Page 97 of Mexico Can Choke On It
My hand slides lower, tracing down the curve of her waist, over the swell of her hips. My fingers hook under the hem of her dress and yank it up, bunching the delicate fabric around her waist. Her breath catches. I glide my hand up her thigh, closer and closer to where I want her most. The instant I make contact with soaked lace, Petra unleashes a sound that nearly stops my heart—pleasure vibrates through the entire room.
Nothing in my groomed existence has prepared me for this rush of dominance. Her body trembles from my touch, and a savageness ignites in me. I was made for a single purpose: to ruin her for anyone else.
My cock is a steel rod of need—so hard, it hurts—trapped behind my zipper like punishment for wanting her this badly.But my orgasm can wait. What I need is to hear every fucking sound she makes. To know if she’s all throaty growls or breathy gasps when she comes.
“Fuck me, Bryce. I want you inside me.”
I pull back, meeting her eyes. The blue light of the water beyond the glass flickers across her bare skin, her breasts heaving, her nipples swollen and wet from my mouth.
“No,” I growl. “I said no fucking, Pip.”
She opens her mouth to protest, but the look on my face has her swallowing her words.
“No more talking. The only noise I want to hear from you is my name when you come on my tongue.”
Before she can respond, I fist her panties and tear them clean off—not a careful removal, but complete annihilation of expensive lace that goes flying.
She gasps, and I drop to my knees. I’m a man approaching his religion. My mouth waters as my hands grip her thighs, dragging her to the cushion’s edge and spreading her wide for my hungry gaze.
I dive in like a man possessed. The moment I taste her, everything else ceases to exist. Sweet and salty and so goddamn addictive. I can’t stop. I lap at her, drinking her in, the wet sounds of her arousal filling the small space. Every moan she lets slip—every breathy gasp—floods heat straight to my cock.
I flatten my tongue and press against her clit, feeling her jolt under me. She whimpers, her fingers scrabbling for purchase in my hair. I suck in, and she cries out. Her juicy sounds are music made just for me.
“I can’t! It’s too much—” she starts, but I cut her off with a look.
“What did I say about talking?” I command.
I grab her legs and hook them around my neck, angling her ass off the couch. She gasps, her stilettos digging into my skin as I hold her there, suspended and trembling.
And then I dive back in.
My tongue parts her, slow and savoring at first, tasting her from the inside out. The way she moves under me, her hips canting forward, those heels digging in while her legs press tighter around my head—it’s enough to undo me.
I push deeper, my tongue pressing inside until she’s panting. Every vulnerable, breathy noise she makes tells me exactly where to go. My hands rake her thighs, holding her steady as I lick and chase the pulse of her pleasure.
Her breathy pants turn into velvety, languid moans. They slip out like she’s trying to hold them in.
I growl against her, the vibration sending her head flying back, her whole body going tight. I know I’ve found her sweet spot. Her noises climb higher and higher like a song that’s about to break. The way her legs are quivering, how she uses those delicious internal muscles like a vise around my tongue—it’s everything.
Her soft little pants turning into sighs and moans that melt together. It’s a fucking symphony, and I’m the conductor with every greedy thrust of my tongue.
She’s close. I feel her thighs squeeze harder, her hips roll faster. I still my body, keeping my mouth right where she needs it, my tongue pumping with steady, firm pressure. She’s fucking shaking in my hands.
I’m wild. Unbridled. A man of one purpose.
Then she says it. My name—my name in a voice that’s half moan, half sigh, a sound so delicate and sweet, it carves a hollow right through my chest. She collapses back, whimpering, her body going limp and boneless, and I feel her melting on my tongue.
Her satiatedsighs continue to play like a melody. A song that’s all mine—to memorize and replay in every quiet moment for the rest of my miserable existence.
The underwater lights of the ocean dance across her skin and turn her into something unreal—an ocean-born siren pulled from a sailor’s tale. Her lashes brush flushed cheeks, and that devastating mouth curves into the softest smile I’ve ever witnessed on her.
I did that.Me.
Turned a walking rebellion into a satisfied puddle of a woman. Must say, I’m feeling pretty goddamn pleased with myself.
For once in her life, she’s not insulting my lineage, threatening my anatomy, or plotting creative ways to destroy my personal property. She’s peaceful. Beautiful. Content.
It’s unsettling, because this version of her is even more dangerous. I want more of it. I want all of it.
