Page 42 of Her Soul to Own

Her fingers tighten until her knuckles go white, and the stretch lifts her chest, arches her back, and completely bares her body to me like an offering.

Then she does something that shatters whatever restraint I had left. She loops both arms behind the railing, locking herself there with her spine bowed just right, her ass tilted up and back, presenting me with the most perfect view.Myview. The angle to her pussy is obscene and irresistible.

I step in, positioning her exactly where I want her, where I need her, until she’s lined up perfectly with the aching length of my cock. My control’s razor-thin, but I’m not letting go of it. Not yet.

We’re both still dressed, and that’s how I want it. There’s something filthy, something deliciously forbidden about taking her like this, with the fabric in the way and her little shorts soaking through while I grind into her and make her come without ever stripping a thing.

This isn’t about slow. It’s about need. About ownership. About showing her exactly what she does to me.

And I plan on making sure the whole city can feel it.

But her top? That needs to go.

With her still wrapped around me, I shift my grip, balancing her effortlessly with one hand beneath her ass. My other hand slips beneath the hem of her tank top and drags it upward in one swift motion. The fabric bunches around her ribs,revealing smooth skin and a white lace bra that clings delicately to her chest.

It’s sweet in a way she absolutely isn’t, with soft lace, thin straps, and a tiny pink bow in the center that’s like a tease. Like a dare. A lie wrapped in innocence.

I don’t give her a warning, and I don’t bother asking.

I slide the lace up and out of the way, exposing her breasts to the cool air and my burning gaze. She gasps, a sharp, breathy sound, but her eyes never leave mine. She doesn’t flinch or cover herself. She just breathes, heavy and fast, lips parted, cheeks flushed, her body caught between defiance and desire.

And God, she looks absolutelyfilthy.

She’s beautiful in the kind of way that makes men ruin their lives. Her skin is flushed, her nipples pink and already hard, tight with anticipation, and begging to be touched, but I don’t. Not yet.

I justlook.

Because right now, the way she’s staring back at me, bare, breathless, and unashamed, is almost more than I can take.

“These breasts of yours,” I whisper, hovering my finger over her hard nipples, “I’m not touching them. Until you beg.”

She lets out a sharp breath. “I’m not begging.”

Without warning, I grind forward, my cock straining against my pants and pressing hard and unrelenting through her thin shorts. The friction is instant, electric. She gasps, loud and unguarded, her head tipping back against the window with a dull thud.

“Oh, you’ll beg,” I growl in her ear.

And then I start to move. Slowly. Torturously slow. My hips rolling into her with a rhythm just shy of relief. Enough to drive her wild. Not enough to let her fall.

She clutches the window railing tighter above her head, her knuckles going white again. Her body arches instinctively,grinding against me with a need she won’t say out loud. But I feel it. I feel every pulse of heat between her legs. I also feel the dampness growing in her shorts, seeping through the fabric, and soaking into mine.

I stay fully clothed, every movement designed to frustrate,to tempt. Her breasts are still bare, beautiful, and flushed from the cool air and the heat building inside her. She’s breathless now, her chest rising and falling, her nipples tight and aching.

Unable to bear it any longer, I break my own rule. I lean down and take one nipple into my mouth.

She gasps again, louder this time, her body jolting as my tongue flicks across the sensitive peak, slow and deliberate. I suck, deep and possessive, then switch to the other nipple, letting my teeth graze her ever so slightly.

She moans, quietly at first, then desperately. Her hips start to move in rhythm with mine, grinding against the pressure and chasing the edge I’m keeping just out of reach.

She’s soaked now. I can feel her through the fabric, every roll of her hips sending sparks through both of us.

I thrust harder, still clothed, still controlled, but relentless. My hand grips her thigh, keeping her open for me. My other hand finally moves to cup one of her breasts, my thumb brushing over her slick, needy skin.

“You feel that?” I whisper against her chest. “That heat between us? You’re going to come just like this… still in those pretty little shorts.”

She bites her lower lip, hard, like she’s trying to hold something in but is losing the fight. Her body tenses, grinding into me with purpose now. Every roll of her hips is practiced, precise, and sinful.

And it’s working.

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