Page 214 of Filthy Promises

“What are you?—”

“I need you.” It’s not a request or even a statement. It’s a raw promise of what’s about to happen. “Right here. Where they can all imagine what’s happening but never see it.”

I whimper. Liquid heat pools between my legs.

His hands find the hem of my dress, inching it up over my thighs until cool air kisses the backs of my legs. I should stop him.

But I want this just as bad as he does.

He hooks his fingers into my panties, dragging them down my legs with agonizing slowness, then guiding my feet with a strong hand around my ankles until I’m free of them.

“Spread your legs,” he commands.

I comply without hesitation, bracing my hands on the polished wood table. His fingers trace the curve of my spine. Goosebumps stand up in their wake.

“You have no idea how fucking beautiful you are like this,” he growls. “Pregnant with my child, wet for me, bent over where I conduct business.”

His hand slips between my thighs, finding me embarrassingly ready for him. A small, broken sound escapes me as he tortures my clit—close enough to tease, but not nearly as much as I want.

“Shhh.” His other hand comes up, my panties dangling from his fingers. “Open your mouth.”

This is filthy. Depraved. Completely inappropriate.

I part my lips.

He presses the silk into my mouth, a makeshift gag that tastes like my own arousal. The fabric stretches my lips, pressing against my tongue in a way that shouldn’t be erotic but somehow is.

“Perfect,” he whispers.

I hear the unmistakable sound of his zipper lowering. The head of his cock nudges against my entrance, teasing and insistent. I push back, desperate for him to fill me, but his hands grip my hips, holding me still.

“I want to look at you,” he says, voice choked with desire. “So eager to be fucked where my men could walk in any moment. Where they’d see their leader’s wife, gagged and spread open.”

Oh, fucking hell.

He enters me in one powerful thrust, and my cry of pleasure is muffled by the impromptu gag. The angle is different with my pregnant belly, deeper somehow, and I see stars as he hilts himself inside me.

“Mine,” he rumbles, setting a brutal pace that has the table creaking beneath us. “Say it.”

I make an unintelligible sound around the fabric in my mouth, desperate and needy.

His hand tangles in my hair, pulling my head back. “Say. It.”

I manage to work my tongue enough to push the panties partially aside. “Yours,” I gasp. “I’m fucking yours.”

The gag goes back in immediately, his rhythm never faltering as he pounds into me. One hand snakes around to circle my clit, and I nearly collapse from the dual sensation.

“They’re still out there,” he snarls against my ear. “Wondering why the door is locked. Imagining what I’m doing to you.”

The thought pushes me closer to the edge. I’m a heaving, swollen bundle of need, hovering right at the bursting point.

“You like that, hm?” His fingers work faster against my swollen nub. “You like knowing they can hear the table moving. That they know exactly what theirpakhanis doing to his beautiful wife.”

I nod frantically, beyond shame, beyond reason. There’s only Vince and the exquisite torture of his body against mine, in mine, with mine.

“Come for me,” he commands. “Let them hear what they’ll never have.”

Boom.Fireworks.

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