Read Online On The Ropes by Cari Quinn - Free Book Online

mention reminded him all over again of what we’d been through.
    We , not just me.
    Throat tight, I stroked my finger up the center of his length, watching the veins ripple and bulge. At the head, I touched the bead of pre-cum forming there, catching the next before it trickled down. His breathing sped up, his massive chest lifting and falling while I followed the same path with my tongue, all the way down until I could hesitantly flick it over his sensitive sac. He hissed and his powerful arms flexed, reminding me I’d leashed the beast for now but it wouldn’t last for long.
    I licked my way back up, taking just the head in my mouth while my hands learned him. Hot skin pulled tight over his thick shaft, and the slightest attention paid to the tip caused him to swell and shift in my grip. I had small hands, and he seemed to dwarf them, barely able to be contained. Just like the corded arms that bunched and twisted as he fought to remain still for my torture.
    The heat in my core caused me to press my legs together, and he must’ve saw me because he swore. “If you’re going to torment me, you better get your ass up here so I can do the same.”
    “What?” I asked, licking my lips.
    My hearing was shorting out. It was as if steel wool had been pushed between my ears, cushioning everything but the manic beat of my heart.
    He swore again. “Give me your pussy.”
    I gasped. Not because he’d asked—well, sort of—and not because I was some newb who wouldn’t do that. Hell, I’d wanted that very thing, hadn’t I? But he wasn’t a boy who would stumble through a couple quick tongue stabs and finish up by trying to rub off my clit as if it were a magic button.
    Odds were good he knew what to do to not just get me off, but spectacularly.
    “You gotta stop doing that,” he muttered, and I blinked, looking down at my lax hands. “Not that, the gasping thing. You do it all the time.”
    Narrowing my eyes, I lapped at his cock. Mouth wide open, tongue flat. Deliberately, I brushed my breasts up his tensed thighs, waiting for him to gasp himself. When it didn’t work, I took him between my lips, forcing back my gag reflex as I tried to accept more of him. I hadn’t given a ton of blowjobs, and he wasn’t the best practice dummy.
    Head pressed to his groin, eyes shut tight and watering, I started to choke. My lungs seized up, the memories from earlier swirling behind my eyes. I heard Marco’s voice, felt his fingers on my leg as he pulled off my shoe.
    “No fucking Cinderella here,” he said with a sneer, dumping the shoe in a garbage can.
    “Carly.”
    My hands shook and I fought to steady them while I struggled to breathe through my nose.
    “Carly,” he said again, and my head came up, my eyes fastening on his.
    This time when he cursed, low and in Italian, he also undid his hands. Two twists of his wrists, and my skillful knot came apart as if he were freaking David Copperfield. “See, this is why I didn’t want to do this. Not like this. You’re still reliving—”
    “No.” The last of my bravado slipped and tears popped into my eyes. I’d done so well all night. I hadn’t cried at the club, hadn’t cried on the way home, hadn’t even cried in Gio’s shower. I hadn’t been raped, not technically. Not the way my sister had been. This was different.
    So why were my eyes stinging and my hands shaking and my stomach pitching so hard that I was afraid I might be sick?
    “Come here,” he said, and all of the anger had disappeared from his voice. He sat up and opened up his arms and I lurched into them, mindlessly seeking the comfort I’d found there earlier in the midst of our shared hell.
    “You’re fine. You’re safe.” His hand stroked my hair, up and down, up and down. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. I promise.”
    I pressed my damp eyes to his neck and breathed him in—expensive cologne, the faint tang of sweat and rain. Cleansing rain.
    “We should’ve done this outside,” I said,