Page 91 of Unrequited
She moans as I roll her nipples between my fingers.
“What do you say, Zoya?” I murmur, a threat and a promise wrapped in velvet.
“Yes, sir,” she breathes out. “Yes, sir.”
She melts against me like honey.
“Tip your head back,” I say.
She obeys. I finish washing her hair, then rinse. She does the same for me while my hands explore her all over again.
And this is just the beginning.
She’s slick between her thighs, so fucking tight I can barely breathe. I slide three fingers inside her, slowly, working them in and out as her hips jerk and shudder. A soft, desperate moan spills from her lips, and I press a thumb gently, reverently, against her clit. She cries out again, a sound that’s more than just pleasure; it’s surrender.
I’m going to make her body sing for me. I’m going to train her to crave my cock, my mouth, my teeth, every dark and dangerous part of me.
“This is what you want, Seamus? Me?” she asks, trembling. “Are you sure?”
I’ve never been surer of anything in my fucking life. I shut off the shower, come out dripping, steam curling off our skin, and towel us both off. I wrap her in a thick towel, then lift her into my arms and carry her straight to my bed, where she fucking belongs.
We’re both clean now. Naked. Exposed. Vulnerable.
I take a moment to hold her, then lay her down on my bed like she’s the most precious thing in the world. “Hands above your head,” I say.
“Keep them there until I tell you to move. Aye?”
“Yes, sir,” she whispers, her eyes locked on mine like she trusts me with everything she is. She’s still damp, water droplets clinging to the tips of her lashes like dew on petals. I dry her again, careful, gentle.
I kiss each droplet, one by one. I watch her lashes flutter closed under my touch. She looks like she’s dreaming, and I want her tofeelexactly that. Like this is the best dream, the kind you beg not to wake up from.
I’ll protect her with everything I have, even when things get brutal. Even when the world outside these walls comes crashing in and tries to take her from me. I’ll keep her safe.
“Part your legs, wife,” I growl into her ear. That one word,wife, grounds me. Feeds something primal inside me.
“I want to taste you. I’ve been fucking dying to taste you. But hear me now, if you come before I give you permission, I will take you over my knee and punish you.”
She lets out a shaky breath. Her hands stay put, but she arches just slightly. Just enough to test me.
“If your hands move, I’ll edge you until you're screaming for release. Understand me?”
Her reply is a whisper, teasing, defiant. “Tell me how you’re going to punish me.”
I slam my palm against her arse, hard enough to make her gasp, but soft enough to make her wet. “Hush now, love, or I’ll have to gag that pretty mouth of yours.”
Her eyes go wide, but a sly little smile tugs at her lips. She’s my sassy little girl. Always pushing. Always testing. I click my tongue and shake my head because she knows what she’s doing to me.
She wants this.
I reach across, grab the pillow and rip the pillowcase off, twisting it into a makeshift gag. I tie it around her head. “Bite that if you need to scream,” I murmur, brushing my mouth over her cheek, then down to her throat. “Permission granted,” I whisper.
Her eyes widen, and I swear she moans.
Then I take my time. I kiss down her body, tasting every inch. From the soft curve of her shoulder to the swell of her breasts, to the sweet dip beneath. Her skin is silk beneath my tongue. I press kisses down her stomach, trace theindent of her belly button with my tongue, slide lower, until I’m between her thighs again.
I spread her open and breathe her in like she’s the only air I want in my lungs.
She smells like sin and salvation, like sex and innocence, both wrapped in one perfect fucking contradiction. I groan when I slide my tongue between her folds, slow and deep, and taste her.Fuck. She’s everything.
