Page 118 of Chandelier Sin
“Don’t stop.”
His lips crashed onto mine and then he eased back a little. “First, we get you wet. Then you get me.”
“You’re not going to spank me?”
“Not today.”
I thought he loved that.
“Your punishment for breaking into my place is untold pleasure.” His tone was half amused, half bossy Dom.
I put my hands over my face to hide my flushed cheeks.
“Denial of pain.” He peeled my hands off my face. “This is what you deserve. Not what you think you want.”
“What are you going to do?” It came out haughty.
“Honor you. Until your pussy can’t take anymore.”
Drawing in a sharp breath, I tried to fill my lungs.
He glided downward, again his mouth trailing over my belly, and this time he paused between my thighs, lapping around that sensitive tissue, denying my clit what it craved—his mouth, his unmatched control of this throbbing.
Then, without warning, he dragged his tongue along my sensitive sex with precision, again and again, until I gripped the duvet to endure the overwhelming pleasure.
Sensing this, he ran his tongue along my thighs, checking in with a single glance of compassion. So damn sexy, coming from a man like him.
“I want you inside me!”
“I know,” he said huskily.
I shook my head at his harsh playfulness.
“Let me know if it gets to be too much for you,” he said provocatively, as he moved up over top of me.
His erection pressed against my pelvis, but he kept his weight off me, his body above mine as he wove his fingers through mine and lifted my hands to hold them above my head—dominating me.
He started to enter me, and I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the discomfort, the dreadful stretching, the tautness that had to be pushed through.
“Eve?” he said softly.
It was a caution I wasn’t used to, leaving me studying his face to better understand him.
Swiftly, he rolled my body over, so I was sitting astride, thighs on either side of his hips, straddling him.
“You’re in control.” He caressed my calf with affection.
His touch was firm and yet soothing. He’d read my reticence, my need to have him clashed with my concern of disappointing him.
I placed my palm on the back of his hand, tracing the snake from his wrist toward his fingers, winding along the black and gold creature to unravel its secret origin.
I had a feeling he’d gotten this dramatic ink after his sister passed away, to mark the event, perhaps. Mark the profound emotions he felt—an indelible memory scorched into his flesh.
There were no other tattoos on him. I’d studied him as he undressed.
“Whenever you’re ready,” he said.
Stirring from my reverie, I pulled my hand off his.
