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Damn, it’s close in here.
An outrageous buzzing starts up in my thighs and my gut as the thought trickles through me. Like three rivers of sensation, rushing together in a ’Y’ shape to meet in a deep lake. Like three powerful men, meeting in… DAMN, I have to STOP that line of thought.
His eyebrow arches, and his superior smirk sets me humming inside. I so much want to wipe that smirk off his face. But the ways I want to do it are… kind of naughty. Alright, they’re totally filthy. They could be the most depraved images that I ever found charging around in my head. And I have got a pretty filthy mind.
Gravel scrapes in his voice with dark melted chocolate on a bed of pure filth.
“You mind if I call you Lucy?” He takes my hand. Nobody has called me that since I was very little. He doesn’t wait for an answer, damn him.
“Anything you don’t want, tell me to stop, alright? I know what I’m doing, so I’ll take charge.”
Arrogance drips through every word.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Like he has every right, he strokes a finger down the side of my neck, then he holds the back of my neck, and turns my head so I’m facing him.
“I’ll take charge,” he says as his other hand runs up the inside of my thigh. “But you’re in charge,” he says. I am so not. But that’s the game he’s playing with me. Just as I’m losing control inside.
“Okay?” He presses farther up. Strokes either side of my panties as I quiver and collapse inside. I should make him stop. I must. But I don’t want to.
He pulls my thighs apart. I try to pull them back together. It’s no good. I just can’t argue with his strength. Or my body doesn’t want to.
I’m supposed to be here for one of the men to marry, sure. But I know that it’s not going to be Alessio. We all know that.
He breathes and murmurs into my ear, “You’ll do exactly what I tell you, alright?”
I should say, ‘No,’ I know I should, but I’m gasping to say ‘yes.’ It hardly matters since I can’t breathe anyway. Like an idiot, I just nod. His big hand feels so sure, so expert, like he knows exactly what effect every touch is going to have on me.
The weight of his hands, high on the inside of my thigh, in the confined space, his strong, expert hand, shivers run down my spine. His finger traces my jaw. Then his hand holds the side of my neck. His face is close to mine. The scents of our breaths mingle. The perfume of my heat rises, too, mixing with his dark, masculine tang.
His fingers trace the edges of my panties. Then slip over the wet fabric to take hold of my weeping heat. I jolt as he moves his hand back to my thigh.
The pressure from his hand makes the skin of my thigh burn under the dress. And higher. Where he pulled my thighs apart, they want his hand back now. I can hardly stop myself from shaking. Pressure builds inside me like a boiling pot with a heavy lid.
Two fingers gently rub on either side of my hood. And his thumb. I clench and flex inside as his thumb presses around in circles, pulling indirectly on my clit. I’m losing all my willpower. My need is catching fire.
Damn him.
His fingers are expert. Precise like a surgeon’s. I’m sinking deeper into the soft leather, feeling like I’m being carried away on a flying carpet. His other hand moves to the back of my waist. The base of my spine. The top of my ass. Tweaking, teasing, testing. Tantalizing and torturing, he makes my pelvis roll and tilt. Pushing my pussy more into his other, merciless hand.
That hand, the hand that stays between my legs, playing the charges and sparks in my buzzing, swelling flesh like an expert musician, that hand makes my breath flutter and my thigh sag apart. But feeling them open and wide isn’t enough. I’m panting, aching for something more between my legs.
His face is close. My lips tremble. I can’t stop them wanting to taste his. Not when they’re fractions of an inch away. I should find a way to stop this. It all feels like I’m falling into an awful, terrible mistake.
But my body says it’s the best mistake of my life.
With all the strength I can find, I pull back and away from him. Trouble is, I can’t find much strength at all. As I try to grip his wrists with my hands, I’m opening my arms, my body, to his invasion.
I know I’m going to have to make this stop. Somehow. But not now. Not yet. Just a little more. There’s something so close that I need to feel so bad.
He knows how to tease to make me want more. Make me need it. Make me wet. Make me want to shout and yell. And sink my teeth into him.
As his fingers close on my leg and stroke upward, he says, “I know what you need, little Princess, little Cinders.”
My breath shudders.
I must not let this happen.
