Page 147 of Things We Left Behind
“Do you still want more?” I growled.
Her eyes fluttered open. “Yes,” she said without hesitation.
“Then ask nicely.”
Her unpainted lips curved in a knowing, female smirk. Her muscles clamped reflexively around my throbbing dick. Yes, Sloane Walton liked dirty talk.
“Please fuck me so hard and deep that I have to think about you and that magnificent cock every time I sit down at work tomorrow.”
I closed my eyes and clenched my jaw. I wanted that. Wanted to know she’d be thinking about me, remembering how I’d made her feel.
I pulled out of her, the pout of her full lower lip making my dick ache.
“Hey!” she complained.
But she stopped abruptly when I manhandled her to the edge of the cushion. Wanting to feel her skin against mine, I shrugged out of my shirt and tossed her legs over my shoulders.
“Oh God.” It was a whimper that ended in a muffled squeak when I dragged my tongue through her slick folds. She tasted like secrets and truth, and I was instantaneously addicted.
Her thighs trembled on either side of my ears.
“Open,” I ordered, teasing her with the tips of two fingers.
“Lucian,” she begged.
“Baby, open for me. Let me taste you.”
Her eager compliance went straight to my head and myaching dick. She relaxed her thighs, letting her knees fall open on my shoulders.
Apparently the only way I could get Sloane Walton to do what I wanted was by keeping her on the brink of orgasm.
“Don’t make me regret this,” she hissed. She had her hands over her eyes so she didn’t see the fiendish smile as I pushed my fingers inside her. Her body responded immediately, heels digging into my back, thighs tensing, smooth stomach tightening. Those perfect, full breasts hitched as her bare lips formed an enticing O.
“Relax,” I urged, crooking my fingers in her wet channel.
A soft cry escaped her, and the tension slowly began to leave her legs again.
I took the opportunity offered and dove between her legs. My tongue laved the hard bud of her clitoris as I pumped my fingers into her precious little cunt.
She’d gone rigid again, but it didn’t matter, because I had access to everything I needed. I plundered with my mouth, stroking and teasing her while I worked my fingers in and out. She was writhing beneath me, her nails digging into my biceps as I held her still.
I couldn’t get enough of her flavor. I wanted to taste her as she came. I wanted to sample the flavor of her surrender.
“Come for me,” I growled against her sex.
She let out a whimper and squirmed against my grip. “I don’t want this to be over.”
She didn’t know what she was saying. She didn’t mean it, I told myself. I’d just pushed her past the point where she could comfortably insult me while I fucked her. I’d pushed us both too far.
“What are you saying?” I demanded without slowing the rhythm of my fingers.
“Wh-what if I don’t want it to be the last time?”
Something big and bright lodged itself in my chest. “Then I’ll just keep making you come until we’re tired of it.” I didn’t know if it was a promise or a threat, but I meant it.
“Are you just saying that? Are you fucking with me right now?”
“I’m not fuckingwithyou. I’m fucking you,” I pointed out.
