Page 95 of Desperate Crimes
The sound of her begging? It does something to me.
Twists something hot and primal through my gut.
And the proof of her desire—warm and damp through the silk pressed to my palm—nearly makes me lose control.
I hook my fingers into the waistband of her panties, dragging the soft fabric to the side so I can touch her, skimming my fingertips along her thick thighs with aching slowness.
She gasps when the air hits her skin, but she doesn’t stop me.
Doesn’t shy away.
“Good girl,” I tell her and give her silk-covered sex a small tap.
Then I’m moving her, pushing her down, laying her across my lap.
Her dress is still bunched up, and I groan at the sight.
Her ass is perfect—full, lush, made to be touched.
Claimed.
My palm hovers, then drops. Not cruelly.
Just enough to make her feel it.
A sharp little smack that echoes in the silence of the limo like a promise.
She jerks forward, a whimper falling from her lips. But her back arches. She offers herself again.
“You like that, don’t you?” I growl, wrapping my other hand around her throat to keep her steady.
She nods, breathless. “Yes, Nico.”
“Good. Because I’m not done teaching you a lesson. Showing you what it means to be mine.”
Her breath shudders when I stroke the curve of her ass, soft and warm beneath my hand.
I palm it, savoring the way she melts under my touch even after that stinging smack.
She’s trembling, but not from fear.
No, this is something else.
Need. Surrender. Hunger she doesn’t quite know how to name.
I press my palm low on her back and tug her face up with my other hand. Then I lean in, my lips brushing the shell of her ear, my tongue licking her cheek.
“Say it again.”
“I want this,” she breathes. “I want you.”
God help me.
My chest tightens with something brutal and unrelenting, something I barely know how to name.
She’s begging with her body, her voice, her damn soul.
And I’ll give her anything she wants, everything I have.
