Sinful Love (Sinful Nights #4)(23)

She looked so good like that. So f*cking hot and greedy, her cheeks hollowed out as her lips gripped tight. More. He wanted to see more of this.

Taking his fingers from her mouth, he dipped them across her slick folds again, then returned them to her lips. He f*cked her mouth with his fingers, as he brought his other hand between her legs. As he stroked her, he learned her pace quickly—she liked it fast and hard—and he rubbed her clit like that, in perfect, speedy circles.

She moved her hips against his hand, writhing into him. Then, with her tongue, she pushed his fingers out of her mouth, freeing herself to moan, broken words of bliss in her French accent.

Oh God.

So good.

Yes. More. That. Fuck me.

God, there was so much he wanted to say. So many words that threatened to escape his throat. Words like dreamed about you, wanted you for so long, and more, so much more. Words he wouldn’t let himself say because those were only the hormones talking, right?

“Did you f*ck yourself like this last night? Thinking of me?” he asked, his voice rough as he plunged his fingers inside her slick heat.

“Yes.”

“Thinking of how much you want me?”

She nodded as she lifted her chin, asking for a kiss.

He dipped his head, crushing his lips to hers, tasting her as he f*cked her * with his fingers. With his free hand, he gripped the back of her head, holding her tight against his mouth.

But then, in a flash, everything shifted.

She grabbed his hand between her legs, and gripped his wrist. She circled her hips, jerking her body, rising against him, and holding him in place like his hand was a dildo. Holy shit. He’d become her goddamn vibrator as she rocked into his hand in frantic jerks, desperately racing to come.

“Do it,” he growled, urging her on. “Do it till you get there.”

She f*cked his hand with reckless, untamed need, clenching tight around his fingers until she moaned into his mouth, her lips falling away from his. She cried out, gasping I’m coming in French.

That was the girl he’d known. She’d always come in French. On his fingers, in his hand, while dry-humping him in a car, in her locked room, in a movie theater once during a high-octane action sequence. Her words always returned to her native language when she soared off the cliff. Hell, her sexy, breathy moans right now were rich with her accent. It made him even harder, and it made him grin, pride suffusing him.

He lowered his mouth, kissing her neck, dragging his teeth across the tender skin, biting her. He needed to mark this woman who’d haunted him. For years, she’d been the yardstick, the dream, the what if fantasy. The trouble was, making her come, watching her lose all control for him, did nothing to abate that pent-up desire for her. The opposite had happened. It stoked the flames. He wanted her more than ever. Wanted to slide his cock inside her, wanted to feel her snug and tight around him, wanted to know what it was like to make love to—no. Not that. To f*ck this woman.

She shuddered, her shoulders shaking. It occurred to him that his fingers were still inside her. Gently, he removed them.

She looked up at him from hooded, sated eyes. “I think I treated your hand like a dildo,” she said, a sweet little smirk on her gorgeous face.

“You did. But I’m perfectly okay with you treating my hand, cock, or my mouth as a sex toy anytime you want,” he said, and she laughed. He leaned in, moving his lips to her ear. “Because I want you with every part of me. I want to f*ck you in every way,” he told her. “To have you in any way I can.”

She wrapped her hands around his neck. “I want that, too. I want it desperately.”

“So what do you want to do about that?”

He waited for her answer, watching her expression change from one of euphoria to something else entirely, something that looked a lot like regret.

His heart cratered.





CHAPTER ELEVEN


As soon as I want it desperately tumbled from her lips, she cast her eyes downward.

A strange sensation washed over her. It felt like…guilt. And it was awful. It wormed through her, eating up the bliss she’d experienced mere moments ago, turning it into something insidious.

She’d just come with another person for the first time in two years. She should feel ecstatic, but instead a seed pushed and shoved against her skin, because it was the first time she’d been with someone new in more than a decade, and that felt traitorous.

It shouldn’t.

It really shouldn’t.

But as she brushed her messy hair from her face with fingers that had clutched Michael like a lifeline, remorse turned her blood sluggish. She pressed her lips together, holding in this feeling, sucking it down. Maybe she could just ride it out.

When a traitorous tear slipped down her cheek, Michael tucked his fingers under her chin and raised her face. “Hey. Are you okay?”

His voice was warm, full of concern, and his eyes searched her expression. It was then that she realized why she’d thought he was a safe choice. Because in this moment, he was. They’d always talked; they’d been as open as a couple could be. She brushed the remnant of the tear away, and spoke softly. “I feel guilty, but I don’t want to feel guilty.”

“I understand why you’d feel that way,” he said, taking his time speaking. “And I don’t want to push you into anything.”