Page 93 of Double Down
Her eyes are wide. Her lips part on a shuddering breath, and I see it—just under that lightly freckled skin, reflecting back at me.
The darkness, the depravity, the sinner who wants to be named, then worshiped.
The tension thickens. A quick glance shows me that Conrad feels it too. He says nothing, does nothing to break it as I strip her shirt away and toss it aside.
I seal my mouth to hers, my fingers biting into her hips, teeth catching her bottom lip. I bite hard enough to pull a whimper but not hard enough to draw blood. Con will never taste her blood, not unless he draws it himself. That pleasure is mine alone.
I lift her onto the desk. Con already has it cleared, ready for my angel to spread those beautiful legs. My hand stays firm on her throat as I push her down on the polished wood.
Con sits, her hair spilling into his lap. He leans and whispers in her ear, words I can barely make out. “Such a good fucking girl…my perfect little secretary…sitting here ready to be used, punished, rewarded.”
I almost scoff.
This isn’t punishment or reward. It’s a challenge—a crucible—built to push her past limits she doesn’t know she has.
Her thighs fall open for me. She’s already wet, and my mouth waters at the glisten of slick on her skin. I could just drive into her, take what I want and give nothing back. She’d let me. She’d take all of it.
But that isn’t enough.
I can’t use pain or fear outright in this office, not with Con watching, but I can coax her darker side.
Her eyes flutter closed at his whispers. That won’t do. I need her focus on me and what I’m going to do with her, not solely on his words.
I lean down and tease her nipple with my tongue, circling, sucking until it tightens, and then I scrape my teeth over the tender peak. She gasps and looks at me. Good. I run my hands down her sides, catch her thighs, and open them wider—far enough that she feels the stretch in her hips and the cool air on heated skin.
Then I kiss my way down her body—sweet presses, sharp bites—and when I reach her core, I’m not gentle. I don’t ease her in. I don’t build the tension and pressure slowly.
I’m direct. Intense. My hands pin the backs of her knees as I lash her clit with my tongue.
Con keeps whispering, but I can’t hear him over Phoenix’s muffled whimpers. She tries to squirm away. I don’t let her. Her back arches, and sweat shimmers across her belly; the tremors start in her thighs.
Close—but not enough. I don’t want her to come. I want her to see fucking God.
I slide her up the desk until her head hangs off the edge—and Con finally takes the hint. He stands, frees his cock, and presses it to her lips.
She doesn’t open right away, so I pinch her ass hard enough to draw a cry. Con uses the moment, sliding into her mouth and down her throat, smothering the sound and stealing her air.
I shift, hook her legs over my shoulders. One hand threads with hers—our signal if she needs me—while the other pushes two fingers into her slick heat and curls to grind against her G-spot. My mouth finds her clit again.
Before I get to work, though, we need to check in. “Angel. Let go of my hand as the signal to stop.”
Her chest heaves, her breasts shaking with every strangled sound that rises from her lungs. Her fingers crush mine, but she doesn’t let go.
“Fuck,” Con mutters, strained. “I don’t know how long I can last. Her throat is so tight—she’s swallowing around me.”
She releases my hand.
“Back off. Now,” I bark.
Con pulls out, stumbling back into his chair. Phoenix coughs. I haul her upright, palm braced to steady her while she drags in air.
“Sorry,” she rasps. “I was starting to black out.”
“Bad girl.” I fist her hair and crush my mouth to hers, make her taste the tang of her pleasure on my tongue. “You signalbeforeit gets that close.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Con is still in his chair, lazily stroking himself, watching us.
