Page 118 of Broken Honor

Before I can catch my breath, he lifts me—hands gripping under my thighs—and sets me down on the desk behind us. I gasp, hands bracing on the edge, legs falling open.

He steps between them, eyes locked on mine.

His fingers hook into the button of my jeans. He pauses.

“Can I?”

I nod, heart thudding.

He pops the button, pulls the zipper down, then peels my jeans off, slow and hungry. When the fabric snags at my calves, he growls like the delay is delicious.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he murmurs, kissing the inside of my thigh. “Every inch of you.”

He tosses the jeans aside.

Then his fingers hook into the waistband of my panties, knuckles brushing the sensitive skin just above my pubic mound.

“These too.”

They come off with a slow drag, my panties clinging slightly to the moisture between my legs before sliding past my thighs. His hands are firm as he spreads my legs wider, guiding me toward the edge of the desk until my hips tip forward and my labia part naturally under his gaze.

He lowers himself between my thighs without a word. The first stroke of his tongue is soft—too soft—and it shocks me. My entire body jolts as if struck. I gasp and reach for him, fingers fisting into his hair, but he’s already got me locked in place—his strong hands pressing into my hips, thumbs brushing my skin just beside the curve of my pelvis.

Then he dives deeper.

The sound he makes is filthy—a groan, raw and low in his throat—as he presses his mouth into my vulva like he’s starving for it.

“Sweet,” he murmurs against my flesh, lips brushing my inner labia. “So sweet… I could stay here forever.”

His tongue starts to move—slow, circular passes over my clitoris, each one firmer than the last. He’s not sloppy. He’s calculated. He listens to my body, to every breathless whimper and twitch of my thighs, and reacts to it—adjusting pressure, dragging his tongue slower, then faster.

When my hips buck instinctively, his grip tightens like a vise.

“Stay still, Lunetta,” he growls. The sound of his voice vibrates against my clit, sending a jolt of sensation straight through my abdomen. I moan as he sucks it between his lips, tongue flicking rapidly.

“You taste like heaven,” he says again, voice muffled between my thighs.

His hands move from my hips to my thighs, curling beneath them and dragging me forward until my vagina is flush against his face. I feel the tip of his nose pressing just beneath my mound as his tongue flicks downward—lower—until the flat of it slides between the lips of my vagina and plunges into me.

I cry out, sharp and high-pitched. His tongue pushes deep into my vaginal canal, fucking me with slow thrusts, then harder ones. It’s filthy, and it’s everything.

No one’s ever done this to me.

I grab his hair, grinding my pelvis against his mouth, but he holds me down with both arms like he owns me. The table digs into my back, but I don’t care. His tongue retreats, finds my clit again, and laps it with tight, controlled circles. Every flick builds the pressure faster, tighter. I’m close.

So close.

Just as I’m about to break—

He stops.

He stands up, mouth and chin glistening, lips parted with hunger and breathlessness. I cry out, half-broken, needing him back between my legs. But he kisses me instead—deep, consuming, possessive. I taste myself on his tongue.

Then he pulls back, his voice velvet-soft.

“Tell me…” His thumb brushes my cheek, then my lip. “Were you jealous of the lady?”

His eyes lock on mine, and my brain barely works through the fog of need. I nod, whispering, “Yes.”

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