Page 100 of Shatterproof

“I won’t be giving it up without a fight.”

“Oh, Angel Cake,” he wolfishly growls, lettering clawing itself down my now exposed bottom half, “I’m fuckin’ countin’ on it.”

I anxiously watch as he throws my Dalvegan green bottoms out of sight.

Slides back onto his stomach.

Drops his face between my thighs and wraps his arms around my legs so that I can’t get away.

Not that Iwantto get away.

I mean what woman doesn’t want a man willing to spend however long it takes to make you come wedged between your legs.

Hot breaths intertwining with the slickness already spread along my lower lips causes me to arch in anticipation of the first lick; however, it isn’t delivered when I want.

Nor expect.

Slater chooses instead to sink his teeth into the sensitive skin on my inner thigh and suck.

Whimpers of unhappiness grow in volume when the action is mercilessly repeated on the other side. The second bite is accompanied by a harsher and harder suck, one that I’m all too familiar with and more importantly, all too happy to be on the receiving end of.

Maybe it’s because I didn’t get to have hickeys in high school.

Or college.

Or even in what my brothers dubbed “the night club phase” of a person’s twenties.

Or maybe it’s because the marks on my neck are big, undeniable signs that I have a life outside of work.

That there is someone out in the world whowantsto be around me.

Enjoysbeing around me.

Fuck.

I don’t know.

Maybe I just like how turned on I get every time I pass by a mirror and see the reminder that something that isn’t my vibrator – which I don’t even have here – is giving me an O.

Feeling his mouth drag itself away from the area he’s been torturing encourages me to brace for the deliciously agonizing treatment to continue back where it originally began yet having his lips feather the place, I want them most during the repositioning has my fingers flying to his hair in outrage.

Threatening to claw and tug, and tug and scratch until he sucks where he’s supposed to suck.

Tastes what he’s supposed to taste.

What Ineedhim to.

Wetness slowly drips towards the curve of my ass, yet rather than use his tongue to lick up the mess he opts for his middle finger.

Drags the digit upward to collect the thick, creaminess.

Teases it lightly inside.

Rolls it around my clit the way I want his tongue before sucking it all away.

Heavy cries of desperation pry their way out of my chest, “Slater…”

“There’s my name,” my torturer smugly smirks, devilish glare locking onto mine. “Sounds like we’re off to a good start.”

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