Page 16 of Trapped

“Well then, you’re something precious that needs to be protected.”

I opened my mouth, but my breathing stopped.

He let go of my face, his touch drifting to my waist. I shivered. His fingers skimmed my skin as they began tracing the bra band. His thumb brushed the cutouts of my bra with feather-light touches.

“I’m going to take my time with your body,” he purred, drawing curlicues over my breast. “If you’re a good girl, you’ll get my mouth. If you’re bad…”

His palm had reached my pussy, and he slapped it.

An unexpected jolt joined the smarting pain.

“Touch me,” he demanded.

“Where?”

“Anywhere you want.”

I put my hand on his chest, feeling his muscles through the jacket and dress shirt. Then I linked my arms around his neck, my heart hammering. He made me nervous, and it was harder to hide that up close. His hands slid down my back, grabbing my ass.

Then he lifted me.

I went into the air with hardly any effort. Santino looked comfortable with me in his arms. The sheer strength and size of him was a reminder of what he could do to me. How useless it would be to fight. He laid me in the middle of the bed, unlinking my arms from his neck.

“Get on your hands and knees.”

Feeling foolish, hot, and confused, I obeyed. I bunched my fingers into the sheets, waiting for him to climb onto the mattress and stab himself inside me.

Instead he walked around the bed, touching me here and there like a man assessing a recent purchase. I held my breath as he repositioned me, pushing my knees further apart and arching my back toward the bed. He grabbed my ass with both hands, and his thumbs pressed into my lips and pulled, opening me. I’d never been so vulnerable in my life.

“What a perfect girl,” he murmured, his praise stroking me like hot feathers. “Beautiful and brave.”

My face flushed. “I’m not perfect.”

Santino lightly traced my clit. “You’re exactly what I want.”

“Fine, but I’m not perfect.”

“You’re whatever I say you are.”

Was this supposed to make me feel comfortable? Because it didn’t. I wasn’t used to being showered with compliments. My only sexual experiences had been one-night stands with men who didn’t give a damn about me.

“Turn around,” he rumbled.

I complied, lying on my back.

Santino stood at the foot of the bed, the wool of his pants tented with his erection. “Show me your pussy.”

I opened my legs a fraction, the bridal lingerie leaving nothing to the imagination. Santino knocked my knees apart and lowered himself between my thighs, his gaze riveted on me. His hands curled around my thighs, and he brushed his lips across the sensitive skin. His hungry mouth blazed a trail closer and closer.

My cheeks burned.

He must’ve liked what he saw because he pressed his lips to my clit. Heat flashed through my body before it went taut and seized again as he licked.

I made a strangled sound.

He caught my eye, winked, then resumed licking. I had no measure of time, but it felt like an hour passed while a stranger’s mouth sucked me, his perfect tongue flicking my clit, pressing his nose flat to tongue-fuck me. With his finger, he played with the swollen nub.

I couldn’t breathe. I fisted the sheets.