Page 50 of Unapologetic Obsession
I watched, stupefied, as he rubbed his nose between my lips and licked my inner thighs.
“You really shouldn’t do that,” I whispered.
He paid me no mind, his tongue drifting out to connect with my pussy. A shudder roiled through me at first contact. I stopped protesting, consumed by his touch, and gave in to whatever he wanted to do to me.
“Shit,” I murmured when he prodded my lips open.
Plunging two fingers inside me, he flicked his thumb against the sensitive nub. With a deep growl against my sex, he sank farther into me, spreading me wide open so that he could penetrate me with his tongue. I gazed at him, catching him looking back at me with eyes just as awed.
For the first time, I wasn’t self-conscious about what he thought of the scars, even though they were on full display under the bright, ugly LED lights. It was impossible to be insecure when he watched me the way I looked at food, as if he would never be full, no matter how much he gorged. As if it weremyface plastered across magazines, not his, and he was my biggest fan.
He had nothing in common with the zombies from the streets. He was well-bred, educated, and a literal genius. Yet he looked at me like I was his drug and he was about to plunge the syringe straight into his veins. I never thought I would cherishanything more than food, but the admiration in his eyes was better.
Was that why I let this stranger do this to me? I was wolfing down every scrap of attention he threw my way, because when else would a man like him be interested in someone like me?
This area was not meant to be kissed or licked. It was a heinous act, and I should fight harder to make him stop. It felt so good when his tongue lapped my sex, the obscenity only making me feel hotter. His mouth explored my pussy, massaging it with his tongue. He licked the wetness seeping out of me until I was ready to explode. My mortification had long subsided, and I wanted nothing more than for him to continue.
Taking full advantage of my euphoria, he flicked his tongue over my sensitive spot and then sucked. My hips jerked, thrusting upward as he pushed his face farther inside me. I struggled against him while he buried his face deeper still between my thighs. Drenched in me, he unleashed himself, devouring me like a man who had been deprived for years, savoring every last drop.
He pushed me higher and higher until I let out a primal scream. He tightened his grip on my ass, following my movements as my thighs clenched around his head. Once I stopped writhing and shuddering under his mouth, he finally gentled his lapping, though he didn’t retreat. He stayed there, his mouth nestled between my thighs.
It felt like hours had passed until he finally pulled away. I watched with bleary vision as he advanced toward me, plucking me off the table like he would a toothpick. He carried me to the bed and climbed under the blanket with me. There were no more pretenses. I had suspected he had slept beside me last night, and tonight, he confirmed he planned on doing so again.
He watched me intently as if waiting for something. A reaction?
The moment was anticlimactic as nothing happened. He moved on to tracing a calloused thumb over the bite mark on my neck. Whatever he saw—probably the first hint of a bruise—drew out a groan and a possessive look in his eyes. Grabbing my face roughly with his large hands, he crushed my lips with his.
Delirious, I surrendered to him like a ship being pulled into a raging sea. I was clumsy in my efforts, entirely new to this, but he didn’t seem to mind or even notice. He dominated my mouth, forcing my tongue to move alongside his. If a kiss could pitch a flag, that was what he had done with it—staked a claim.
He stretched out on top of me, his hips moving in rhythm with his mouth, igniting another bout of heat between my thighs. His lips moved with intention, like they needed to consume me, and I let it happen.
By the time he settled against my side with an arm wrapped around me, I was out of breath. Lethargy dragged me to the center of the earth, but something else played louder in my mind, keeping me awake.
The kiss, the feeling of being consumed, I had experienced it before.
Chapter
Eighteen
CADEN
Past
“Who are we waiting for?”My brother looped an arm around my neck, joining me at the bar on my mega yacht.
I brushed off his arm. “No one.” I nursed the Macallan in my glass, eyes fixed on the main entrance.
The student-faculty party—a two-hour river cruise on my boat—was in full swing. Every nook and cranny of the main deck was crammed with infuriating students and unbearable professors. The only person I wanted here was the only one missing. Frustration consumed me as I stared at the ramp. Rose excelled at time management and had never been late.
Where the hell was she?
Some of the students had discussed meeting up before the party to pregame. There was little comfort in the fact that Doyle was here, which meant he had made no such plans with Rose. It was a good thing because I would have ripped his skinny little arms off if he had tried meeting up with her. Though therewas no evidence such a thing had occurred, my jaw clenched at the idea of her pregaming with a different man. A stabbing sensation in my stomach said the irrational jealousy could only be put to rest once I saw her.
I thrummed the bar counter with my fingers. The little patience I exercised around these clowns was entirely missing tonight, and I had postponed the sail time indefinitely. If I got stuck with this lot without Rose, I would throw them into the Hudson River one by one.
My impatient gaze returned to the main deck.
My twin watched me. “Eighteen times.”
