Page 47 of Good Girl Gone Bad

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Marco tossed her panties aside. The unique aroma of her delicious pussy swirled into his nostrils, and he inhaled it with gusto. He parted her wet folds, her sex so ready for him, her walls swollen, her clit nicely engorged. He stared at it for a moment, fascinated. “Looking at you makes me thirsty,” he said gruffly.

“Then drink up, Batman. Gotham can’t wait forever.”

“Neither can I.”

He lowered his head, positioning himself in between her thighs so he could lick her all he wanted, but keeping his eyes on hers. He wanted to see all of her reactions, to record that memory in his mind. Forever.

He thrust two fingers inside her, and her inner walls clung to him, squeezing him. She watched him, and for a moment that stretched beyond belief, their gazes held. His cock grew so hard, and pre-cum rose at the tip. How gorgeous was she? Lily. His Lily.

“Yes, oh yes. Touch me. I like when you touch me.”

He teased her with his tongue, lapping at her clit until she squirmed into his mouth and at last broke their stare. He added another finger to this relentless quest, quickening his rhythm in her flesh.

For the next few minutes, he provoked her, sucking her clit, licking her walls, finger fucking her soaked pussy. Each time he licked her, his heart thrummed louder than before, his own body sending him warning signals. She shook, the spasms claiming her. He kept a close watch on her, enjoying the lovely view of his woman coming undone.

“God.”

He disengaged from between her legs, and he was about to surge to his feet, when she asked, “Where are you going?”

He hadn’t meant to make this about him. Sure, she probably saw his hard-on protesting the confines of his pants. But he had wanted to make her climax because that was the only thing he could give her. She hadn’t run like Angelica—even though a tiny voice reminded him she’d been paid to be loyal, to be in his bed. He preferred to believe Lily rose above all that. She was different.

“I don’t want you to think you need to do anything. This was about you.”

“Great, so it can still be about me if you fuck me silly in this bed. Unless, of course, you’re not interested,” she said sweetly.

Not interested? He’d be a dead man before he was not interested.

He took off his shirt, pulled down his shorts and boxers. She sat on the bed, her breasts spilling from her bra but not completely free; her hair messy, her face flushed. He almost wished he could freeze that moment forever.

For the second time today, that word haunted him—forever wasn’t part of the plan. Despite her politically correct spiel about accepting him the way he was, with the family he had, he knew, in the long-haul, things would change.

Until they did…he’d take her for as long as he could.

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