Page 85 of Wicked Beautiful (Wicked Games 1)
When he sucks it into his mouth, I softly groan.
He flexes his hips, bringing the head of his rigid cock to my wet entrance. I slide my hands beneath the waist of his trousers, cup his ass, and pull.
As he slides inside me he says roughly, “We’re both still wearing our shoes.”
“Would you like to take a moment to remove them, Mr. Maxwell?”
He thrusts, burying himself to the hilt. “Not a fucking chance, Ms. Price.”
He slides out and then thrusts in again. My breasts bounce against his chest. I gasp, arching against him. My fingers dig into the firm, succulent flesh of his ass.
He stills. When I whimper, writhing, jerking my hips, he chuckles. “Again?”
“Yes, again!”
He lowers his lips to my ear. “Say please, my beautiful little liar.”
Ah. It’s game time, is it?
I inhale, languidly stretch my arms over my head, and then sigh as if utterly bored. I gaze up at him, smiling, my eyes half lidded. “Or what?”
A muscle in his jaw flexes.
My smile grows wider. Oh my dear, darling bastard, how I love pissing you off.
“Or I won’t just make you say please. I’ll make you beg.”
He twists his hips in a small circle, wringing an involuntary cry from my lips, and then lowers his mouth to my breast.
“And beg.” He sucks hard on my nipple, using his teeth in the way he knows I like.
I gasp.
“And beg.”
He grips a hand in my hair, slides the other under my bottom, and grinds his pelvis into me, hard and fast, before falling still again.
My groan is broken. My smug smile has left the building. I breathe, “Parker—”
“I’m not your plaything, Victoria.”
“I never said you were!”
His unshaven cheek is sandpaper-rough against my skin, but his voice is even rougher. “Then stop trying to lead me around by my dick.”
“You’re the one who’s playing games right now!”
“Only to level the playing field. The only time we’re on even footing is when you allow yourself to be vulnerable. And one of the only things I know makes you feel vulnerable is asking for what you want. You’re so used to demanding, or manipulating, you’ve forgotten how to ask.”
Slowly, gently, he flexes his hips. His cock slides deeper inside me
, sending shockwaves of pleasure through my pelvis. I bite my lip to keep from moaning.
He whispers, “That’s why I like you to say please, baby. I’ll give you anything you ask for—God help me, I’d give you my own head on a platter—if only you say please.”
Trembling, I say, “I-I’d like a Rolls-Royce. Please.”
His chuckle is dark, and eminently satisfied. “What color?”
