Page 76 of A Lethal Game of Trust
“No,” I said, lifting my knee to straddle him. I took his book, shoved my coaster on his page and set it back on the bedside table. I might be desperate for the Clark Kent version of him, but I could still appreciate a good novel.
I traced the rim of his glasses. How did he look even better in them?
“I didn’t know you wore glasses,” I repeated.
“Only for reading,” he said, hands on my ass and shuffling me forward so I could feel just how hard he was beneath me. “I can see you perfectly. I can always see you perfectly.”
“You see meperfectly,” I said, missing how he’d rocked me forward along his boxers. Three layers between us. Three too many.
“I do.Somethinghappened to you today. Because you spent this afternoon in your tight little leggings and a hoodie — which best not belong to any other man,” he added as he dragged his finger down my mouth, pulling my bottom lip from my teeth. “A hoodie that, may I add, only allowed me aglimpse of your ass every now and then. I want to burn it.”
I wriggled further up him as he moved from my mouth to the straps on my shoulders. He slid one of them off, my pyjama top fell slightly, revealing the red lace underneath. He traced its edge with delicate fingers down to my cleavage.
“So I assume you were trying to throw Issy off our scent. And I’m assuming you wanted to remind me how fucking hot you are by coming here in this.” He pulled at the remaining strap, snapping it against my skin. “But I know already. Wear what you want,” he said, grabbing the silk at the bottom before lifting the top over my head, “or wear nothing at all.”
If I had my own place, I would. I’d invite him round and this — the tiny lace crotchless bodysuit — would be the most I would wear in his presence.
I’d wanted to buy somewhere with Jared, but nowhere near to the extent I wanted to now.
He held me under my shoulder blades and looked me up and down. “Now this,” he said, his gaze heated as he took in the red lace he’d shown me in my wardrobe, “this is far better. Wear this.”
“I give this only another five minutes,” I said, pulling him back to me. I’d put it on for him to see, to admire. But now I regretted it; I wanted to lay across him, my skin on his.
“This is our last night with you staying here,” I told him and really, really tried not to sound sad about it. I was going more for,fuck my brains out, this is our last time togetherinstead of,this is our last time together, and I am gutted.
“You not going to visit me in your sexy lingerie?” he asked, hand brushing my back, his words hot on my hair. “You not going to let yourself in and plant rose petals on the bed?”
“If I’m invited,” I said and reached up to kiss him.
“You are always invited,” he said, chasing my mouth as I leaned back. “Payment on entry is your clothes.”
“Just out there on the porch?” I asked, as he gave up on trying to kiss me, instead dropping little pecks onto my collarbones.
“Yes, right where I can catch you on camera and replay it for days.”
The thought of him watching me had my thighs clenching around him.
“Oh, if you like that,” he said, turning my hips, wordlessly asking me to turn around. I fell between his legs, where he pulled down my silk shorts. “My surveillance used to be far more than just the porch. Every room had a camera only I could access. I’ll set the one back up in my bedroom so I can watch us fuck again and again.”
“Just the bedroom?” I asked, leaning back on his chest as his fingers grazed up my inner thigh.
“Where else do you want them?”
His touch led so excruciatingly slowly up to my bikini line, I lost my train of thought. “The kitchen, the living room, the bathroom. Put an underwater one in the fucking pool, Dom.”
“You want a bit of water play, hmm?” he asked, bending his head as his fingers found my wet core. They stopped. “Oh wow,” he said, his lips grazing my ear, trailing his fingers through the evidence of my desire. I’d been wet with excitement just from seeing him in those glasses. “Yes, this is better. I like this very much. I love how you’ve stopped fighting me. Gone from jeans to crotchless panties, baby.”
He lifted his fingers to show me, rubbing his thumb against two of his fingers.
“We have to be quiet,” I whispered.
He pulled me up to sit on his thigh before placing those glistening fingers to my lips. “Taste.”
I did, sucking as his other hand lazily found my clit. My breath hitched against his fingers.
“Quiet, little lion,” he ordered in my ear as he flattened his hand over my mouth. “Your roar is only for me to hear. Do you understand? Only me.”
I nodded, eyes closed as his fingers quickened.
