Page 105 of Wicked Minds
Turning his head to look at me, desire darkens his chestnut hues. “I’ve wanted to devour you while you come on my tongue since I watched you finger yourself in my car. Can I taste you, Shortcake?”
Just the insinuation has me clenching my thighs as excitement drips out of me. “God, yes.Please.”
With a wicked grin, he helps me out of Royce’s t-shirt before he shimmies down the bed and settles between my legs, forcing them wide. He stares at my pale pink cotton panties like they hide the secret to true happiness, before stroking his thumb up the front of them, pressing on the bundle of nerves until I’m soaked and panting.
“You gotta keep quiet, Shortcake,” he says with a cocky smirk as he stares up at me. “Don’t wanna disturb Royce’s beauty sleep. Can you stay quiet for me, or do I need to gag you?”
Well, fuck. I don’t know what the right answer to that is.
He must sense my indecision because he chuckles. “Royce is right. You are filthy-minded.” Glancing down at the wet patch on my panties, he murmurs, “I don’t give a shit if you wake him so long as I get to taste you.”
With that, he rips my panties away and dives in. My eyes go wide as my hips leave the bed, and he has to clamp a hand on my stomach to keep me in place as his tongue explores every inch of me.
I try my hardest to remain quiet, but after one particularly incredible swirl of his tongue that has me crying out, I glance in Royce’s direction, startled when I find him staring at me with hooded eyes.
The combination of Logan’s tongue in my pussy and Royce’s eyes on my face has me coming apart at the seams, and Logan readily laps up every drop of my release.
“Best breakfast ever,” he declares, sitting between my legs and noticing for the first time that Royce is awake. “Sorry you missed out on it, man.”
Smirking, Royce surges forward, his lips connecting with Logan’s in a shocking kiss. It only lasts a few seconds before he pulls back.
“Mmm, you’re right. Delicious.”
Giving me a salacious wink, he swings his legs over the side of the bed and climbs out, his erection on display behind histightboxers. Logan gapes wide-eyed at him before throwing his head back and bursting into laughter. “Who knew you were a good kisser?”
“Don’t get used to it,” Royce retorts. “I just wanted to start the day with the taste of strawberries in my mouth.”
32
RILEY
I’m finishing off the delicious breakfast Logan cooked for us when Royce disappears into my bedroom, emerging with an envelope in hand. A veryfamiliar envelope.
Not saying anything, he carefully sets it down on the table, eyes on me the entire time. He notices the way my throat bobs when I swallow, the slight tremble that takes over my hand before I wrap it firmly around my coffee mug.
“What’s that?” Logan asks, apparently oblivious.
Royce isn’t, though. I can tell by the sharpness in his gaze. The icy depths that look like they could burn me alive. Who knew ice could be so scalding? I know it’s not aimed at me. It’s aimed at the contents of the envelope. At whowrotethe contents.
Silently, he tips it upside and the cards fall onto the table. All the while, his eyes remain on me, never once looking away. Just silently watching. Waiting.
Logan’s eyes dart between me and Royce before lowering to the table, and he cautiously reaches out, lifting out the top card and opening it.
“Another year older, but you’ll always be my little girl,” he recites slowly, brow furrowed before he glances up at me,questions in his eyes. He reaches in for another card, flips it open, and reads aloud, “Remember, even though Daddy is far away, he’s always thinking of you.” Frown lines mar his forehead, and he doesn’t hesitate this time before lifting the next one and reading, “No matter how old you are, you’ll always be Daddy’s little girl. What the fuck is this shit?” he snaps, already knowing.
My throat is raked dry, words unable to pass even if I knew how to convey the trauma that envelope retains. The nightmares it never allows to stray too far.
“There’s one for every birthday and Christmas since his incarceration,” Royce states, eyes still boring into mine with that all-consuming intensity. I can feel him peeling back the final layers wrapped around me until I’m left raw and exposed, and I pull my knees up, wrapping my arms around them in a bid for warmth.
“He’s been writing to you?” Logan exclaims, mouth agape as he stares at the cards now spread out on the table before us.
“He’s been reminding me,” I correct, voice hoarse.
Logan’s face snaps up. “Reminding you of what?”
“That I’ll never be free.”
Logan blinks, his mind taking a second to process before his nostrils flare, and he glares down at the table. “You should take this to the police. It’s proof?—”
