Page 18 of Bourbon Wishes
"Bastian," she whispers, half moan, half plea.
My hand slips beneath her dress, my pinky skimming the seam of her soaked panties. "I want to hear you scream it until your voice breaks." I rake my teeth down the tendon in the side of her neck. "Christ, I want you so desperate, every little touch has you sobbing for me."
"Yes," she moans, her hands flexing on my shoulders as she inches her legs farther apart in invitation.
I need to feed her before I fuck her…but I'm just bastard enough to take that invitation anyway. I slip her panties aside, desperate to feel her juices coating my fingers again. Ineedher coming on me again. Now.
Her head falls back, a loud moan rolling from her lips as soon as I touch her swollen clit. But this time, touching her isn't enough. I need to see her. I need to taste her. I need her as raw and wild for me as I've been for her since she waltzed into my office the very first time.
I plant a hand against her shoulder, gently pressing her backward. She sprawls across the island like a wanton sacrifice, legs spread, dress around her hips, chest heaving. Fucking gorgeous.
"Fuck," I growl, my eyes locked on the drenched scrap of pink lace between her thick thighs. I hook my fingers into the sides, dragging it down her legs.
She plants one foot against the side of the island, giving herself a little leverage to lift her ass so I can pull it all the way down. The scrap dangles from the heel of her shoe like a Pop art homage to eroticism, all bright, unkempt, tantalizing perfection.
I wrap my fingers around one ankle, spreading her wide. Her cheeks flush as if she's embarrassed or shy, but she doesn't try to stop me. She just stares at me, her blue eyes brilliant and huge. So fucking sexy.
"I want to taste you."
I'll hear her whimper echoing in my dreams long after her taste fades. It's pure surrender, pure need. She's not disobedient and giving me hell now. No, she's long past that, too goddamn horny to fight.
I hook my foot around a stool, dragging it close. She shivers as it scrapes across the floor…and then shivers again when I lower myself onto it, my eyes still locked with hers.
"Since you didn't let me have my dinner, I'm going to feast on you," I murmur, hauling her to the edge of the island. Her round ass dangles over the edge, her pussy bare and spread wide for me. "And you're going to behave and let me."
"Bastian," she moans.
I dip my head, blowing across her sex.
Her nails dig into the back of my hand. She isn't trying to stop me, though. I think she's trying to root herself to reality before I rip it away. But I don't feel like playing nice or taking it easy on her, not right now. Not after three months of torture. Not after she showed up in that dress tonight, waving those curves like a red flag in front of a raging bull.
She didn't need the damn Spanx she poured herself into. The dress molds to every damn curve without them, setting my blood on fire.
I run my lips up the side of her thigh, willing myself not to come in my pants when I smell her. She's sweet, musky heaven, all tart berry and woman. And all of it is for me.
I sink my teeth into her inner thigh, earning another one of those whimpers I'll hear on my deathbed. Christ, what a way to go, with the sounds of her pleasure playing in my ears. With memories of her spread out like this playing through my mind. A motherfucker could die happy like that.
The first taste is a life sentence. The second is a slow death. She's already gushing on my tongue, crying out my name. AndI'm already addicted, already willing to kill for more of this. Goddamn, she's so sweet. So perfect.
My hands dig into her hips as I lift her higher, burying my face in her pretty little pussy. She chokes on my name as I flick my tongue against her clit, lapping up her juices like a starving man. That's what I am. It's what she's turned me into. Every goddamn day for the last three months, she's pushed me further around the bend, turned me into a slavering, ravaging beast.
Does she even know the lengths I'd go just to keep her here like this? How many rules I'd break and lives I'd ruin just to make her mine? My dad always said I'd know when I found my one. I always thought he was full of shit, just a hopeless romantic talking out of his ass. Turns out…Carter Grayson knows a helluva lot more about this soulmate shit than I realized, because whatever this is beating inside my chest isn't simple desire. It's as inevitable as the tides, as inviolable as fucking gravity. Constance Maverick is reordering my entire goddamn existence. And she's at the center of it.
I thrust my tongue into her tight little hole, fighting like hell to get it as far as I can. I want to taste the cherry in her. I want to lick it out of her before I claim it with my cock and give her mine in return.
She chants my name, babbling incoherently.
I spread her cheeks, licking lower, tasting that forbidden little hole, too. I want to claim and own it too, to possess it as thoroughly as I will every other hole on her body. She will be mine in every single way.
"Oh my god," she groans, going rigid beneath me. "You can't…you aren't…that's my…"
"Yeah, it's your pretty little asshole, baby." I flick that little rosebud with my tongue again. "Don't pretend you don't like it. I feel you quivering all over my face, Constance. You fucking love having my tongue right there, don't you?"
"No." She chokes on a sob. "Yes! God, Bastian. Do it again."
"I give the orders here," I remind her, but I flick that little hole with my tongue again anyway. Because, yeah, maybe I am a controlling bastard, but I'm also the motherfucker who can't deny her anything. Whatever she wants, I'll give her. Whatever she needs, I'll deliver.
"Jerk," she mumbles, but there's no heat to the insult. She's rocking against my face, clawing at my hands and the island.
