Page 169 of Filthy Promises

It soundsgrateful.

My body trembles under his touch, every flaw transformed into glory by his adoration. When I’m naked, vulnerable, completely exposed, he looks at me again, eyes like pure, black liquid.

“I’ve never seen anything so fucking beautiful in my life.” He swallows. “I don’t deserve you. But I’ll spend every day trying to.”

“You already have me.” I guide him inside me with a gasp of completion. “All of me.”

He moves slowly, cautiously, his eyes never leaving mine as we find our rhythm. It’s like he’s memorizing every expression, cataloging every sigh.

“I love you,” he repeats endlessly. “I love you. I love you.”

I squirm beneath him, overwhelmed by sensation and emotion entwined so tightly I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

His mouth finds mine again, softer than before but no less consuming. I taste his desire, his relief, his love—all the things he struggled to say now pouring from his lips to mine.

“I need to taste you,” he murmurs suddenly, his voice rough and jagged with desire. “Every inch of you.”

I nod feverishly, unable to form words as he pulls out and begins a slow journey down my body.

His tongue circles each nipple, drawing them to aching peaks that send jolts of electricity straight to my core. My breasts are more sensitive now—pregnancy already changing my body in subtle ways—and I cry out when he sucks one hardened bud into his mouth.

“So responsive,” he says, a note of wonder in his voice. “Is it different now?”

“Yes,” I whimper. “Everything’s more—oh, God—more intense.”

He smiles against my skin. “Good.”

His hand slides between my thighs, fingers parting me with practiced ease. When he touches me there, my hips buck involuntarily.

“So wet for me already,” he croons. “So perfect.”

“Please,” I beg, not caring how desperate I sound. “I need more.”

He keeps inching down my body until his broad shoulders spread my thighs wider. His eyes meet mine one last time before he lowers his head.

The first touch of his tongue makes me cry out and cling to his hair with both hands. He licks a slow, deliberate path from my entrance to my clit, then flirts around the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“You taste like heaven,” he groans against me. “Like mine.”

His words send another wave of heat through me.Mine. Yes. His.

Two thick fingers press inside me, curling to find that spot that makes me see stars. His tongue never stops its relentless attention on my clit.

“That’s it,” he urges as my thighs begin to tremble. “Let go for me, Rowan. I want to feel you come on my tongue. Soak me. Ruin me.”

His filthy words push me closer to the edge. I’ve always loved this side of him—the commanding, confident lover who knows exactly what my body needs.

But it’s different now. His dominance is tempered with tenderness, his demands softened by devotion.

“I can’t—” I gasp as the pressure builds. “I’m gonna— Vince, I’m going to?—”

“Come for me,” he commands, sucking my clit between his lips as his fingers thrust deeper. “Now.”

The orgasm hits so hard it almost hurts. My back rainbows off the couch as pleasure radiates through every nerve ending. I cry out his name, over and over. It’s the only word left that makes any sense at all.

He works me through it. When I finally collapse, boneless and breathless, he rises up my body to claim my mouth again. I taste myself on his lips, tangy and intimate.

“I’ll never get tired of watching you fall apart,” he says against my mouth. “It’s a work of fucking art.”

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