Powerless (Chestnut Springs, #3)(66)

I rake my eyes over her long, lean limbs. Pink scraps of nothing cover the places where I plan to spend the entire night.

When the shirt clears her wrists and falls to the floor behind her, a smirk touches her lips. She stands there not looking the least bit self-conscious.

In fact, the way her tongue slides over her lips tells me she’s nothing short of eager.

There’s an alluring blush to her pale cheeks, and her skin, lit only by the floor lamp in the corner, has a golden glow.

“All of them.” I gesture a hand down her body, watching the flush creep over her collarbones and toward her nipples that are pushing against the delicate fabric.

When she removes the bralette, I don’t bother pretending I’m not staring at her body. Her breasts are perfect, small and perky, with pale, dusky nipples pointing straight at me. Begging for my attention.

I groan at the sight and watch her thighs clamp together. Her stomach clenches.

“I bet you’re fucking soaked,” I murmur, watching her thumbs hook into the waistband of the matching panties.

She tilts her head and gives me a coy shrug. My dick twitches.

When her panties are down around her ankles where they belong, I peruse my way back up her legs, pausing on her pussy and the glimmer of wetness between her soft lips. “You’re perfect.”

“Thank you,” she whispers back, breathless.

I lick my lips and adjust myself in my pants. This is pure torture, but I think we both like it. We’re both about the anticipation. The ten feet that still separate us practically hum with it.

“Use one finger—only one—and show me how wet you are, Sloane.”

Her chest rises and falls while her eyes remain latched onto my face. Arousal is written all over her, and the little voice in my head that told me she might hate me if I revealed this domineering side of myself stays blissfully quiet.

I see a sparkle in her eye. No hesitation. Instead, a challenge.

Her hand slides down her stomach, and with a quiet moan, she pushes one slender finger into her pussy.

It slips right in, confirming what I already knew. Seconds later she holds one trembling hand up, index finger soaked with her arousal.

“Are you nervous?”

“No. God no,” is her response.

“Good. Now put that finger in your mouth and clean it off.”

A light, disbelieving chuckle escapes her, and I can’t help but crack a smile. Only she would laugh right now. As she turns her palm toward her face, showing me the back of her hand, the smile melts from my face. Because my eyes catch on a flash of light attached to her finger as she slides it between her lips.

My fingers grip the counter behind me, to the point of pain, while I try to hold back the green-eyed monster.

But I fail.

“Sloane.”

“Mm-hmm,” she hums, still sucking on her finger, giving me blue doe eyes.

I want to ask her how it tastes.

Instead, I snap.

I point at the floor beneath my feet and say, “Lose that fucking ring and crawl.”

Her mouth pops open, hand falling down, and her lashes flutter a few times as she processes what I just said.

But she doesn’t hesitate. She smirks.

She yanks the ring off her finger and tosses it across the room before dropping to her knees. I thought she’d falter. I think there’s a part of me that thought I could prove to myself I was right and she’d hate me for this. That I could push her too far and she’d tell me to fuck off.

But her hands come to the floor, and she crawls for me. The small house is dead silent as her body moves with such inherent grace, like there’s music playing in her head.

“Like this?” Her heart-shaped lips curve up seductively as toned arms stretch out before her, and I have to blink a few times to believe what I’m seeing. She’s feline in her movements, not shy at all. But she’s spent years performing on stage.

Soft and quiet doesn’t have to mean shy.

And my girl doesn’t look shy at fucking all right now.

“Yes,” I growl, my body coiling tighter at the sight. When she gets close enough to kneel at my feet, my entire body shakes with restraint.

And for what?

She’s still looking up at me like I hung the moon.

Like she always has.

“Fuck, Sloane.” The sight of her stripped bare below me feels so good it’s almost unbearable. I let go of the counter and drop to a crouch, gripping her chin and searching her eyes for any glimpses of discomfort, but all I see is need.

My opposite hand slips between her thighs, fingers pushing through her wet folds gently. She’s soaked.

She whimpers but doesn’t drop my gaze, so I continue playing with her cunt. I don’t push in, just tease. I watch her squirm, her hips trying to buck against my hand.

But she plays the game so perfectly. She just stays there and lets me explore.

“Did you like crawling for me?” I ask.

She smiles, but there’s a flash of sadness in her eyes. An instant shot to my chest. “Jasper, it feels like I’ve been crawling after you for years. This is nothing new for me.”

Her words strike a blow I didn’t see coming.

My fingers stop moving and I cup her head, whispering the words, “I’m sorry,” in a cracked voice. I press my lips to hers, falling to my knees for her. “God. I’m so fucking sorry.”