Page 34 of SINS & Riley
“Soaked,” he murmurs, dark delight curling through every syllable. “Dirty girl.”
Then comes the bishop.
Big. It’s so much bigger than any ordinary chess piece. It’s like, I don’t know, decorative.
He barely pushes, and it slides in with humiliating ease. Like my body’s been waiting all her life for it.
And it feels so… good.
One pump.
Two.
I move with it as another moan rips out of me, raw and needy.
Then… nothing. He pulls free. And stops.
What the actual fuck?
I’m clawing out of my skin, clenching against the chair, so fucking desperate for relief.
His footsteps move away.
“We’ll finish after dinner, Riley.”
“What?” I croak.
I hear a door open. The rustle of feet.
My legs snap shut. I am officially dead. Cause of death: mortification.
Then, a sweep of scents hits the air.
Garlic and olive oil. Fresh torn basil. Slow-braised meat collapsing in its own juices, and fresh bread to soak it all up like a sponge.
What’s he trying to do? Kill me softly with salacious chess pieces and five-star cuisine?
I haven’t eaten all day and I’m practically scissoring myself into flames. As dirty tactics go, this one takes the cake.
“Lick,” he orders.
Did he just order me to lick something?
In front of his guards?
I hesitate, because I’m not exactly sure what I’m licking.
He repeats in that control freak tone of his. “I. Said. Lick.”
So I do.
A cautious lick at first. Then, another. I’m actually relieved it’s chocolate. Or more precisely, it’s his finger covered in chocolate.
“Now suck.”
Oh. My. God.
He’s trying to humiliate me—more than he already has. So fuck it.
