Page 17 of Scavenger's Oath
Bet I can do it without even hurting her. And it’s a great way to test something else I’ve been dying to see.
“Open your mouth,” I say quietly.
She flinches but doesn’t obey.
So I grip her cheeks and dig my fingers in, until her lips part. Then slide two fingers in deep, dragging them over her tongue, all the way to the back of her throat.
I expect her to choke. Gag. Cough.Cry.
But she doesn’t.
She takes it like a fucking pro.
I blink, caught off guard. And then a dark smile spreads across myface.
Well, well… looks like someone’s already had some training. Maybe she’s not as innocent as she looks. But who the fuck taught her that? Whose fingers—or cock—has she taken before?
“Interesting,” I rumble, voice dipping to an octave it’s never reached before.
She still doesn’t fight me. So I pull my fingers free and—holy shit, I want to sink my teeth into that plump bottom lip. Mark her as mine. Brand her so everyone fucking knows.
Sliding my palm lower, over her collarbone, across her shoulder, I rub down the outside of her arm possessively, taking my time to reach her hip. Every inch I touch is a promise.
Mine. Mine.Mine.
“I’m keeping you alive,” I breathe. “You should be thanking me.”
At the hem of her singlet, my fingers pause, then slip beneath the thin material, finding the bare skin of her waist.
So warm. So delicate.
Her body’s trembling now, but it doesn’t feel like resistance. It feels like submission. She’slettingme. I could slide my hand higher. Feel the soft swell of her breast. Or lower,fuck…
Sliding my hand up just an inch, my fingertips brush the bottom of her ribcage. Her breath hitches, and my cock pulses behind my zipper, hard as steel.
Leaning in, my lips brush the shell of her ear. “You want me to stop?” I whisper, mockingly, half hoping she’ll say something.
She doesn’t answer, even seems to be holding her breath.
“Didn’t think so,” I taunt.
Pulling back just enough, I scan her face. Her lashes are wet. Little nose flaring with quick breaths. Her lips closed tight with whatever she’s choking down. Terror? Shame? Need?
She’s so beautiful.
Her skin heats under my palm. It’s soft in a way nothing’sbeen for years.
Dragging my touch higher up her ribs, I let my whole hand rest there, splayed out like I’m trying to memorize her shape by touch alone.
She flinches again.
But it’s small. Barely even a twitch.
“You’re soft,” I murmur, voice low and rough. “Soft like something out of a dream. Can’t remember the last time I touched anything like you.”
My hand slips higher, fingertips ghosting along the underside of her breast. I freeze—no bra?
Fighting the urge to fully grab her, I remind myself she’s not ready. Not yet. Just the tease of it, the forbidden feel of her curves against my skin, is enough.
