Page 108 of Brutal Vows
Massaging my breasts, he hums with pleasure. Powered by an internal nuclear reactor that never goes offline, his erection digs into my lower back.
He says, “Oh, but don’t think you’d be off on the other side of the city or anything. I’d buy you a house right next door to mine.”
That makes me smile. “Naturally.”
“I’d probably have connecting doors put in to join the bedrooms, too.”
“I can’t imagine.”
Sliding his hands down my rib cage, he squeezes my hips, then slips his hands between my legs. Kneading the tender flesh on my inner thighs, he murmurs, “You can’t blame me, lass. You’re a goddamn wet dream. You’re perfection. Every time I look at you, I think I could go blind.”
My heart expanding painfully, I say, “I’m quite average-looking, actually. You just have a thing for mouthy swamp witches.”
He breathes, “God, how I do,” and sinks a finger inside me.
I turn my head. He takes my mouth, kissing me deeply as he works his finger in and out and plays with my breasts, going back and forth between them.
“You’re trembling again.”
“And you’re talking again. What a surprise.”
Our faces are only an inch apart. He stares down at me, his hazel eyes soft and warm. A lock of hair falls across his forehead. I reach up and brush it away, my lids drifting lower as he lazily strokes his fingers over my clit.
He says, “Tell me about these romance novels of yours.”
“Why?”
“I’m interested to know what you like about them.”
I think for a moment as he gently pinches a nipple and my clit at the same time. The feeling is incredible. Which he knows, because he’s intently watching my face from one inch away.
In a breathy voice, I say, “I guess I like that they’re written for women. The whole world is made to please the male gaze, but romance novels only care about what we want. What we need. They’re specifically for our pleasure. Some of the stories are great escapist fantasies.”
He looks intrigued. “Maybe we should reenact one of these fantasies. What’s your favorite type of storyline?”
“Oh, that’s easy. Reverse harem.”
His brows draw together. “What the bloody hell is reverse harem?”
“Where one female has multiple male sexual partners.”
He freezes. His nostrils flare. His lips thin, and a dangerous glint appears in his eyes.
He growls, “Two things you should know about me. One: what’s mine is mine. Two: I don’t share. Three: see numbers one and two, woman.”
I laugh. “God, you’re easy to provoke. I was only teasing you.”
His outraged stare indicates he doesn’t find my teasing at all amusing.
“Okay, Mr. Jealous and Possessive, you can stop glaring at me now.” I press a gentle kiss to his thinned lips and say more softly, “I have no desire to have multiple men at a time. In real life, they’d all be more concerned about comparing the size of their dicks than pleasing me. And I’m happy that you don’t want to share, but I could do without the over-the-top alpha-male possessiveness.”
A rumble of displeasure goes through his chest, but he doesn’t say anything.
Smiling, I whisper, “And you claim to not be a caveman.”
He snaps, “I said I wasn’t that much of a caveman, not that I wasn’t one at all.”
My smile grows wider. I lounge against him, ridiculously satisfied by everything about this conversation.
