Page 99 of Wicked Sinner
“We could go back and forth. We’ll find a way for you to have your shop. We can figure it out, Bridget. I want to try.” I reach up, touching her cheek. “I want to make this work, with you.”
There’s more I could say, but I can’t find the words, even if I can hear them in my head. Words that would change everything between us, that I’ve never said before to anyone.
Bridget bites her lip. “I think I might want to try, too,” she whispers. “If… if I could live my life somehow, like this, and you?—”
The admission breaks something open inside me. I lift her onto the kitchen counter, ignoring her protests about the food burning, and kiss her like a drowning man.
"The pancakes—" she gasps against my lips.
"Fuck the pancakes." I reach behind her to turn off the burner, then drag my mouth down her throat. "I need you more than I need food."
She laughs, her legs wrapping around my hips, and I’m instantly so hard it hurts. "You're going to be hungry later."
"Then I'll eat you instead." I push her shirt up and over her head, revealing that she’s not wearing anything under it, and I groan. I make quick work of her jeans, shrugging my own shirt off and leaving my jeans on so I can avoid the urge to touch myself until I’ve made her come. I’m too worked up already, and I’m afraid I won’t last long enough to get inside of her if I wrap my hand around my cock now.
I hook one of her legs over my shoulder, and duck down to taste the only thing I’m hungry for right now.
The sound of her moans is the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. I tease her with my tongue until she’s crying out for me and her hands are wrapped in my hair, dragging it over every inch of her wet flesh. I can feel how fast she’s on the brink, and I urge her on, wanting her to come on my tongue. I’ve never wanted anything more than to feel her coming for me, over and over again.
Bridget cries out my name as she comes, grinding against my face as she tightens her thighs around me, and I can’t wait a second longer. I drop my jeans faster than I thought possible,leaning up to kiss her as I angle my cock between her thighs and slide into her in one long, hard stroke.
“Caesar!” She moans my name again, her hand in my hair as I thrust my tongue into her mouth. I sink into her again, hard, and then suck in a shuddering breath, forcing myself to slow down.
My hand bumps against something glass, and a smile curves my lips as I see the bottle of maple syrup next to us. Without thinking twice, I reach for it, ignoring Bridget’s yelp as I tilt the bottle to let drops of it trail over her collarbones and breasts, sliding stickily down her skin to her tight, peaked nipples.
She gasps as I lower my head, licking it off of her skin as I thrust slowly into her, savoring each stroke. She’s wet and tight and hot, and she feels exquisite. I’ve never felt anything as good as her, and I know I never will again.
If I lose her, I don’t know how I’m ever going to be with another woman. No one else could ever compare.
She gasps my name again as I lick around her nipple, sucking the tight peak into my mouth as I thrust into her again, hard. I’m so close, and I remember how she came from me playing with her breasts yesterday.
I bite her gently, teasing with teeth and tongue as I thrust faster, and I hear her moan, feel her tighten around me as I keep going, pinching at her other nipple with my fingers.
She comes the second before I do, her body clenching around my cock as she comes hard, moaning my name as my cock throbs and I groan aloud. She clings to me, arching as I thrust into her as deeply as I can, savoring the feeling of her rippling along my length as I spurt into her.
“Oh my god,” she breathes, and I laugh, looking up to face her.
“How many more surfaces are there in this house?”
“More than I can take you fucking me on,” she says flatly. “I’m not going to be able to sit or walk pretty soon, Caesar.”
“Good.” I bite her neck lightly. “Then you can’t run away.”
It was a risky joke, but I relax when she laughs, twisting out of my arms to collect her clothes. “I still need to make breakfast,” she tells me, and I retreat, watching her as she goes back to making pancakes with a glazed look still in her eyes.
"We should probably head back," she says eventually, glancing at the clock on the microwave when we’ve finished eating. "You probably have meetings or whatever it is crime bosses do on weekday mornings. And I have a doctor’s appointment this afternoon—for which I will take plenty of security," she adds before I can say it.
"Probably." But I make no move to leave. "Five more minutes."
"Caesar—"
"Five more minutes of this. Of pretending we're just a normal couple having breakfast in our kitchen after a night of incredible sex."
She smiles, and it's soft and genuine, the kind of smile I’ve so rarely seen from her. "Okay. Five more minutes."
We stretch those five minutes into thirty, then an hour. But eventually, reality intrudes in the form of my phone buzzing with increasingly urgent messages.
"I really do have to go," I say reluctantly, reading through the texts. "But tonight?—"
