Cuff Me(77)

Felt the brush of his fingers against her as he positioned his cock at her opening. But not entering.

She pushed her hips back, and he pulled away slightly. “Tell me what you want,” he said, tracing the sensitive finger just above where the handcuffs held her hostage.

Jill refused to answer. He already had her handcuffed and bent over her kitchen counter. Damned if she’d give him everything.

She looked over her shoulder, lifted her eyebrows in challenge as she remained stubbornly silent.

His eyes narrowed, and his hand slid down to her butt, slapping it just hard enough to cause a delicious little sting. “Jill.”

She pushed her ass toward him in response, arching her back, and relished his little groan.

“Sorry, babe. Not good enough,” he said, planting a kiss between her shoulder blades.

Then he spun her around, dropped to his knees, and tongued her.

Jill gave a sharp cry, pulling at the handcuffs in a desperate, futile attempt to hold his head against her. But she didn’t need to. His hands found her hips, holding her still as his mouth devoured her in a hungry caress.

Only when Jill sobbed his name did he stand, nipping her nipple once before spinning her around once more and plunging into her with one firm smooth stroke.

He paused then, resting his forehead against her shoulder, his breath ragged. He kissed her once on the top of her shoulder. It was a sweet gesture completely at odds with the fierceness of the rest of their encounter, and she turned her head, her lips finding his. Their tongues tangled in a hot kiss until he finally pulled away, his eyes latching onto hers. When she turned around he pulled back before pushing into her, slowly.

This time when Jill leaned forward, it was of her own volition, and Vincent groaned in gratification. His fingers dug into her hips as he took her hard.

There was nothing soft about the way he drilled her into the counter. Nothing tender about the sounds their bodies made as they slapped together. Nothing delicate about the way she came apart the second he slid a hand around to her clit.

But when Vincent found his own release, the way her name sounded on his lips sounded like a prayer.

And that was everything.





CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE


Vincent wasn’t prone to embarrassment. He didn’t think he was hardwired for it.

But when his vision stopped spinning enough to pull himself away from Jill and unlock the handcuffs, he was damn glad her back was still to him, because he felt oddly shy at the way he’d taken her like an animal.

Shyness transitioned to regret as he saw the faint red lines around her wrist. “Ah, Jill—”

She turned toward him, kneeling to pull her panties up before wiggling her skirt back down and giving him a coy look.

“Don’t you dare,” she said, lifting to her toes and pressing her lips to his. “Don’t you apologize.”

“But—”

Her arms wound around his neck and she deepened the kiss.

Vincent kissed her back, mainly because it was a chance to hold her.

When they pulled back, he surprised himself by kissing both her cheeks, then set to righting her bra, rebuttoning her shirt.

When he glanced up, she was watching him with such amused surprise that the embarrassment crashed over him again.

What was wrong with him? It was just sex. It was just—

Except it wasn’t just anything.

Sex with Jill wasn’t just mind blowing. It wasn’t just an intoxicating combination of raunchy and playful.

Sex with Jill felt a hell of a lot like coming home.

And even more scary, it felt a lot like it’ll never be this good with anyone else, ever.

Fuck.

He moved toward his sauce, unsurprised to see that the bottom had burned a little thanks to their interlude.

He scraped at it with the wooden spoon, then picked up the champagne he didn’t really like and tossed back the entirety.

“You okay?” she asked.

He glanced at her, saw the wariness on her face—realized that she wasn’t just expecting him to pull away. She was counting on it.

But for tonight, he didn’t want to be that guy. He didn’t want to be the guy that clammed up and was emotionally unreachable.

He was that guy—he knew that. Knew that he didn’t have whatever other people had that made them good for another person forever and ever. There was no way he’d subject Jill to a lifetime of his frequent need for solitude, or his inability to make the proper chatter at social functions.

Even if he remembered to occasionally bring her flowers, he didn’t know how to put together all the pretty phrases that women seemed to want.

But maybe for tonight, he could pretend that he was her man. That she was his.

He reached out and grabbed the front of her shirt, pulling her toward him for a quick kiss, his hand sliding over her back and down to her ass, which he gave a playful tap. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a dirty girl?”

She let out a little laugh. “I’m the dirty one? Didn’t seem to me I had a lot of say considering I was handcuffed and bent over the counter.”

His cock stirred at the memory, as well as the steamy look in her eyes. She could say whatever she wanted, but she’d f*cking enjoyed every moment of it.

So had he.

He bent his head again, and she laughed lightly, dodging his kiss. “No way, Detective. I know that look. You’re feeding me first.”