Page 29 of Scornful

"That's it," he encourages, his breath hot against me. "Let go for me, beautiful. Let me see you come apart."

When he slides a thick finger inside me at the same time his tongue flicks over my clit, I shatter, my body convulsing as pleasure crashes through me in waves.

He works me through it, gentling his touch as the aftershocks ripple through me.

When I finally come back to myself, he's looking up at me from between my thighs with a pleased smirk that should be illegal.

"You are so fuckin’ gorgeous when you come," he says, pressing a kiss to my inner thigh.

I tug at his cut, suddenly desperate to feel his skin against mine. "Too many clothes," I manage to spit out, still breathless.

He chuckles, sitting up to take off his cut and pull his henley over his head, revealing his hard, tattooed chest.

The skull design is almost alive in the dim light of my office, the inked flowers twining around it like they're growing before my eyes.

"You can touch me," he says, catching my hesitant hand and pressing it firmly against his chest. "I want you to."

I explore him the way he explored me, tracing scars and tattoos, learning the contours of his body.

When my fingers reach the waistband of his jeans, I feel him tense slightly. "You don't have to," he starts, but I silence him with a look.

"I want to," I say, echoing his words back to him.

His eyes darken as I unbutton his jeans, helping him slide them down his powerful thighs along with his boxer briefs.

And then he's naked before me, every inch of him hard and ready.

"Jesus," I breathe, taking in the size of him. "Will that even...?"

He laughs softly, leaning down to kiss me. "We'll go slow, princess. I'd never hurt you."

I believe him, I realize.

Despite his size, and his reputation in the club as someone not to be fucked with, I feel completely safe with him.

"Let me get a condom," he says, reaching for his jeans.

Once he slides it on, he settles over me again, supporting his weight on his forearms. "Last chance to change your mind," he says seriously.

In answer, I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "I want this. I want you."

The first press of him against me has me tensing instinctively, but he's patient, dropping kisses along my jaw, my neck, my collarbone as he eases forward inch by inch.

"Breathe for me," he murmurs against my ear. "You're doing so well, taking me so perfectly."

His praise washes over me, relaxing me enough that he can push all the way in, filling me completely.

The stretch is intense but not painful, my body accommodating him better than I expected.

"Fuck," he groans, forehead pressed against mine as he holds still, letting me adjust. "You feel amazing, Astrid. So tight, so perfect around me."

When he starts to move, it's with shallow, careful thrusts that soon have me gasping for more.

I dig my nails into his back, urging him deeper, faster. "Please," I whimper. "More."

"Anything you want," he promises, picking up the pace. "Everything you need."

He shifts slightly, changing the angle until he's hitting a spot inside me that has my back arching off the couch.

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