Page 104 of Roots of the Wicked

Chapter Forty-Three

Jax

All I wanted when we returned to Chase’s mansion, was for him to pin me down and fuck me until I passed out. Instead, what I received, was a belly rub and food shoved in my face, like I was his favorite four-legged pet.

It had been weeks, and Chase hadn’t fucked me yet, even after I’d begged him to. He’d gone back to believing sex would hurt the baby because of our tendency to get carried away sometimes. My hormones were so stirred and mixed, I was on the verge of unleashing my pent-up vixen if Chase didn’t give up the goods willingly.

“Chase, will you stop rubbing my feet and look at me?” I fought to keep frustration from my tone.

Glancing up, he kept my foot planted in his lap; his hand still wrapped around flesh that was months away from the swollen stage.

“Chase, I’m only asking once more: Are you going to fuck me or not?”

“Maybe later. When we’re ready for bed.” Was I in a fucking nightmare? I could feel my face and lips pinching at his unbelievable words.

Fuck this shit!A woman has gotta do what the hell she’s gotta do when she’s horny and the man who could give her what she wants was letting a baby the size of a damned lime stop him.

I jerked my foot from Chase’s grip, causing him to cast a set of wide eyes at me.

“I’ll be right back,” I tossed over my shoulder as I stormed away. Chase had denied me one time too many. Hell, I wasn’t even fat yet.

When I reentered the room ten minutes later, Chase’s mouth dropped at what I’d changed into. It was an Angel of Death costume; black leather covered the essential parts. Five-inch black leather hooker-heels and large black wings attached to my back accentuated the costume.

Chase hadn’t gotten but a touch of my roleplaying persona because he usually took control and made me forget all about it. This was his reminder that if he wasn’t going to control things, I had no problems doing so.

His wide eyes roved over me before he fell back and into the couch, his throat bobbing sporadically. His lips opened and closed several times, but he couldn’t manage words. His gaze locked on the black whip gripped in one of my hands and the shiny black grim reaper scythe in the other.

Since I’d been confined to the house, I’d ordered all types of items he hadn’t seen yet.

“If you tell me no one more time, you’re going to lose some blood tonight one way or the other.” I raised the whip and followed it up with a dramatic display of the scythe, making sure he got a look at each.

Pretending I needed to fix my shoe, I propped my leg up on the couch next to him, fully aware my pierced pussy was on display from the crotchless portion of my outfit.

“Take off your clothes, Chase.” My low and calm tone edged out as I kept my eyes aimed at my shoe the entire time. He reached for the buttons of his shirt fiddling with them with frantic hands.

“Umm. Jax.” He called.

“You’re moving too damn slow!” He jumped at my roaring voice. When I raised up and cracked the whip across the couch near his ear, he hopped up like the couch was on fire.

The familiar sound of his buttons hitting the floor pinged my ears when I got a good grip of his shirt and ripped it off with his help. I’d made a habit of popping his shirt buttons; therefore, he should’ve been investing in more of his shirts instead of baby clothes.

One of his shoes went sliding across the floor as the other skittered a few feet away from him. He jumped around yanking one of his legs from his pants as the other clung to his muscular thigh for dear life. Once he’d finish the struggle with his pants, he snatched his boxer briefs down, dick springing up like he’d set free a big pink jack-in-the-box.

He stood before me ready.

“Kneel right here before me.” I pointed at the area where I repositioned my leg, propping it up higher on the couch. Chase complied, but his gaze traveled to the whip hanging in my hand. When he got a close view of the scythe and noticed it was a real blade his eyes snapped up.

“Yes, it’s real and if you don’t start licking my pussy like a good death-fearing soul, I’m going to gut you and send your soul to hell.” Embracing the role I’d chosen as the Angel of Death, I projected my menacing, sexually frustrated growl.

His warm hand caressed my inner thigh as his tongue slid across his parted lips, wetting them before his eyes landed on my exposed pussy.

“And Chase,” I sang. My voice stopped his approach, his mouth inches from my pulsing heat when he looked up at me. I wanted him to feel the pressure for making me wait.

“If I don’t come within five minutes, you better have a prayer ready. Your Angel of Death, is an impatient bitch, who would love nothing more than to snatch your soul.”

No further words were needed. Chase stood and turned me with ease, assisting me onto the couch. He didn’t let me keep the scythe, placing it on the table behind him. The whip, I had refused to let him take. He didn’t waste a second sinking his wicked tongue into my sizzling heat after he had spread my legs.

Oh my God. His tongue. Fuck five minutes, he was about to do it in two. My pussy wept with joy as the wetness he didn’t catch, leaked down my inner thigh. Chase had his tongue buried so deep in my drenched heat, he made me drop the whip and my eager fingers gripped his hair to stir his head.

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