Page 90 of Lesson In Forgiveness

God, the urge to sink down and grind herself into him was strong, especially when his tongue fluttered around her entrance, making her squirm.

“Please, Sir, can I have my hands?”

His voice vibrated against her flesh. “Don’t touch my cock, little tiger.”

Once was enough for today. She hadn’t thought he’d be a shrimp in that department, but she hadn’t believed he’d be a whale either. Even through his boxers, she’d felt how long and thick he was, the rigidness of his shaft. How primed he was, ridiculously hard, his heartbeat pulsing through the plump vein on the underside of his cock.

She might be crazy, but she’d been fucking insane to beg him to use that thing.

Those big, rough hands lifted off her, releasing her wrists, cutting all contact. She whimpered in alarm, needing his touch to keep her grounded. Before she rose onto her knees, she felt his calluses stroke over her ass, her hip, and relaxed.

Jesus, her brain was messed up six ways to Sunday. For years, she couldn’t stand being touched in even a casual manner, and now she couldn’t function through what amounted to a simple sexual interaction without the safety of his hands on her.

“Get this pussy on my goddamn face, little tiger.” When she hesitated, thoroughly uncomfortable with the position, Grit’s voice cracked like a bullwhip. “Now.”

Responding to the command, Tabitha’s leg muscles surrendered. Her core clenched on emptiness as his beard scraped the sensitive skin high on the inside of her thighs, then her sex flattened over his mouth.

The harsh rumble of approval vibrated through her, starting at her clit and working inside her as effectively as his tongue. His hands slid down to claim her ass, his fingers curling around her buttocks as the tips dug in to urge her to ride to the rhythm he dictated.

Slow, gentle, unhurried.

Exactly how she imagined he’d guide her over his cock, lifting her until the crown stretched her entrance, sinking her down until there was no separation between them. Two bodies so closely joined they became one.

Tabitha shuddered with a mixture of revulsion and anticipation. She was definitely screwed up in the mental department—how could she yearn for intimacy with him, yet want to leave hog-tied on a railroad track for daring to dominate her this way?

So much conflict, and it was all churning away inside her.

Grunting in annoyance, Grit flipped her over without warning, licking his lips absently when he raised chastising eyes in her direction. “Too much thinking, not enough coming,” he admonished sternly, walking backward on his knees and dragging her body down the bed in his wake. “Let’s see if I can find a way to keep that busy little brain focused on me and me alone.”

Flat on her back, she discovered she was speechless.

Sitting on his heels, those oddly compelling eyes roamed over here, searching for her weaknesses, concocting dastardly ways to torture her. He made quiet clucking sounds, as though his thoughts were on a timer. “How does one turn off an anxious mind and divert all this nervous energy into something productive?”

Said mind went blank.

Grit hooked his hands into the back of her knees, pushing them up toward her chest, spreading them so her whole pelvic area was on full display. “Hold these for me, Tabitha. Exactly where they are.” His smile flashed when she obeyed. “I want your eyes on me, no matter what. If I catch you looking anywhere but at me, I’ll spank this gorgeous pussy. If I find you with your eyes closed, I’m going to spank this pussy. If I happen to discover you’ve disassociated… well, can you guess?”

She swallowed, tightening her hold on her trembling legs. “You’ll spank my… me?”

The smile evolved into something dark and wicked. “Oh no, little tiger, nothing as easy as that. Because if you don’t focus really hard to stay with me,” he said, trailing his fingertips over her puffy labia and down, down, down, “this tight little asshole will be finger-fucked until you come back to me, crying and screaming and coming like it’s the end of the fucking world. Do we have an understanding?”

She understood she never wanted anything near her back channel ever again. Even the butterfly-gentle skim of his blunt fingertip against her anus was enough of a threat to command her obedience.

When she didn’t answer, his whole expression became softer, sympathetic, and she hated it. “It’s okay to tell me something is a hard limit, Tabitha. After everything they did to you, I expect there to be several things off-limits during a scene.”

Suspicion niggled at her; there was something in his phrasing that tickled her internal alarm, but her pride shoved it aside in its haste to make her stance known. Hard limits were an open admittance of failure; yes, maybe she struggled with some aspects of intimacy on this level, but she was accustomed to being fucked against her will, not coaxed into a romantic relationship by a man who’d cut out his own heart if he hurt her by accident.

Jaw clenched, she ignored his blatant invitation to knock his suggested punishment on the head. “I won’t take my eyes off you, Sir.”

Disappointment, a touch of admiration, and exasperation flared in his eyes before he shook his head. Bracing his left forearm across her exposed thighs, he toyed with her pussy using his right hand. “As you wish, little tiger.”

Her breath snagged on a cocky retort, stolen by the insistent press of his finger against her entrance. Fuck, he wasn’t wasting any more time, was he? She almost closed her eyes when he thrust that lone digit into her, sliding deep through the wetness in her core.

“I think we both know my cock isn’t going to have the pleasure of fucking you, don’t we?” Grit asked amiably, apparently unconcerned that his dick was demanding attention, leaking precum down the ample shaft. He fingered her slowly, vocally mulling over his thoughts. “So hot and wet, but there’s room for improvement. Don’t want to tear the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.”

Heat flushed into her cheeks. She knew what it felt like to be torn inside, to feel flesh split. Unable to watch him play her body like a maestro, she forced herself to stare at his head, counting the hairs.

A harsh, heavy grunt strained her throat when he eased a second finger in, curling them both up to stroke the front wall of her vagina, grazing the magic spot that made her legs quake.

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