Come, Bishop.”
Chapter Eight
He did. Hard. His hips arched in the air as he came all over his belly and chest, yelling her name without reservation. She stroked him lighter, because he shuddered, seemed so sensitive post-orgasm. His skin was covered with a thin sheen of sweat, his breath quick, his chest dappled with his come.
She inhaled his scent, heady and masculine and her body throbbed with need. She moaned without realizing it and he turned his gaze from the mirror to her, his eyelids heavy as he murmured, “Go ahead, baby. Make yourself come.”
She slid her hands into her underwear—her sex was wet and hot, and she fingered the tight bundle of nerves until she gasped. She’d done this before, in the past year always thinking of Bishop, so having him right here made her waver. Because she wanted him to touch her, to be the one doing this.
But taking that last step...
“Lean this way. Take off your sweatshirt,” he said, still not making a move toward her, his voice commanding her to listen and do what he asked. And she did, pulled off the sweatshirt, and got half way out of her tank top before moving closer so he could suck her nipple.
“Bishop, yes.” She threw the tank top to the floor, closed her eyes and rocked against her own hand, his mouth urging her on. She pretended it was his hand on her sex, had never realized how much having her nipples played with could arouse her so quickly and thoroughly. It was like she was learning about her body’s responses for the first time instead of going through the motions. And it was fantastic.
Her body throbbed, the ache in her belly becoming tighter and tighter until the orgasm blasted through her. Her body stiffened and she cried out Bishop’s name.
Bishop, who kissed her breasts and neck and jawline as she floated along the climax’s aftermath. He was the least safe man she knew, the most dangerous, and he was holding back for her. All for her.
He’d let her keep all the power, let her revel in it. And she had.
“You’re the most non-innocent innocent I’ve ever met,” he murmured after she’d fully collapsed against him. He hadn’t pulled his sweats up and she was still in her underwear, her shirt unbuttoned but closed over her bare breasts.
Her gaze slid down his chest to his crotch. Even soft, he was big. Like him fitting inside of her seemed out of the question and still, she wanted to try.
But there was more to it than the physical act. For now, even though this hadn’t been nearly enough, it would have to be.
He traced the tattoos on her arm, a finger going over every line, as if memorizing them. Recreating. “Food’ll be here soon. Doctor too,” he said, his drawl thick.
“Zara mentioned that. Why all the checkups?”
“I’m valuable to him,” he said simply. When she rooted for her shirt, he added, “Bet there are clothes for you in the closet.”
“Really?”
“It’s a Keller thing. For certain people.”
“How do you know I’m among the chosen?”
“He’s definitely intrigued with you,” Bishop told her.
“How do you know?”
“He let you in.”
“Based, at least in part, because of my association with you.”
Bishop nodded. “For better or worse.”
“What did we do to earn that?”
“We survived.” He slid off the bed and she did the same. He headed for what she assumed was the bathroom and she went toward the closet and saw women’s clothing. And lingerie. All new, it appeared (thankfully) and in her size.
“Did you have something to do with this?” she called, held up a lacy camisole over her shoulder.
He poked his head out of the bathroom. “No, but I can’t say I’m upset about it.” He strolled over and picked up a particularly revealing black corset with cutouts where the nipples would go and looked between her and it.
“Forget it. God, that’s creepy of Keller.”
“Not from him,” Bishop said, picking up the card and handing it to her. “From Kammy. Keller’s version of
Chapter Eight
He did. Hard. His hips arched in the air as he came all over his belly and chest, yelling her name without reservation. She stroked him lighter, because he shuddered, seemed so sensitive post-orgasm. His skin was covered with a thin sheen of sweat, his breath quick, his chest dappled with his come.
She inhaled his scent, heady and masculine and her body throbbed with need. She moaned without realizing it and he turned his gaze from the mirror to her, his eyelids heavy as he murmured, “Go ahead, baby. Make yourself come.”
She slid her hands into her underwear—her sex was wet and hot, and she fingered the tight bundle of nerves until she gasped. She’d done this before, in the past year always thinking of Bishop, so having him right here made her waver. Because she wanted him to touch her, to be the one doing this.
But taking that last step...
“Lean this way. Take off your sweatshirt,” he said, still not making a move toward her, his voice commanding her to listen and do what he asked. And she did, pulled off the sweatshirt, and got half way out of her tank top before moving closer so he could suck her nipple.
“Bishop, yes.” She threw the tank top to the floor, closed her eyes and rocked against her own hand, his mouth urging her on. She pretended it was his hand on her sex, had never realized how much having her nipples played with could arouse her so quickly and thoroughly. It was like she was learning about her body’s responses for the first time instead of going through the motions. And it was fantastic.
Her body throbbed, the ache in her belly becoming tighter and tighter until the orgasm blasted through her. Her body stiffened and she cried out Bishop’s name.
Bishop, who kissed her breasts and neck and jawline as she floated along the climax’s aftermath. He was the least safe man she knew, the most dangerous, and he was holding back for her. All for her.
He’d let her keep all the power, let her revel in it. And she had.
“You’re the most non-innocent innocent I’ve ever met,” he murmured after she’d fully collapsed against him. He hadn’t pulled his sweats up and she was still in her underwear, her shirt unbuttoned but closed over her bare breasts.
Her gaze slid down his chest to his crotch. Even soft, he was big. Like him fitting inside of her seemed out of the question and still, she wanted to try.
But there was more to it than the physical act. For now, even though this hadn’t been nearly enough, it would have to be.
He traced the tattoos on her arm, a finger going over every line, as if memorizing them. Recreating. “Food’ll be here soon. Doctor too,” he said, his drawl thick.
“Zara mentioned that. Why all the checkups?”
“I’m valuable to him,” he said simply. When she rooted for her shirt, he added, “Bet there are clothes for you in the closet.”
“Really?”
“It’s a Keller thing. For certain people.”
“How do you know I’m among the chosen?”
“He’s definitely intrigued with you,” Bishop told her.
“How do you know?”
“He let you in.”
“Based, at least in part, because of my association with you.”
Bishop nodded. “For better or worse.”
“What did we do to earn that?”
“We survived.” He slid off the bed and she did the same. He headed for what she assumed was the bathroom and she went toward the closet and saw women’s clothing. And lingerie. All new, it appeared (thankfully) and in her size.
“Did you have something to do with this?” she called, held up a lacy camisole over her shoulder.
He poked his head out of the bathroom. “No, but I can’t say I’m upset about it.” He strolled over and picked up a particularly revealing black corset with cutouts where the nipples would go and looked between her and it.
“Forget it. God, that’s creepy of Keller.”
“Not from him,” Bishop said, picking up the card and handing it to her. “From Kammy. Keller’s version of
Similar Books
