Page 42 of The Betrayal

Honestly, if I don’t have her, I think I’ll die.

Dramatic? Yes.

Cause of death; starvation of Ari’s pussy.

That would be on my headstone. My lips twitch.

I eye her fingernails digging into the soft leather of her car seat and I can’t wait to have said nails digging into my skin. I don’t even care if I get off. As long as she is coming on my tongue, my fingers, my dick, that’s enough of a high for me.

You’re a sick, sick, bastard.

Pulling into my space outside the house, I am ravenous for her.

Famished. Starved.

Drooling at the thought that as soon as we’re over that threshold, my tongue is going to be buried in her pretty little pussy. Cutting the engine, I lean over and unbuckle her.

“Keaton,” she whispers.

I’m out of the car, my feet hitting the sidewalk hard as I open her door, nearly pulling it off its hinges.

“You’re a mad man,” tongue in her cheek her eyes are as wild as mine.

“I’m a starved man Blossom, there is a difference.”

Dragging her from the car, I lift her before both her feet can touch the floor. I toss her over my shoulder, slamming the car door shut and walking towards the house.

She’s wearing tight jeans and a little cropped top wrapped in a denim jacket. Fuck, I want to sink my teeth into her skin and mark every part of her.

We’re in the house within seconds and as soon as that door shuts behind us, I place her feet to the floor. My eyes darken, her eyes frantic and I watch as her chest rises and falls a little harder than normal.

“Strip.” I command, not lifting my heated gaze off hers.

She stands for a moment, her eyes narrowing.

“Don’t be disobedient baby, acting like a brat doesn’t suit you,” folding my hands in my suit pockets, I widen my stance slightly.

She smirks and my heart thumps against my ribcage as she drops her denim jacket.

Kicking her shoes off, she then slowly unbuttons her jeans and slips them down her legs before discarding them down the hallway.

My hungry eyes roam over her.

Pretty white panties.

Silk.

Wetness already pooling on the material giving away just how turned on she is.

Next is her top, her fingers wrap round the scalloped hem of her cropped tee and she lifts it from her head, balling it and tossing it towards me.

“Fuck, you are something else baby,” I groan, taking in the low cupped bra that matches her panties and I may have died and gone to heaven.

She stands, knotting her fingers together.

“Lose the panties,” my voice is full of gravel and I swallow the thickness that coats my throat.

Her thumbs slip inside them and she slides them down her pretty, long, legs in a slow and torturous pace. I stalk towards her.