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"You need the money."
Of course I do. And I'm not getting it anywhere else. It’s not like I'm going to win the lottery overnight and tell him I'm not marrying him. More to the point, I don’t want to tell him I'm not marrying him, because I find him hot, and way too attractive, and I know sex with him will blow my mind. And because I feel safe with him. It's my instincts, something deep inside me which says, this man… will never leave me wanting for anything.
He continues, "Also, you didn’t answer my earlier question.”
“Wh-which question?”
“The one I know you remember. Maybe you want me to find out for myself?”
I begin to shake my head. I should shake my head. But something inside me... Perhaps that darkness he recognizes… Or that brattiness he referred to… Or it could be the need to find out if I'm as submissive as he says I am coaxes me to part my thighs.
Without taking his gaze off mine, he reaches over, slides his hand under my skirt and cups my sex. The confidence in his act pushes the breath from my lungs. Thank God, I didn’t wear my jeans. It’s only my panties separating my pussy from his touch.
"If you want me to stop, you only have to say so. If you don’t want this, you can leave the car, and I won’t stop you,” he snaps.
But do I open my mouth to say no? Of course not. Instead, I squeeze my thighs together, trapping his hand.
12
Quentin
The heat of her pussy sears my palm through the fabric of her panties and that of her skirt. She squeezes down with her thighs, and the feel of her muscles clamping around my palm, combined with the beat of the pulse at her core, turns me rock hard.
I widen the gap between my legs to accommodate my arousal. The action draws her gaze down to my crotch, and a blush reddens her cheeks. She’s so fucking beautiful. My breath hitches. My pulse booms at my temples.
"Are you sure?" I force myself to say the words. I cannot let myself take things further, unless she confirms she's ready to go to the next stage.
She hesitates, then nods slowly.
"Say it for me, Raven. Say it aloud." I inked Poe's bird on my back as a reminder of the darkness inside me. I never expected my Raven would one day look me in the eye and say…
"I’m sure." Her voice is low but strong.
"What are you sure about?"
Her chest rises and falls. "I’m sure I want to feel your hands on me, your fingers in me, your tongue, your"—she squeezes her eyes shut—"your?—”
“—my cock impaling you.”
Her cheeks turn crimson.
“Say it,” I implore.
“Your”—she swallows— “your cock impaling me.”
Any remaining blood drains to my groin. Fuck me. Hearing her say those filthy words turns my body into a mass of fierce need. My heart swells in my chest. My pulse rate ratchets up. I close my eyes and draw in a breath, then another. Drawing on all my training as a Marine to gather my wits, to regain my focus. Drawing on my ability to compartmentalize any pain I’m feeling from my wounds, tightly locked in that space I’d shoved it in.
I’ve faced down enemy soldiers, dodged bullets, run the most dangerous of missions with a cool head, but the first touch of her pussy, and I fall apart. The sugary scent of her arousal fills my lungs. A fresh burst of craving turns my belly to a churning mass of anticipation. But I will not hurry our first encounter, not when I plan to give her so much pleasure, she’ll not be able to think straight for days. I wrench my hand from between her legs.
She gasps. "Quentin, what are you?—"
"I told you to call me Q."
She swallows.
"Say it, Raven."
"Q," she murmurs, and a fierce surge of satisfaction lances through my body.
