Page 25 of I Would Beg For You

She has the gall to smile.

“I didn’t call any fireman.”

“No. You called me.”

She writhes on the bed. My dick is threatening to burst out.

“What am I going to do with you?” I ask with a shake of my head.

She bites her lower lip, and I have to take a deep breath.

“Everything you want.”

Fuck, she shouldn’t extend such an open-ended invitation.

There’s still time to back out of this. We can still both walk away without getting burned. Because that’s exactly what will happen if we proceed today. There won’t be any coming back from this.

“Fire, Naomi.”

Her body goes still, and I’m preparing myself to turn around and go back from where I came from. It’s her body, her choice. I need her consent. Without it, I’m not a man but a bastard of the worst order. Without it, I’m Joel Smith.

My lips curl when I think of the cazzo. What am I doing here, in his house, with his precious daughter? Is Naomi the one playing with fire, or am I the one looking to get singed?

“Val,” she says, tone tentative.

I come back to the moment and stare at her.

“What you did to her…”

A frown touches my brow. What is she on about?

She must see my expression because she speaks up again.

“The first night I saw you, with that girl. What you were doing to her…”

Do it to me…

I remember the night in question, recall all she saw before I drew the curtains in the room.

My gaze roves over her tantalizing body exposed to me but for a few scraps of lace wrapping around her form. Her breasts espouse the almost transparent demi-cups, the edges of which can barely conceal her puckered nipples. Even from here, I can smell her arousal gathering at the apex of her thighs.

What’s a man to do in such a situation?

There she is, all but begging me to take her.

“Val? Please…”

When she literally begs me to do it, I can’t resist anymore. In a lunge, I’m on her bed on all fours, crawling up to her so I can slam my mouth onto hers and take from it. I got a taste at the ball, and I want more. So much more.

She wastes no time opening up to me today, and my tongue is sweeping into her mouth, engaging hers to tangle and dance, stroking and caressing. Her moan drifts into our passionate kiss as I plunder her.

My hands are itching to touch her, to feel her smooth skin. And it feels indeed like soft satin when I lay my palms flat on her sides and caress up her ribcage until my thumbs brush the underside of her heavy breasts.

Kissing her feels amazing, but I recall what she asked of me. I tear myself from her lips and stroke my tongue along the side of her jaw and onto the column of her throat. Another guttural sound tears from her mouth as her fingers slip into my hair and tighten around the locks.

Nibbles turn to open-mouthed bites as I feast on her skin. Naomi is writhing under me, and her back arches off the bed when, with one thumb, I bring down the edge of lace on a breast and rub the pebbled peak there. Even I can feel the shudder that races through her at the touch.

I continue my downward journey with my mouth, lips closing around the exposed nipple and laving it with my tongue before I suckle on it with growing intensity. Meanwhile my other hand grazes her other nipple with feathery light strokes on purpose. I smile when I reckon it’s driving her mad.

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