Page 10 of Velvet Betrayal
“Are you going to cry for me, Ruby?” I asked. “Are you going to come so hard you cry?”
She made a sound, half fury, half surrender. That’s what I wanted—not the fight, but the yield. With her, I always wanted the yield.
Always.
I watched the flush creep up her neck, the same red I’d mapped with my tongue a hundred times before. She braced against the tile and rode me, fucking herself on my cock. I barely had to move; she wanted it so bad she’d do the work herself.
She came, almost silent, but I felt her clench, muscles rigid, fighting not to collapse. Her fingers slipped on the tile. I eased up, shushing her with my breath at her shoulder, holding her steady as she shuddered back, nearly choking on the water.
She stood there a long minute, knees bent, cheek to the tile, sucking air. I pulled out, still hard, like I could go all night.
“Are we finished?” she asked, voice hoarse.
“Not even close.”
She turned, caging her own breasts with damp forearms, glaring like she wanted to slap and kiss me at once. I ran my thumb under her chin, coaxing her face up, and she looked at me with all the open hate and want in the world. It was a look I’d missed. I pressed my lips to her mouth.
She bit me.
It was classic Ruby, even here, even now—her teeth clamping down on my lower lip hard enough to draw blood. I hissed outa breath, ready to snap at her–and then her tongue was there, dragging over the wound she’d left on me. I darted my tongue out to tangle with hers and she let me inside, just for a blink, then shut it off, drew back, and looked me up and down.
"Romance," she said, deadpan. "I remember this part."
"Don't get sentimental on me, Marquez." I braced a hand on the tile above her head, crowding her so she had nowhere to look but up.
She didn't flinch, just slid her hands from her own shoulders to mine, fingertips tracing the old scar at my collarbone. “What happened here?”
"Are you going to let me fuck you again, or did you want to interrogate me first?"
“What makes you think that’s going to happen again?”
She was testing, always. I knew how to play. So I didn't answer her, just gunned the water a degree hotter, let it steam around us until both our skins blushed out of protest or pleasure—there was never much of a line with us anyway. My hands found her waist, then higher, then back to her ass.
She'd lost weight, put on muscle, or maybe both; she felt nothing like the legal assistant who used to climb me like a trellis and everything like the woman who had walked herself out of every fucking prison anyone had ever tried to build for her.
She was so, so fucking unstoppable. I wanted her so much.
I bent her over again, hands locking her at the hips, and pressed forward just enough to tease, not enter. She arched and twisted to look over her shoulder, eyebrow cocked.
"I'll beg if that's what gets you off," she said, a challenge as raw as any threat.
“You never begged,” I said, or maybe just thought it—because the next second my mouth was at her shoulder, biting, and she was already shivering. Not from cold; not possible, not with the heat bouncing off the glass and our bodies.
I reached between her legs again, more gentle this time, finding her even slicker, and slipped two fingers in, the pad of my thumb tracking up to her clit and circling, just so. She clenched, once, hard, on my hand, then again when I drew it out and replaced it with the head of my cock.
I drove in slow, every inch of her pussy pulling at me, like she was trying to peel the memory of me out of my bones and take it for herself. She groaned, deep, then slammed a palm to the wall.
I fucked her slow. Not lazy, but deliberate, each thrust measured and logged, empirically correct. Her ass was perfect, even now, pink from the heat, and I spanked her hard, watching her jiggle, feeling her clench around me every time I smacked her.
She moaned when my hand made contact again, a line of spit stringing from her teeth as she rocked back hard against me. Every sound she made poured molten right into my gut. I ran my palm down the curve of her back, soaking up the heat of her, the honest alchemy of it: mine, if only for these minutes.
“You’re such a sadist,” she snapped, but I could hear the laugh gurgling beneath, and her body didn’t lie. Her body never fucking lied to me, no matter how much she wanted it to.
“I’m whatever you want,” I said. “You know that.”
Then I drove in harder, and she gasped, and the echo of it off the tiles found some animal part of me that wanted to just fuck the defiance out of her and then lick up the evidence after. She braced her forearms against the wall, breasts flattening with each push, hair dark and sleek like oil crawling down her back. I fixed one hand at her hip and the other at her throat, and then we were both moving.
I pressed my chest flat to her spine and hooked my hand beneath her jaw, guiding her head back so I could whisper into her ear. “You’re going to come for me again.”
