Page 48 of Forbidden Love Still Blooms

With a wicked grin, Jordan drags the tip of the pen in an agonizingly slow circle around my nipple. The sensitive bud hardens further; I whimper. “This room,” he says as he draws, “is where I do my work in private. I suppose if you're in here, I should treat you like another project.” I don't know what he's drawing. I can hardly get my vision to focus. The world isn't crisp like it should be. My pleasure makes me delirious.

“What are you doing?” I finally groan.

“I'm writing my name on you.”

Fire erupts in my skull.He's … obsessed.I don't know another word for it. Jordan was reserved until something in him snapped. I don't know when it happened, or what, but now that we're alone … now that he has me to himself … he's done holding back.

It takes three attempts to swallow before my throat stops closing. Breathing in short shudders of excitement, I rest back against the drafting table. Jordan, satisfied, begins playing with the pen on my right nipple. He strokes the tip lightly, creating hungry aches in my core. A chasm of lust that keeps growing. Moving lower, he begins writing in precise strokes on the swells of my breasts.

Finally, he puts the pen down, clicking it into a metal groove on the desk. “Look,” he says.

There are two words inked on my skin. The right breast saysJordan,the left saysHartford.“You're mental,” I whisper, but it lacks conviction. Every little hair on my body stands on end. Not from fear. Not from nerves— though there are plenty of those. This man awoke a new sexual appetite. “Why did you put your name on me? I don't belong to you.”

“No,” he agrees, and I hear the silent, unspoken addition on the tip of his tongue:Not yet.

Jordan kicks my feet apart, kneels between them. He stares up at me without a sliver of awkwardness in his vulnerable pose. For a second, I think of his son.Dezmond wasn't confident when he knelt to propose. He hated feeling like he was lower than me.Jordan is the other side of the coin—fully confident in his superiority even when he's prostrate.

“I've never been with a man like you,” I whisper.

His eyebrows lower suspiciously. “You're not—”

“No.” I shake my head. “I'm not a virgin.”

Grinning, he rests his cheek on my thigh. “What do you mean, then? What kind of man am I?”

“You say what you want, do what you want, without any self doubt.” I chew my bottom lip, then add, “You're not afraid of anything. I'm jealous.”

Jordan kisses my sensitive skin on top of my knee. He keeps his lips there, silent as if he's on the verge of saying something more. But he doesn't. He pushes my legs together, forcing my pussy to round up and out, bringing it towards his face. He inhales for five whole seconds, shuddering when he breathes out. “Your pussy smells amazing. I swear, if I wasn't already rock-hard, just a whiff of you would make my cock stiff.”

I push my hips towards him with a moan. He holds the edges of my underwear in his thumbs, pulling them down my body like he's unwrapping a precious gift. Strings of juice cling to the fabric as it goes. He says, “You're so wet you could drown me, Lorikeet.”

My tendons vibrate as I hold my position. “Hurry,” I beg.

“In a minute, sweet bird. I want to look at you first. I'm going to tattoo the memory of your hungry pussy permanently in my brain.”

Throwing my head back I gaze at the wooden boards in the ceiling. They line up perfectly, linking together in herringbone lines that don't wobble the way I do. My inner thighs are dripping—skin shiny, slick—and it gets worse the longer he looks at me. Jordan's intense stare causes my pussy to twitch, creates more lava-hot waves. He's nottouchingme, just appreciating me like I'm a piece of rare art.

No. I'd never been with anyone like him.

Catching my hips in his hands, he dips his face forward. There's no warning—his tongue flattens out, covering the entirely of my folds like a warm blanket. Tingles erupt from my clit to my brain; I tense up, fold forward, brace my hands in his hair. Have I touched his hair before? It's soft, strands of it sailing through the gaps in my fingers.

He chuckles, the vibrations going directly to my clit. “You nearly came from a single lick. My sweet girl needs to come so bad, doesn't she?”

“Yes!”

“Hang on as tight as you need to,” he says, his nose running through my slit. “You've been so good for me. I'll give you what you need.”

Gripping his hair, I start to lie back on the desk, but my abdominals clench from his second exploratory lick of my sex. Standing with my feet pressed together like I'm clicking my heels, I hunch around his head, cradling his broad shoulders while he eats me out.

Lying back requires relaxation. I'm anything but relaxed. My veins pump pure lust through them at insane speeds, flooding my pink-tinged skin, forcing me to be hyper-aware of Jordan's tongue. I can count his tastebuds when they drag over me.

One of his thick fingers circles my entrance. He nudges my folds aside, coating himself in my liquid, the sound of it reaching my ears over my panting. He could slip it inside easily—Jordan never takes the easy route. Even now, when he promised to give me release, he does it his own way.

“Please, I'm so close,” I groan.

“I know,” he says simply.

His finger enters me inch by inch, my pussy clenching hungrily, happy to have anything. “Your pussy is pulling me in,” he whispers hoarsely. “Is one finger enough? Should I give you more, greedy girl?”

---