Page 95 of Filthy Promises

“If you’re unsure?—”

“No! No,” I breathe, and it feels like jumping off a cliff. “Don’t you dare stop.”

He grunts.

Then he shreds my sweater off my body.

His gaze rakes over my torso, lingering on the simple cotton bra that suddenly seems pathetically inadequate. I fight the urge to cover myself, to hide from the intensity of his scrutiny.

“Look at you,” he says, voice thick with want. “So fucking perfect.”

The praise burns through me. It ignites places that have been cold for far, far too long.

I reach for him, needing to feel his skin against mine, but he catches my wrists and pins them above my head with one strong hand.

“Not yet,” he commands. “I’ve waited five years to have you beneath me like this. I’m going to take my time.”

Five years?The confusing words barely register through the haze of desire. He’s known about me that long?

But then his free hand is skimming down my chest, tracing the curve of my breast through cotton, and rational thought evaporates.

“You’ve been driving me insane,” he growls, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of my leggings. “Prancing around my office in those tight little skirts, looking at me with those fuck-me eyes while pretending to be so innocent.”

His hand slides lower, finding the slick heat between my thighs. I bend off the couch with a strangled cry.

“So wet already,” he murmurs, sounding pleased and predatory. “Tell me who this is for.”

I press my lips together, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

His fingers still. “Tell me. Tell me who this fucking pussy belongs to, Rowan—or I’ll torture you with what could be until you do.”

“You,” I rasp, hating how easily he bends me to his will. “It’s for you.”

His smile is vicious, victorious. “That’s a good girl.”

And then he’s stripping away my leggings, my underwear, baring me completely to his gaze.

He releases my wrists to remove his own clothes, and I take my turn to drink in the sight of him.

It’s more than I could’ve imagined, and God knows I tried. He’s hard planes and sculpted muscle, marked with scars that tell stories I’m not ready to hear. His cock springs free, thick and heavy. My mouth waters at the sight.

I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want him in this moment.

It terrifies me.

I can’t breathe when he looks at me like this. He’s cataloging every inch of my exposed skin. Like he’s deciding which parts to devour first.

Vince lowers himself between my thighs. There’s no hesitation, no fumbling. This man knows exactly what he wants and how to take it.

“Spread wider for me,” he commands, his breath hot against my inner thigh. “Let me see all of you.”

I comply because I’ve lost the ability to do anything else.

The first swipe of his tongue makes me cry out. It’s too much. No—it’s not enough. It’s everything I’ve dreamed of for five years and somehow infinitely more devastating than I imagined, all at the same time.

“Look at me,” he growls against my flesh. “I want to see your face when I ruin you.”

I force my eyes open, meeting his ice-blue gaze as he flattens his tongue against my clit.

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