Page 113 of The Temptation of Truth
Mabel kisses me again, then moves to take off my shirt. I don’t hesitate, raising my arms up to allow her to pull the fabric over my head, then drop it onto the floor. The impulse to fold my arms over my chest, to hide myself from her, evaporates the moment she drags her lips down my neck, kissing her way to my collarbone and shoulders.
“You are so beautiful.”
Her voice vibrates against my heated skin, and I glow under her praise. Beautiful.ShethinksI’mbeautiful. It boosts my confidence and soothes my anxiety, and when she nips at the swell of my breast, I don’t have space left in my brain to be self-conscious. My nipples are so hard they hurt, and I arch my back in an attempt to rub them against the cotton fabric of my bra. By the time Mabel’s fingers find the clasp, I’m dying to be rid of it, but she pauses.
“Can I take this off?”
“Yes.”
I sigh when the bra falls down my arms, but then Mabel leans in, closing the space between us, and I groan the moment her skin meets mine. When her piercings rub against me, cold and hard on my stiff nipples, I feel the contact on my clit. The apex of my thighs throbs in time with my heartbeat, fluttering quickly as the blood rushes through my veins.
I almost pass out from the sight of her delicate hands on my body. Her fingers pulsing into my flesh, pinching and massaging. Then she bows her head and takes one of my nipples into her mouth. She bites lightly, and I drop my head back on a moan as another rush of wetness collects between my legs.
“Oh, shit,” I pant out, squirming on the mattress. My hands fist into the duvet and she bites again. “Oh, shit.”
She chuckles, urging me backward until I’m lying flat across the bed, and she’s suspended above me. Peering up into her face, I can hardly believe what I’m seeing is real. I blink several times to make sure it’s not a dream.
Her hair curtains around her face, and the pink ends tickle my skin as my chest rises and falls rapidly with my breathing. I shift my shoulders and peer down my body to marvel at all the places where our naked skin is pressed together. It is the sexiest thing I have ever seen. An actual fantasy come to life.
She’san actual fantasy come to life.
“Are you comfortable?” she asks, voice low, as she trails her fingers up and down my stomach. I suck in a sharp breath as goose bumps pop up in the wake of her touch.
“Yes,” I say honestly. “Nervous, but comfortable.”
Mabel drags her fingers lower and traces them along the band of my jeans.
“Can I touch you?”
I don’t have to ask what she means, but when she dips under the denim, I’m certain. Every ounce of my attention is on her slender fingers, just inches from me. Fromtouching me. Right now, nothing exists outside of this room and this bed. Nothing exists except her and me.
I nod. “Yes. Please.”
When she doesn’t move or speak, I raise my eyes to hers to find her staring at me with the most sinful smirk on her swollen lips.
“What?”
She shakes her head once. “I like watching you.” She pops the button on my jeans, my eyes flare, and her smirk grows. “I’m going to enjoy this.”
My tongue goes numb when she rises onto her knees and grips my jeans.
“Lift your hips for me.”
I do as she asks, and she doesn’t look away from my face as she takes off my jeans and underwear and drops them to the ground. In seconds, I’m completely naked, but I’m too turned on to be self-conscious. I can barely think over the sound of my panting breaths and pounding heart.
Every inch of my skin is sensitive and tingling. I can feel the charged air buzzing against me as adrenalin and pure, unadulterated need pump through my body. Still, she doesn’t break eye contact. She doesn’t lower herself over me. She waits, stretching out the anticipation, until I’m nearly squirming and desperate to be touched.
Finally, she drags her fingers down both my thighs, and a needy whimper escapes me. She sinks her teeth into her lower lip and grins.
“Fuck, Roar, I’mreallygoing to enjoy this.”
Gently, she grips the back of my knee and bends it up so she can move between my legs. Cool air kisses my clit when my thighs part, making me whimper again, and her eyes fill with hunger.
The sight of her kneeling between my legs and looking at me like that is enough to make me lightheaded. The confidence she exudes. The control. The sex appeal. I never want to forget this moment, this picture. Mabel Rossi is a work of art, and I can’t look away.
“What are you thinking?”
Her voice is thick with desire, and I shift my hips again. Needing friction or pressure. Needing relief. I clear my throat.
