Page 94 of Wicked Intentions (Wicked Games 3)
“That stone is worth more than two hundred million dollars. And you’re keeping it in a nonfat milk carton in your refrigerator.”
“It’s just a pretty rock, darlin’. It’s only worth what people believe it’s worth. For me, it’s just a means to an end.”
“What end?”
He walks slowly toward me, then takes my face in his hands. “The end of you havin’ to work for a monster. The end of you tyin’ sheets together and disappearin’ after a night with me. The end of anything that doesn’t make you happy or keep that beautiful smile on your face.”
He kisses me softly, cradling my head. It’s deep and slow and achingly sweet, the kind of kiss that could make you fall in love.
I pull away with a little gasp.
“Don’t run away,” he says, his voice soft and earnest. “Promise me you won’t ever run away from me again.”
My heart thrums like the beat of a hummingbird’s wings inside the cage of my chest. “You know they say promises are made to be broken. Let’s not tempt fate.”
He finds my mouth again, takes it like he owns it, like all of me belongs to him and always will. I curl my hands into his shirt, taking fistfuls of it as he eats me with kisses.
“I don’t want you to do this,” he says roughly, breaking away only long enough to speak those words, then kissing me again, hungrier this time, his hands around my head tighter. “This shit with Moreno. It’s that last thing in the world I want.”
“I know,” I whisper.
He bites my lower lip, sucks it into his mouth. “You also know why I agreed to it, right?”
I nod, clinging to him. His arm slides around my waist. His hand fists in my hair. “Why?” he asks into my ear.
I know what he wants me to say, but I can’t. I can’t say those words out loud. So I only make a small noise in my throat and shake my head.
“Chicken,” he whispers.
Without warning, he swings me up into his arms and turns for the bedroom.
This time, I don’t make any smartass comments about his biceps. I hold on to him as he strides past the wall of succulents and stare at his handsome profile. A rising pulse of heat starts to simmer through my body because I know what he’s going to do as soon as we get to the bedroom.
And he does. He lays me down on the bed, shucks off his boots, wordlessly strips off all my clothes, gets on his knees, and puts his mouth on me.
I arch and cry out his name, already desperate.
“Shh,” he hushes me gently. “We’re gonna go slow this time. Slow like I’ve wanted to every time, but we always ended up goin’ hard and fast.”
He dips his head and presses the softest of kisses to my clit. I jerk and suck in a breath.
“Hush, Angel,” he whispers. “Just feel this.”
His breath is warm on my exposed flesh. It feels decadent and so sexy, knowing I’m totally exposed to him and he can see everything, but he’s just languidly running his rough palms over my belly and breasts, hovering between my legs like we have all the time in the world, stroking my skin like there’s no tomorrow.
He nuzzles his nose gently in the space between my thigh and sex, inhaling deeply. It sends a rash of tingles up my spine. My heartbeat goes jagged. I get small bites all along the insides of my thighs, tender bites, like he’s testing my flesh, tasting it. Every so often, a soft swipe of his tongue chases away a sting where his nip was a little too strong.
He kisses me between my legs again, reaching up to squeeze my aching breasts, and I moan, unable to keep it in.
“God, I love that sound,” he breathes, and slides his tongue deep inside me at the same time he pinches my hard nipples, rolling his thumbs over the rigid peaks.
Heat erupts along all my nerve endings. I close my eyes and rock my hips, wanting to get closer, needing his mouth all over me, inside me, everywhere at once. I feel like I’m starving, like I’ll break apart if he doesn’t get inside me soon, and I tell him in a breathless whisper that I need to feel him, now.
“Oh, she thinks she’s in charge.” He chuckles. “How sweet.”
He continues to flick his thumb over my nipple as he draws the other hand down my body, spreading it open under my ass and using it to lift me closer to his face. Then he suckles me slowly, his tongue wet and hot, his lips making suction while the rough pad of his thumb strokes my outer lips.
“Please,” I whisper, writhing against this mouth, the pressure building. “God. Please.”
