
“I’ve told you my three.”
“No, you haven’t.” She counted on her fingers. “Tits, bossy but not dominating—which, for the record, what does that even mean—and that’s it.”
“Licking my dripping cum off your body,” he corrected smugly. “Three.”
“No.” She shook her head. “That was earlier today. Don’t be a cunt. Tell me something specific for this challenge. Something deep.”
“Hearing you say words like cunt and deep makes that impossible.”
“Are you being deliberately difficult?”
“As in naughty?”
His eyebrows raised. She challenged him with those fierce eyes, a goddess refusing to yield … it made him so close to blowing he thought he might die.
“Punish me,” he dared, reclining with his fingers laced behind his head.
“What?”
“If I’ve been naughty, punish me,” he repeated, certainty slipping even as he pressed on. She’d started something kindling in his mind earlier, and now that he’d thought it a few times, it wanted out. Fuck it. She wanted to go deep? Here was the abyss. “Use sex as a weapon.”
“Making you orgasm doesn’t sound like a punishment.”
“Oh, you precious thing.” His heart swelled knowing he could still teach her about new dark desires in this world. He reached for her thighs. “There are thousands of ways to use sex as punishment. Make me come, don’t make me come, sit on my face and suffocate me unless I make you come or until I spill all of my secrets, my … mistakes.”
The last word ambushed him. Once spoken, it froze his limbs. His eyes widened.
He couldn’t take it back. She might have believed it was a joke, except his reaction betrayed him. Terror paralyzed him. Was that really his fantasy, for Blake to wrench out painful memories he was too cowardly to voice? The answer thundered through his soul—yes. Just like her straddling him when she pricked him with the tattoo needle, he wanted to feel pleasure when he cut himself open and laid his heart bare.
The revelation squeezed his lungs until breathing became torture. What now? Say more? Say less? Pretend it never happened? His grip flexed on her thighs, his eyes fixed on some distant point beyond the caravan walls.
