Page 117 of The Sweetest Revenge

The vulnerability of being watched, being studied, while touching myself made every nerve ending hypersensitive. Each circle of my fingers carried shockwaves through my system.

And then I saw him—fully.

Standing flush against the table, his hand wrapped around himself, stroking with controlled movements.

The sight of him, his restraint, his intensity, his absolute focus on me, sent a rush of heat flooding through my body.

I licked my lips, unable to help myself.

"I want—" The words caught. I swallowed and tried again. "I want you inside me."

He stepped closer, his hand never stopping its rhythmic motion. "Not yet."

The desk creaked beneath me as I shifted, impatient.

"When?"

A slow smile spread across his face. "When I decide you've earned it."

With my gaze hyper-focused on his hand, I moved my fingers over my clit, rubbing in a measured rhythm.

"Eyes on me, baby."

Each word was a command I couldn't disobey.

My gaze lifted, reconnecting with his.

The raw hunger I found there stole my breath.

This was Zaiden, the boy I'd known for years, the man who'd held me through the awful news of Kacie’s death, my antagonist turned lover, but in this moment, he was something else entirely. Something primal. Dangerous.

Mine.

I gasped, fingers faltering as he slipped two of his own inside me without warning. The sudden fullness made my back arch involuntarily.

"Don't stop. Find your rhythm and come all over my hand."

The crudeness of his words contrasted with the admiration in his expression, creating a conflict that heightened everything.

I realized that he needed this as much as I did. This wasn't just about a physical release; it was about reclaiming something we'd nearly lost, about proving we were still alive despite everything.

I added just the right amount of pressure as I continued to work my clit. He withdrew his fingers before thrusting them back inside me. He increased his speed, and I rubbed a little harder and faster.

The wet noises of him pumping into me seemed obscenely loud in the library's silence.

I bit the inside of my cheek hard, trying to contain the sounds building in my throat.

"Let me hear you," he demanded, curling his fingers inside me toward that spot that made coherent thought impossible.

"Someone will?—"

"Let me. Hear you." Each word was punctuated by a deeper thrust of his fingers.

The oxygen caught in my lungs, trapped. My vision tunneled, narrowing to only his face above me. The lights created a halo effect around his head, an angelic framework for the devil's own expression.

Stars sparked at the edges of my awareness as my pussy clamped down around him. The pressure building inside me reached a critical threshold, unbearable, unsustainable.

I fought it, trying to prolong the exquisite torture.

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