Page 67 of Blind Devotion
“Let me touch you.”
I couldn’t get enough of him. It was his husky voice. It was his scent, his attitude, his touch. Whatever it was, I never wanted it to end, and if he was kissing me, if he was touching me, then he wasn’t pulling away.
“Yes,” I panted out.
His finger smoothed down my lips, tugging on the bottom one only for him to sear his mouth back onto mine and drag me back into the abyss. His finger feathered down my chin, neck, and to my breasts. It circled one nipple. I arched on a moan when he pinched and flicked it. He moved to the other, and I was lost to him.
Lower and lower his hand stroked, over my belly and slowly down further.
“Adrien,” I moaned, pressing my forehead to his cheek.
He dipped his hand under my panties. His index finger tapped my clit and stole my breath away. Then his middle finger slid inside me, spreading an embarrassing amount of arousal slowly up and down my slit.
“So very wet for me. You’re dripping.” His finger strummed delicious friction over me as his hot breaths brushed over my skin. I groaned into the touch. “Is this how you were every time I threatened you? You like danger? Do you get off on it, naughty girl?”
Two fingers pressed into me, and I mewled, disregarding the slight twinge to my side. “Yes.”
“I’ll give you your fill.” He bit my ear, his fingers never stopping. “You’ll never lack it. That I promise.”
I whimpered, loving those words from him. His fingers worked faster and faster, my peak quickly approaching. Right there, almost cresting. Until again, those voices kicked in, murmuring honeyed lies and stealing the little peace I’d found. It wasn’t Adrien’s hand anymore. It was theirs, pushing,shoving, demanding. I couldn’t do this. I tried shoving him away, but his other hand caught my wrist.
“Hey, survivor, I’m here. Only me,” he said firmly, never stopping his ministrations. “I’ve got you. No one else. You’re here, in my bed. And this…” He tapped two fingers over my clit before plunging them into me hard, making me shudder. It brought me right back to the here and now. “This is my good little pussy. It weeps for me. For this. Nothing else. No one else. Only me.”
“Yes,” I breathed out.
Everything else melted away. There was just Adrien and this, a race to the peak. A rush flowed through me, pitching over that unseen barrier and breaking down with a crash. It was like bursting from the inside. I cried out his name, my breath catching.
“That’s it,” he whispered against my forehead. His lips hovered there.
A wave of exhaustion washed over me. Maybe it was odd to feel safe in Adrien’s arms when he was both a mafia boss and a hitman sworn to kill me. Maybe it was wrong to trust him when there were still gaps in my memories. I didn’t care. Not while he held me and talked to me and plied my body. He felt like home, a long time coming, and I wasn’t willing to let go of that dream just yet.
“Thank you.” I kissed him once more, then snuggled against his neck, breathing him in. The weight of his hand in my hair was just too good, helping me drift off to the soft rumble of his exhales.
Chapter 27
Isuckedonthefingers that had been inside her moments before. She was sweet and heavenly with a touch of musk. Everything I never knew I needed.
The way I touched her—she was my first. I’d kissed a girl once when I was sixteen. I found it so unpleasant that I washed my lips with soap to replace the sting. I had sex with escorts, but it was cold and stale. The women never faced me, and they never touched me. The extent of my contact with them was the condom between us and the harness that held them in place. The world was bland, marked only in shades of pain and hurt. Relief was temporary, either in sex, exercise, or violence.
With Tessa, colors swarmed. I saw possibilities. I hungered for what I’d never wanted. Her hands on me. Her mouth on me. Her body pressed to me. I yearned to give her more. More pleasure. More time. More safety.
Ma petite tigresseslept snuggly against me, her nose to my jaw, lips to my neck. I wanted her closer. I wanted to absorb her. I couldn’t get over the feel of her skin beneath mine.
If my father were still alive, he’d say I was behaving like that eight-year-old boy again, hesitating and making the wrong call. Perhaps he’d be right, but this was a matter of want. I didn’t want her life to be snuffed out. I didn’t want to continue existing without these bursts of color.
“Tessa,” I whispered, “what are you doing to me?”
Her head twisted slightly, and she moaned. “That’s…not…my name.”
I muffled a chortle into her hair. “Oh? What is?”
“Per-setta.”
I pulled back from her, my mouth going dry. I swept a hand down my face. She said…no, that…I was hearing things. Persetta was in California. Persetta was safe at home under her brother’s care. There was no possibility that she was part of a sex trafficking ring.
I went over everything I knew about Tessa. Late teens, early twenties, by Margaux’s estimates. Smooth features, with a chin slightly squared at its point, a soft jawline, a thin nose, kissable fucking lips. Green eyes the color of a blade of grass seen through sunlight. Not a blonde. In the last four weeks, the dark roots of her hair grew longer. She had thin bone structure, not a fighter’s body.
But the name, Persetta, was unique. Other thanher, I’d never known another person with that name, but Tessa couldn’t beher, because if she was…I could have killed her. The number of times I almost did made me sick.
