Page 59 of Sinful Lord

Tytus Ryzdon is kissing me.

And I’m not sure I ever want him to stop.

Holy shit.

But his kiss isn’t the only thing driving me wild. If Tytus’ lips taste like heaven, then the heat throbbing from the bulge between his legs is like a preview of hell. Not a bad place, mind you. Just one filled with such intense heat that even thinking about the pain and pleasure hidden there makes me sweat.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

My mind runs in all directions as Tytus’ hot palms press me into place. The power in his hands is unbelievable, yet his touch is somehow also filled with such tenderness and passion.

Is this what a kiss is supposed to feel like? Is this what I’ve been missing out on?

It doesn’t matter. My past and my future don’t matter as I sink into Tytus’ steady embrace. Slowly, my shock wears off, melted away by the scorching heat of the act. The conflict inside of me vanishes.

I want to kiss him back.

But before I can, he pulls away.

“Was that too much for you, angel?”

His hot breath is strangely refreshing. It drops my guard and makes me want to taste him again. The pressure in my core swirls and jumps. I feel so wonderfully dirty.

“I’m no angel,” I quietly sigh.

“Compared to me, you might as well be.”

Those silver-blue eyes shimmer from mere inches away as I stare at the man who’s inadvertently dragged me across an ocean.

Is this why? To give me my first kiss?

For some reason, the thought is thrilling, even if it that excitement is undercut by a strong current of fear.

Tytus seems to feel this hesitation. When I sigh again, his hands drop down my face, but before I can lose his touch, something inside of me snaps, and I reach up and grab his wrist.

He’s so girthy that my fingers barely wrap halfway around the thinnest part of his forearm, but it’s still enough to stop him.

His searing palms stay caressed around my jaw, if only just for a little while longer.

“Do you want me, little dove?” he asks, his voice low and raspy.

My spine tingles. My body freezes. The truth is, I don’t know what I want. Not in the grand scheme of things. But what I want at this very moment is clear as day.

Him.

A jittery breath leaves my lips. I reply with the subtlest nod.

Tytus smiles, those thick, blood lips teasing me with their movement.

“Good girl.”

His praise tears a silent gasp from my beating chest. Yet that rush is stopped dead when those silver-blue eyes drift down my body, to the floor.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see what he’s looking at.

The toy he gave me glistens under soft apartment lights. My thighs start to tremble. A red-hot wave of shame laps up against my flushed cheeks.

“Do you think you’re ready for the real thing?” he asks.