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I almost choked on my drink, which was more rum than chocolate. She laughed, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “I think I’m more drunk than I thought,” she admitted. “But I’m not that drunk. I want you. I thought about you when I was touching myself.”
Her confession made my head spin, my heart stumble. My breathing was ragged when my eyes went to her breasts pressed up against the fabric. So full. Her nipples were hard, begging for my attention.
What was a man to do now?
The twisted, broken part of me begged to stomp on the small goodness that was left in me and take her, take her the way she wanted me to.
Desire was a tempest, and every bone in my body begged to have my mouth on her nipples. I wanted to bite, wanted to take everything. My stomach clenched as I stared at her flushed face.
Greed clashed with common sense. Rational thoughts were consumed by lust.
“You look drunk. I should leave.” It was very hard to keep resisting her when she was asking for exactly what I wanted.
Fuck. My cock was straining against my boxers, pressing against the front of my pants, begging to be freed, begging to find the inside of her mouth. Cursing silently, I adjusted myself.
She moved closer until all of her soft body was pressed against mine. It took everything in me to not pull her to my lap and let her feel how undeniably aroused I was for her. She looked at me with eyes that made my mind empty.
“I want to touch. Can I touch you?” she asked.
“Yes.” The word came out before I could consciously stop myself.
“Are you scared? I won’t… bite you. I mean, I will if you beg me to,” she whispered, her breath hot on my skin.
I jerked back when she bravely placed her hand on my thigh. Her fingers dug into my flesh, and my breath hitched. An involuntary groan left me when her fingers traced the bulge in my pants with decisive, greedy strokes.
She licked her lips, letting out a soft moan, her finger tracing a burning arc up and down my cock. Even through the layers of clothes, I felt her touch.
“Yara, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I growled out. My fingers pressed against hers, pulling them hastily away from my cock, even when every inch of me begged for more. More.
Her eyes lifted to mine, fierce, burning with lust.
“You know what I’m doing. You want me just as bad. So why are you running now, Ryden?” she whispered, tugging her hand free from my hold—I readily let go—and pressing her palm back against my straining cock, her eyes challenging me.
I moaned, my voice dark and desperate. Her fingers explored me, and I was already so close to coming, like a fucking teenager.
This woman was madness. Everything about her was made to make me go insane.
“Fuck, Yara, you should stop before you regret… this. We can’t do this,” I said as I pressed my finger against her hand. I didn’t know whether I was stopping her or pressing her hand further into my cock. “I can’t do this.” My voice came out hoarse and greedy… and reluctant.
“Why would I regret it? I want to touch you and I know you’re enjoying it,” she said in a whisper that was like a kiss of death. She leaned closer to me and pressed her lips against my shoulder, inhaling deeper. “You smell delicious. You smell just as I have imagined. Dangerous and delightful.”
I shook my head with a low groan, and she laughed breathily. The sound trickling down my spine was as erotic as her touch.
“It looks like your cock is enjoying me too much. Whenever my finger touches it, it jumps in response,” she said, her eyes battling against mine to deny her truths. She bit her beautiful lips, and I wanted this woman like I had never wanted anything in my thirty years.
As if to prove her point, she dragged her red-painted nail up my cock, and the greedy thing became harder as if it wasn’t already hard before.
“Touch me, Ryden,” she begged, ordered, and I wanted to give her whatever she wanted. My fingers went to her satin skin and everything in me went quiet. I trailed my finger down her throat, and she arched into me, seeking my touch, searching for more. Her eyes were demanding as she met mine. “More, Ryden. Give me more.” I loved how greedy she sounded.
Her lips parted as her head fell back, hitting the couch.
“Oh, oh…” she moaned when I finally ran my finger down her breast, and I knew then.
I had just written my fucking death sentence, and there was no way out of it.
21
SINS OF THE SOUL
