Page 60 of Sweet Wicked Vows
She gasped. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“We weren’t finished talking,” I said, closing the door behind me.
The room was no different to the rest of the bar with its poor lighting. Coats of every material hung around us, the mixture of aftershaves and perfumes was overpowering, but I couldn’t focus on anything but her.
The way her eyebrow kinked in confusion.
The way her breath grew heavy.
The parting of her lips as if she, too, felt the jolt of electricity forming between us.
Evelyn balked away from me. “There’s nothing else to talk about. Laurence stopped in this morning. He wanted to say congratulations and that’s all.”
“You’re a terrible liar.” I stepped towards her, watching her inch away until her back found a wall. “What did he want,ma douceur? And be warned, lie to me again, and I will be forced to punish you.”
She swallowed thickly as her lips pursed into a perfect pout that cried out to be bruised and swollen.
“Or maybe that’s what you want?” I moved closer, so close that her chest brushed against mine with each heavy rush of breath. “Is that what you like, Evelyn? To be punished? The type of punishment that brings you to your knees, begging for it?”
How delicious she’d look on her knees with lipstick and mascara trailing down her face as she begged for more. Her perfect skin marked and branded by me, so with each move the next day she would be reminded exactly who she belonged to.
Fuck, what was she doing to me?
She exhaled unevenly. “Laurence… he said he still cares for me. That if I ever need him, I can always reach out to him.”
Even hearing her say his name made me want to burn everything to the ground.
I placed a single finger under her chin, tilting her head up to me. “Do you still care for him?” My leg nestled between hers, pinning her to the wall. “Do you still love him?”
Her voice barely a whisper. “Does it matter?”
“Oui.” I dipped my head, tracing my lips along the shell of her ear. “You remember what I told you about my lack of appetite for sharing?” Her body shuddered. I raised my leg, pressing the flat of my thigh perfectly against her. A moan flew from her lips. “I meant every word, Evelyn. I. Do. Not. Fucking. Share.”
Maybe it was the alcohol fueling her, or maybe she too was affected by whatever was happening between us, but she pushed herself down and ground her warm cunt against my leg. “This thing between us isn’t real.”
I encased her wrist with one hand, pulling her wedding-ring hand up between us. “So long as you wear this ring, wearmysurname, you are mine.” My other hand disappeared between her legs and pulled her underwear to the side. “Do you understand?”
Running two fingers along, wetness gathered on the tips as I slid my fingers up and down her lazily, teasing her swollen clit. Her body shook, eyes growing hazy with lust. It took every inch of my crumbling willpower not to plunge myself deep within her right there and then.
I bet she felt fucking perfect. Tight and warm, just for me.
Christ, she was going to be the death of me.
Removing my fingers, I brought them to her mouth. “Open.”
An ember of the fiery defiance I’d seen time and time again flickered into existence, her urge to fight back against me, to remain in control.
Slowly, she opened her mouth.
There was no need to ever visit theLouvreagain, not afterwitnessing such a masterpiece.
Her tongue lay flat as I put the two glistening fingers into her mouth. “Do you know what you taste like?”
The second I placed my leg back and rubbed against her, she grabbed my shoulders and moaned around my fingers. The sound was a symphony I’d never tire of listening to. My hand grabbed the back of her neck, forcing her to look at me as she leaked over my leg, writhing and grinding her clit against me. “You taste likemine.”
I didn’t touch any other part of her.
I was too lost in watching her hips move, her lips puckered around my fingers, and the way her body shuddered.