Rogue (Dead Man's Ink, #2)(49)
“But—” She clamps her mouth shut as quickly as she’s opened it, but it’s too late, the damage has already been done.
“Oh dear...” I send her my most f*cked up, smug, wicked looking grin. “Looks like someone broke a rule.”
“Oh come on, I didn’t mean to. I—”
“You did it again. And here I was, thinking you were doing so well.” I try my best not to laugh when I catch sight of the mortified expression she’s wearing; she must have been counting on the fact that she wasn’t going to break my rules, and now it looks like she’s done it twice.
She wants to defend herself, to say it wasn’t her fault, I provoked her, but she manages to stop herself from speaking this time. Crying shame, because racking up three individual punishments in under a minute would have been a record.
“You know I have to teach you a lesson now, sweetheart. I can’t let that slide. I would if I could, but…y’know…rules are rules and all. Spread your legs for me, princess and I’ll go easy on you.”
Sophia rolls her eyes and sighs, presumably resigning herself to her fate. Without another word, she does as I’ve told her, opening up for me. She doesn’t just open a little ways either. She pushes her legs out as far as she can do in this position, exposing herself to me.
“Good girl. Now lie back on your heels, so they’re still underneath you but your back is arching away from the floor.” She does as she’s told again. In this position, her breasts are close at hand for me to palm as I sink down to the floor and proceed to go down on her.
Some men like to drive fast cars. Some dudes go fishing. But this, right here, giving head to Sophia, is my favorite pastime. I know she loves it, even though she likes to think it’s embarrassing. It’s f*cking hot. She’s f*cking hot. I’m painfully aware of the fact that I’m fully dressed as I stroke my tongue slowly across Sophia’s clit. But this is part of her punishment. I’m not going to get naked with her now. I’m not going to f*ck her either, no matter how badly my balls are aching. I’m going to tease Sophia, send wave after wave of pleasure shooting through her body. I’m going to make her sweat and writhe and moan, and when she comes it will be the best orgasm of her life. And after, when she’s sated and limbless, sleep rolling over her, I’m going to tell her that next time I’ll stop right before she climaxes if she misbehaves herself. And I will leave her like that without a second thought.
So this is what I do. Soph’s attempt to stay still and keep quiet is a valiant one, but in my head I guestimate it’s a mere four minutes before she completely loses it. She doesn’t even seem aware that she’s bucking and grinding her hips against my mouth—which incidentally drives me f*cking insane. She’s so f*cking beautiful. I watch the sheer bliss on her face as I continue to use my tongue to bring her closer and closer to coming, and for the first time since I was fourteen years old I nearly end up making a mess of my pants. She’s practically tearing the floorboards up with her bare hands when she finally comes.
It’s the most spectacular, amazing thing to watch. Her back arches off the floor, chest heaving, thighs clamped firmly around my head, and she screams. She screams loud enough that the guys down in the clubhouse must now either assume I’m murdering her or that we’re having ten-out-of-ten, hard core sex.
When her body stops shaking, Sophia looks up at me out of half-closed eyes and scowls. “I’m in serious trouble now, aren’t I?” she says breathlessly.
I laugh, and then I slap her thigh, which doesn’t seem to amuse her as much as it entertains me. “Oh, f*ck yeah, girl. You have absolutely no idea what I get to do to you now. The only thing that will save you now is that tattoo we talked about.”
“No way! I am not getting tattooed.”
“We’ll see.” I crawl up her body, placing kisses on her hot, sweet-smelling skin. I’m practically planking over her when I reach her mouth.
“I think you should be inside me now,” she pants through our kisses.
The way she says it, the way those words sound coming from her full, biteable lips, almost makes me cave. I stay strong, though. “Sorry, sugar. You were a bad girl. Only good girls get what they want.”
I leave her there on the floor, naked and still panting.
FOURTEEN
REBEL
Cade’s not in the clubhouse. Normally after taking a girl up to my cabin for a couple of hours and then reappearing looking frustrated as f*ck, I’d garner a few catcalls from the other Widow Makers, but tonight the mood is overly drunk and sombre. After Bron’s short and simple funeral, no one’s in the mood for jokes. They’re in the mood to get f*cked up and fight.
Three chairs and one table have been smashed by the time I manage to make it across the clubhouse bar and up the back stairs to the handful of bedrooms we have set up there. No one lives here permanently. The Widow Makers have either chosen to live in town with their families, or they have rooms in the many outhouses that make up the compound. That’s probably why people think we’re some sort of f*cking sex cult. Cade has a place above Dead Man’s Ink in town, but he won’t have gone back there tonight. Not without speaking to me first. He’ll be holed up in the one room that’s permanently reserved for him on the top floor, waiting to spill whatever bullshit lies Maria Rosa told him when I left the two of them alone.