Page 21 of Blackmailed By the Incubus

“I don’t want anyone to hear you cum, but me,” he states evenly, like it’s the most rational response on the planet.

“You made me cum yesterday,” I remind him.

“Not like this. I’m going to make you scream, and that is only for me.”

The sweet thrum of arousal has my belly tingling. I hate that I want that.

“No,” I tell us both firmly. “This isn’t right.”

“Is your body telling you that or your head?”

I scowl at the ridiculous statement. “That doesn’t matter. You’re in my brother’s body—”

“This is my body. He only feels and sees what I allow him to. In this form, I am only me.” His hand captures my chin with frightening accuracy considering I can’t see an inch in front of my face. “No more arguing. I will lock him out if that will put your mind at ease.”

It does and doesn’t. Of course, I don’t want Aiden to be present, but the thought of him being present also...

I have no time to process any of this when he’s hooked a talon into the elastic of my skirt and cut through it like a knife through thread. The yards of fabric slide off my body and pool at my feet, baring me to the night. To his eyes.

“Warrick...”

My bra goes next, cut at the inch of fabric between the cups. They fall apart, spilling my breasts into his waiting palms. His teasing thumbs sweeps over the peaks, igniting the heat in my core.

“Tell me what you were thinking earlier,” he prompts softly.

His mouth replaces his left hand and my mind fogs over as the cool air and his tongue sets my skin on fire.

“Earlier?” I mutter, trying to think past the feel of his fingers twisting in the only scrap of fabric keeping me covered and snapping them off. The sting left behind clears my head enough to remember. “Your tongue.”

I’m being propelled backwards, stopped only by the rough bark of a tree coming up against my naked spine.

“What about it?”

There seems to be a bend in the trunk that offers me support when he presses me back into the curve.

“Aiden said you did things to me last night after I was in bed.” My fingers thread through his hair, cradling him to my chest as he teases my right nipple with his fangs.

“Every night,” he corrects, breaking away from my breast to leave a damp trail down my belly. “Last night is the only time I let him watch.”

I gasp. “What do you do to me?”

He’s kneeling at my feet. His warm breath fans my wet lips. I’m barely breathing. I wish I could see him, but part of me is comforted by the obscurity.

“This.”

All other thoughts vanish the moment his full tongue lashes up my center. The tip circles my opening and dives in so deep, so fully my head slams back against the trunk. Stars explode across the backs of my closed eyelids. As a single piece, his tongue thickens the deeper he penetrates until I’m sobbing and bucking under the pressure. He’s so far up inside me, writhing and flicking along my walls. Occasionally, I feel him splitting and stretching me, and I’m flailing, cutting my back against the bark as I drive my hips harder on his face, grinding my clit against his teeth. My fingers are steel clamps gripping his hair, refusing to give him space as he invades my body.

He groans the most beautiful sound and clamps his hands under my thighs. With the ease of someone lifting a bag offeathers, he spreads me open, using the tree as leverage to get even deeper.

“Don’t stop,” I whimper.

My reward is the division of his tongue. One half slips out to roll over my clit while the other stays inside me. His talons dig into my thighs, drawing blood and leaving scars, but I don’t care as both halves of his tongue work in tandem pitching me off the cliff.

I cum with a cry of his name.

He’s still between my legs, licking and cleaning when I float down. He grazes my tender clit with his teeth once before pushing to his feet and standing before me with my knees still hooked over his arms.

“Every night,” he says with a husky drawl that sends a shiver through me.

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