Page 121 of Broken Honor

“That’s it. Keep going. Let me hear how much you need me.”

We move together, slick with sweat, skin slipping against skin, the pressure unbearable. My clitoris brushes his pelvis with each stroke, the friction maddening. I feel my walls contracting again, the pressure mounting hard and fast.

His name is a broken moan on my lips.

His hips slam into mine, deep and rough, hitting a spot that makes my whole lower body spasm.

The heat crests—and then it happens.

My legs shake uncontrollably, thighs quivering around his waist. My cries tear out of me, sharp and broken, as I come hard, my vaginal walls pulsing around his cock like they’re trying to hold him in.

“F—fuck,” he groans, voice breaking.

His rhythm stutters. He buries himself to the hilt, cock twitching violently inside me, and then he’s coming—thick, hot spurts spilling deep in my pussy again. His hands crush into my hips, holding me in place as he thrusts twice more, forcing it as deep as possible.

We collapse together, breathless.

He doesn’t pull out right away.

He stays inside me, soft kisses pressed to my neck, my collarbone, my jaw. His cock still buried in my wet, aching vagina, the heat of him a brand.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “You ruin me.”

And I let him.

Because I’m not done either.

Chapter Twenty-Three – Vieri

Her hand stays in mine. The tips of her fingers are warm. I stare at the ceiling. There’s a crack in the plaster above the chandelier. I let my thumb move once, slowly, over her knuckles. We lay on the rug in the center of my study. She doesn’t pull away.

Life always played its games with me. This girl beside me is supposed to be gone, dead. For no reason other than my own greed and ambition. Yet here she is beside me, still a result of my emotions.

Her shirt is slipping off her shoulder, her thigh pressed to mine, head close enough that I can smell the citrus in her shampoo.

She’s looking at me. My hand covers half her face. She fits there too easily. I press my palm into her skin. She leans into it.

What should I do? Kill her and live with it? Keep her and never tell her? Tell her and lose her?

“What’s wrong?”

Her voice barely breaks through. I should say everything. Tell the truth.

But I say, “You’re beautiful.”

Her brow lifts. “You’re lying.”

She says she already knows the shape of my lies.

My hand drops. I let my eyes fall to her body. The curve of her hip. The soft stretch of her belly under the thin fabric. Her legs are drawn up slightly. Oh, she doesn’t know what she’s offering just by lying there.

I feel a sharp ache in my chest. I don’t deserve her. I lean in and press my lips to her forehead.

Her skin is warm and damp from everything we’ve done, but she’s still trembling. I shift beside her, propping myself on one elbow and brushing my knuckles along her cheek. She looks up at me, dazed and soft, lips parted like she’s trying to catch a breath that won’t come.

I drag my mouth lower—cheekbone, temple, corner of her lips—until I find her mouth and kiss her properly.

She melts into me, that sweet little sigh escaping her throat, and I feel it deep in my gut.

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