Page 96 of Filthy Promises

The eye contact makes it filthier somehow. More intimate. More dangerous.

“That’s it,” he praises, sliding two fingers inside me one knuckle at a time. “So fucking tight. You’re going to need a lot of preparation to take all of me.”

My walls clench around his fingers at his words, drawing a dark chuckle from him.

“You like that idea, don’t you?” He curls his fingers in acome-hithermotion that has me mewling. “You like knowing my cock is going to stretch this virgin pussy to its limits.”

“Yes,” I gasp. Shame and desire are tangling together in my chest until I can’t tell where one stops and the other begins.

He adds a third finger, the stretch burning in the most delicious way. “Tell me how long you’ve wanted this. Tell me how many times you’ve touched yourself thinking about me.”

The demand snakes around my throat like a noose. This is humiliation. This is surrender.

This is everything I’ve ever wanted.

“Every night,” I confess, the words tearing from me. “For years. I’d—oh, God—I’d imagine your hands instead of mine.”

He rewards my confession by sucking my clit between his lips, fingers still working inside me.

“And what did I do to you in these fantasies? Did I make you beg? Did I fuck you until you couldn’t remember your own name?”

“Both,” I moan, hips rocking against his face. “Everything. Anything you wanted.”

He pulls back just enough to say, “That’s what’s happening now, Rowan. Everything. Anything I want.” Then he’s back, tongue circling my clit while his fingers stretch me wider.

I feel the tension building low in my belly, that familiar tightening that signals I’m close.

But I’ve never felt it this intensely before. Never had it consume me so completely.

“Vince, I’m going to?—”

“Not yet.” He slows his movements, denying me release. “Not until you admit what this really is.”

I whimper, desperate and confused. “What do you mean?”

His eyes lock with mine, fingers still buried inside me. “This isn’t just about sex. This is about ownership. Tell me who owns this pussy now.”

“You do,” I whisper.

“Louder.”

“You. You own me.”

He plunges his fingers deeper. “And what happens when I claim what’s mine?”

“I take it. All of it. However you give it to me.”

He smiles against my inner thigh. It’s the smile of a man who’s won.

“Good girl. Now, you can come for me.”

His mouth returns to my clit with renewed intensity, fingers fucking into me at a pace that borders on painful.

The combination is too much.

I shatter.

My orgasm rips through me like a hurricane, tearing down walls I’ve spent years building. I’m vaguely aware that I’m screaming his name, that my thighs are clamping around his head, that my body is convulsing beneath the onslaught of pleasure.

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