Page 50 of I Promise You
He loosens his grip when he sees I’m ready for him to claim me the way we both yearn for, like we need this to survive.
“I want to pretend I’m okay just a little longer,” I murmur through his chokehold. “Like the past two months didn’t happen. Like I’m still me.”
He hesitates, and I can see that he’s debating to take me the way he truly desires, and I feel like he’s going to stop.
“Don’t you dare treat me like I’m broken tonight,” I taunt him. “At least just for right now.”
He deadpans but then quickly shifts into the man who has always intimidated me with one look, taking my breath away.
He won’t treat me like I’m fragile and I’m internally burning with anticipation as I read his body language.
He’s back.
He kneels, his lips hovering over my clit, and I bite my lip anxiously. I haven’t felt this intimacy from him for what feels like years and I think I might die if he doesn’t act soon.
I want to cherish this moment. Avoid every single dark thought that has been eating me alive since I lost my baby.
Since Shane and Nora scarred me forever.
“I don’t deserve you, but I’m keeping you anyway,” he tells me as he inserts two fingers in, slowly making me arch my back from the unexpected entrance.
His fingers go in deeper, moving in and out. My nipples harden through my scrubs, and I whimper with pleasure as I feel his familiarity.
The way he glides through me sends me into euphoria.
Forget.
All I want to do is forget.
This seems like the perfect way to feel like I’m still me and not battered with trauma.
Sliding in and out, he murmurs, “Baby, you’re so wet and I haven’t even started.”
Then his fingers disappear, and I’m left conflicted.
I’m breathing heavily, panting hard with lust. His lips brush against my clit and then I feel it. A moan escapes me, loud, when I feel his tongue at my slit, he stops at my clit, touching it, and a bolt of nirvana strikes me. My head falls back, and I swallow the screams.
“Your cunt is only mine to taste, to fuck, to break.”
“Please,” I beg, closing my eyes shut tight.
Then he towers over me again, and I’m confused.
“Stop teas—”
“I know it’s been a while, but don’t forget who you’ve missed, Ari. Do I need to remind you of the way I like to fuck? Who exactly owns this cunt?” My eyes circle when I feel his lips on mine again, moving ferociously, and then he pulls my hair tight, and I gasp against his lips. “Let me see you cry for me, baby.”
I don’t want him to stop.
He tilts my head back so I’m looking at the ceiling. My neck is exposed as he hovers over it.
“Say it, Ari. Who does this cunt belong to? I want to hear you scream it.” His breath lingers on my neck.
His fingers tighten against my scalp, pulling hard again, and I squint from the pain. But it doesn’t hurt. What hurts more is the fact that he stopped kissing me.
“It belongs to you,” I tell him through ragged breaths.
He pulls again a third time and a harsh moan escapes my lips, and I tighten my legs wrapped around his waist in response, pulling the front of him until his bulge against my heat.
