Page 43 of Hostile Vows
“What are my options?” I whisper, my own voice unsure.
“We can walk out of here together right now, or you can beg me to give you pleasure. To let you come.”
Holy shit. He really is a cruel bastard. The indignity of begging only adds to the throbbing in my core that I’m struggling to resist.
“I can sense how much you crave a release. Beg me to sink my fingers into your wet cunt. I know you, Sinéad. You don’t want fairy tales and romantic proposals; you crave the rush and excitement of rough foreplay. And whether you’ll admit it or not, you wantme. Don’t even try to deny it.”
The welts on my ass chafe against his erection when I wriggle in a bid to break free. His dominating hold doesn’t give me an inch to play with. I’m trapped in his powerful arms, intoxicated by his control and unable to think of anything else other than what he can offer me in this moment.
There’s no rational reason to explain how I’m shaking with lust at the hands of a killer. It’s illogical. But that’s exactly what’s happening. His monster doesn’t want to capture mine; it wants to coax it free.
“Fine,” I say the word like the lashing of a whip, ashamed that my urges have run away with me.
In a beat, he spins me around, steadies me before him, a beast of a man feeding his own perversion. Dark eyes drill into my face, the depths of his pupils rich in sadism and mastery.
“I said beg.” His jaw clenches when I stumble backward into the wall. “Beg your husband to give you exactly what you need.”
He crowds me, shoves his middle finger into my mouth, removes it, and slips it past his teeth. The intensity of my arousal worsens after he sucks his whole finger and returns it to my lips, where he traces my Cupid’s bow. Unintentionally, my lips part. A whimper sighs from the back of my throat—hungrier, needier—despicable.
My hips rock into him, hunting his leg for some sort of satisfaction. “Please… let me come… André…”
His voice drops, darkness comfortably living in his expression. “Husband.”
The urge to fuck him siphons through my veins like poison, my emotions and senses so tightly wound that I swear I could come from just a kiss from this man.
“Please… Husband…” I hiss the two words, furious at my surrender and secretly relieved that I did.
Suddenly his fingers hollow my cheeks, and he stares at me, his jawbone moving as he looks straight into my eyes and rips out my curious soul. “Good girl. You’re a fast learner.”
His free hand swoops lower, hunting the slick heat at the apex of my thighs and shoving two of his fingers in deep. I’m locked in place before him, his fingerprints digging into my cheeks while our gazes war in an unspoken battle. The mounting pressure captures my breath. Stimulation only serves to excite me beyond anything I’ve ever experienced. From the tyrannical red hand marks on my ass to the skillful thumb working my clit, it’s all a mishmash of sensations, so intense that I start to shake.
With our eyes locked, a fierce pleasure surges through me, its force violent. I can’t stop the raw moans scraping my throat on their way out, because all I’m equipped to do right now is surrender. And I do. I fall apart on his fingers and witness the shadows caressing his features yield temporarily as he watches me implode.
I’ve never felt dirtier than I do right now, and even though the circumstances of why I'm in this conference room are all wrong, I’ve never felt something so goddamn right.
And that's the worst realization of all. Like he said himself, he’s not capable of sticking with the same woman for long or offering a happily ever after. Perhaps this is the hardest lesson I’ll ever learn—a man like André Souza can never be tamed. I might belong to him, but he’ll never truly be mine.
A sensual, low growl follows the removal of his fingers once I’m well and truly spent. He moves slowly as if it pains him to take a step back and then, while he watches me recover, he cleans his essence-soaked fingers with his tongue.
“You taste so fucking good. Next time I sample your flavor, it will be ours combined.”
My knees wobble, almost failing me. I hurriedly hoist my pants up and anchor my spine to the wall for support, painfully aware of how my ass cheeks burn under the heavy material. Then something occurs to me.
“Are there video cameras in here?” I scan the ceiling, looking to all four corners of the room. “Who will see this?”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll make sure the footage is wiped.” He removes his cell phone from his back pocket and types a quick message. “Reno is all over it. Trust me. The same rules apply to anyone who watches my wife or flirts with her.”
He slots a hand into his jeans pocket and looks at me, his pretty black lashes batting slowly. “You enjoyed that, didn’t you? And don’t even think about lying to me.”
I shrug, unable to hide the flush coloring me scarlet. “I don't enjoy you threatening to kill people who speak to me. It's suffocating and unfair.”
He cocks his head to the side. “Then behave yourself,” he says matter-of-factly, like it’s that easy to accept his rules. “I need a smoke. Time to go home.”
What the hell is wrong with me? I’m a freak. A traitor to my principles. I’ve turned into a sadistic-loving nympho who’s finding it tricky to formulate another sentence in the aftermath of hispunishment. At first, yeah, it was horrifying, and then I got turned on like a bulb from the brightest lighthouse.
Motherfucker.
His dominance oozes corruption, the sexy jerk.
