that feels like molten steel against my palm.
Leaning forward, I taste him—a sharp, salty flavor that I know I’ll never forget.
A low groan comes from his chest, more of a rumble than a moan, but he still doesn’t stir. I might be in his dreams right now, a girlfriend from his past or some fantasy creation. Or I might be any one of the girls he’s brought home for the night. There must have been many.
It’s not really me he’s feeling, but I’m feeling him. The silky softness at the crown of his cock, the velvet thin skin that covers his shaft. The tight black hair that brushes against my hand every time my fist presses down.
His rough sounds fill the air around me, a symphony of sex and man.
He’s close to coming. I can tell by the way his thighs are trembling, by the hard bunch of his abs. His whole body is canted on the edge of climax.
That’s when I realize his arms are no longer flung carelessly over his head or over the side of the couch. They’re held tight by his body, hands curled into fists. He’s holding himself back.
He’s awake.
I pause, my lips sliding over the ridge of him as I look up. His eyes are still closed, his face taut—he looks like he’s in pain. When I stop moving, his eyes fly open. They’re black in the darkness, but I can read the hunger in them. The need.
“Bianca,” he says hoarsely.
There’s desperation in that word. Affection too.
No surprise. He knew it was me all along. He might have been awake the whole time. When will I learn that I can’t catch him off guard? I’ve conned a hundred men out of their money, in lots of different ways. I always knew that one would eventually catch me, hurt me, break me.
West has done those things, but not like I thought it would be. He doesn’t hurt me.
No, he’s infinitely gentle as he runs the side of his finger along my temple and trails a lock of my hair. He’s shaking with need, but he doesn’t force my head or thrust up into me. He pushes the strands between his thumb and forefinger. “So fucking soft,” he mutters.
I lean forward to finish what I started, but he stops me. “What’s wrong?”
He swallows audibly. “I need to come, baby. I need you so bad.”
But when I press forward again, his hands hold me back.
“Not like that,” he murmurs.
Then I’m twisting, falling, lying flat on my back where he used to be, his leftover heat rising up to meet me while his body bears me down.
Chapter Fifteen
I expect him to push inside of me, to start fucking me and take what he deserves. I don’t have much of anything to offer him. Only my body.
He helps himself to my body but not how I expect. Instead he kisses his way over my breasts and down my stomach. They’re mere brushes of his lips that tease more than they pleasure. Then he bends his head between my legs, and I can’t help but spread them wider. I don’t deserve what he’s going to do to me, but I crave it.
“You don’t…” I manage to gasp out. “You don’t have to.”
He groans, dark eyes meeting mine. His voice is pure gravel. “You think I’m doing this just for you? You think I haven’t fucking dreamed about this every night since I first saw you dance?”
He seems to be waiting for answer. “I…don’t know?”
“I’ve been dreaming of how you’ll taste. And after having you, I’m fucking addicted. Even down in that basement, I couldn’t wait to have you again. Somewhere warm and soft, where I know you’ll be comfortable for a long, long time.”
“Oh.” I feel faint, just thinking about how long he might be planning on licking me. What happened in that basement is already the longest I’ve ever imagined a man’s mouth on me—and it drove me insane with pleasure. What could he do to me with all the time in the world?
He doesn’t seem to want to discuss it anymore.
No, he clearly intends to show me.
He doesn’t start off soft like he did before. Not testing or tasting. He plunges his tongue into my slit as
Leaning forward, I taste him—a sharp, salty flavor that I know I’ll never forget.
A low groan comes from his chest, more of a rumble than a moan, but he still doesn’t stir. I might be in his dreams right now, a girlfriend from his past or some fantasy creation. Or I might be any one of the girls he’s brought home for the night. There must have been many.
It’s not really me he’s feeling, but I’m feeling him. The silky softness at the crown of his cock, the velvet thin skin that covers his shaft. The tight black hair that brushes against my hand every time my fist presses down.
His rough sounds fill the air around me, a symphony of sex and man.
He’s close to coming. I can tell by the way his thighs are trembling, by the hard bunch of his abs. His whole body is canted on the edge of climax.
That’s when I realize his arms are no longer flung carelessly over his head or over the side of the couch. They’re held tight by his body, hands curled into fists. He’s holding himself back.
He’s awake.
I pause, my lips sliding over the ridge of him as I look up. His eyes are still closed, his face taut—he looks like he’s in pain. When I stop moving, his eyes fly open. They’re black in the darkness, but I can read the hunger in them. The need.
“Bianca,” he says hoarsely.
There’s desperation in that word. Affection too.
No surprise. He knew it was me all along. He might have been awake the whole time. When will I learn that I can’t catch him off guard? I’ve conned a hundred men out of their money, in lots of different ways. I always knew that one would eventually catch me, hurt me, break me.
West has done those things, but not like I thought it would be. He doesn’t hurt me.
No, he’s infinitely gentle as he runs the side of his finger along my temple and trails a lock of my hair. He’s shaking with need, but he doesn’t force my head or thrust up into me. He pushes the strands between his thumb and forefinger. “So fucking soft,” he mutters.
I lean forward to finish what I started, but he stops me. “What’s wrong?”
He swallows audibly. “I need to come, baby. I need you so bad.”
But when I press forward again, his hands hold me back.
“Not like that,” he murmurs.
Then I’m twisting, falling, lying flat on my back where he used to be, his leftover heat rising up to meet me while his body bears me down.
Chapter Fifteen
I expect him to push inside of me, to start fucking me and take what he deserves. I don’t have much of anything to offer him. Only my body.
He helps himself to my body but not how I expect. Instead he kisses his way over my breasts and down my stomach. They’re mere brushes of his lips that tease more than they pleasure. Then he bends his head between my legs, and I can’t help but spread them wider. I don’t deserve what he’s going to do to me, but I crave it.
“You don’t…” I manage to gasp out. “You don’t have to.”
He groans, dark eyes meeting mine. His voice is pure gravel. “You think I’m doing this just for you? You think I haven’t fucking dreamed about this every night since I first saw you dance?”
He seems to be waiting for answer. “I…don’t know?”
“I’ve been dreaming of how you’ll taste. And after having you, I’m fucking addicted. Even down in that basement, I couldn’t wait to have you again. Somewhere warm and soft, where I know you’ll be comfortable for a long, long time.”
“Oh.” I feel faint, just thinking about how long he might be planning on licking me. What happened in that basement is already the longest I’ve ever imagined a man’s mouth on me—and it drove me insane with pleasure. What could he do to me with all the time in the world?
He doesn’t seem to want to discuss it anymore.
No, he clearly intends to show me.
He doesn’t start off soft like he did before. Not testing or tasting. He plunges his tongue into my slit as
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