Page 80 of Wicked Sin

Her eyes glitter, then she blinks. Once, slowly. A sweep of dark eyelashes against her cheek. Bright eyes again, staring right into my soul. “I liked being fingered.”

“You want to fuck my hand again, princess?”

“Aren’t you’re the most romantic person in the world,” she gasps as she hauls me close. “And yes. Please.”

“I like the way you say that. So polite. So proper. Such a good girl.”

“I’m not.”

“I know. You’re my bad girl, aren’t you?”

“The worst.” Sharp words. True words.

“Are you warning me?”

“I don’t need to warn you. You know exactly who I am.”

“I do. And I like you, exactly as you are.”

She laughs and leans back. Presenting her pussy, as if it’s the only part of her I’m interested in. Hardly.

I hook my fingers over the waistband of her jeans and lazily rub my thumb against the button. “You don’t believe me.”

“No, I do.” She bats her eyelashes at me again. This time more coyly. A flirtation. “I know youlikeme, Luke.” Her gaze drops to my crotch, where my appreciation of her is on full display. “You like the way I push your buttons, for example. You like that I’m smart. Street smart, at least. I know the ways of the world. I’m no Pollyanna.”

My chest squeezes tight. She’s not, and that’s just fine. I’m not interested in some innocent ingenue. “You’re a survivor. You’re a fighter.”

“That’s a way to pretty up the reality of it, sure.”

“Wow, do you talk to your counseling clients with that negative little mouth?”

She pouts, her lower lip jutting out.

I want to bite it. I want to make her bleed, make her cry, make her gasp and shout and admit she’s perfect just exactly how she is.

I curl my fingers into her pants more, my fingertips grazing the top of her mound. “No panties, Taylor?”

She shakes her head slowly from side to side. “Nope.”

I lean in. “I like that, too.” Her breath hitches as I brush my lips against hers. “Now be a good girl and come on my hand.”

26

Taylor

He doesn’t even undressme. He just works his hand into my pants, like touching me is enough. I don’t think I’ve ever been with a man who didn’t want to look at me all spread out. And now this is two for two where Luke stays pressed against me, kissing and touching and just being in the moment.

It’s nice not to feel like a sex Barbie.

It’s even nicer to give in to the dirtier, stickier parts of second base. Grinding and sliding against his hand, letting him be rough because I know he’ll stop if I want him to.

Giving in to the roughness with that safety net is exhilarating. Like this is what sex was always supposed to feel like, and my efforts to separate it into two parts—the rough and awful side of sex I let happen to me because it was better than the alternative. And the safer, sweeter sex I desperately tried to have with other people that never felt quite right.

This is better than all of that put together. This is hot and fast and hard—God, so hard, with Luke’s weight pressing against me in all the right places, his hand the perfect violation between my legs. And when I come, it’s a rush of good and bad feelings, like it always is, but this time the good ones are the ones that linger.

I never want to wash off the residue of Luke wringing that feeling from my body.

When I finally stop shaking, he licks off his fingers, then kisses me. Slow and sweet.

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