Page 106 of Filthy Promises

“And yet you’re here.”

I take another drink instead of answering. We both know why I’m here. The same reason I keep coming back, despite every warning bell in my head.

Because when he touches me, everything else falls away.

“You’re overthinking,” he accuses, moving closer.

“One of us has to do at leastsomethinking.”

His hand brushes my cheek, then slides to the back of my neck to hook me closer to him. “Not tonight.”

Then his lips find mine, and just like that, my resolve goes up in smoke.

I melt against him, my hands clutching at his shirt as if I might float away without him to anchor me. He tastes like whiskey and sin and every bad decision I’ve ever wanted to make.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs against my mouth.

“I can’t,” I whisper back. “I want this too much.”

That’s all the permission he needs.

His kisses intensify. His hands roam my body with possessive intent, leaving fire in their wake. He backs me against the window, cold glass at my back, his heat at my front.

I should be scared of the height, of the exposure. But all I can focus on is him.

“I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he growls, hiking my dress up my thighs inch by devastating inch. “Watching you at that dinner, pretending we hadn’t fucked. Acting as if I don’t know exactly how you sound when you come.”

A whimper escapes me. “Vince, please?—”

“Please what?” His fingers find the edge of my underwear, teasing. “Tell me what you need.”

“You,” I gasp as he pushes the fabric aside. “Just you.”

He smiles against my neck. “Good girl.”

His fingers slide inside me, finding me already wet, already desperate for him. I arch into his touch, shameless in my need.

“So needy,” he murmurs. “So perfect for me.”

I cling to him as he works me with his fingers. My breath stops and stutters in my chest as I get closer, closer, clo?—

“No, no. That’s not a good girl. I didn’t say you could come yet,” he scolds when I’m almost there. “I want you in my bed.”

He lifts me effortlessly, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me to his bedroom. The room is massive, dominated by a king-sized bed with dark sheets.

He lays me down carefully. But the gentleness doesn’t last. His eyes darken as he looks down at me, spread out on his bed.

“Take off your dress,” he commands.

With trembling fingers, I comply, pulling the fabric over my head and dropping it to the floor. My underwear follows, leaving me naked under his gaze.

“Beautiful,” he says, voice rough.

He undresses quickly, efficiently, revealing that body I can’t seem to get enough of. The scars. The tattoos. The evidence of a life I’ll never fully understand.

When he joins me on the bed, I open to him willingly, eagerly. There’s no hesitation now, no doubts. Just want. Need. Hunger.

“Condom,” I manage to gasp as he positions himself between my thighs.

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