Page 50 of Playing With Danger

My neck arched back. Valentine knifed up and demanded, “Tit.”

In my fog I lifted my breast in offering. His mouth gladly accepted and pulled deep. My orgasm rippled through me when suddenly I was on my back but still connected.

“Wrap tight.”

I hooked my ankles at his lower back and wrapped tight.

“Fuck, you feel gorgeous.”

God, I loved he thought so.

“So do you,” I whispered.

“Tell me if I go too far.”

“I will,” I lied.

I would take whatever he wanted to give me if it meant he got what he needed.

“I’m serious, Sophie. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

“Baby—”

“Fuck me, Valentine. I want you to feel as good as you make me feel. You won’t hurt me.”

With a groan he dropped his mouth to mine and kissed me.

It was nearly as brutal as his thrusts.

It was glorious.

It was beautiful.

It was powerful.

Every grunt, every glide out and drive in, overwhelming.

My hands roamed his back, my heels dug in, my nails grazed. All of this without thought. There was no time to think—it was about touch.

Learning.

Memorizing.

It was the single most intoxicating experience of my life. Surrounded by Valentine’s power went beyond sex, beyond pleasure and orgasms. In that moment, it was about being the center of his universe. And that was what it felt like. I was in control of all his dominance.

Me, Sophie, had Valentine at my command.

He’d deny himself pleasure if he thought I was hurting.

He’d stop at a moment’s notice if I needed.

He’d give me really great orgasms and let me take him slow while it pained him to wait.

He broke the kiss. I felt his labored breaths on my cheek before I felt his lips brush there.

“Watch, baby.”

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