He caught the waistband of her panties and dragged them down her legs. “I’ve wanted to do that since the moment you pulled them on. I also wanted to do this.” He hooked one of her legs over his shoulder, spread her plump folds, and took a long lick.
Havana slammed her palms on the wall behind her as he began to eat her out. He didn’t tease. He feasted. Every erotic flick of his tongue, every scrape of his teeth, and every suckle on her clit wrenched moan after moan out of her.
She arched into his mouth, wanting more. He thrust his tongue deeper, giving her what she needed. The tension inside her built and built until she was hanging on the edge of a momentous orgasm. Her knees buckled. Her thighs tremored. Her face flushed.
She slipped her fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp. He growled. The guttural sound rumbled against her flesh and vibrated up her pussy. And she came, her back bowed, her claws slicing out and digging into the wall.
Breathing heavily, she looked down at Tate. Licking his wet lips, he stared up at her, his eyes glittering. Even on his knees, he looked dominant, in charge, and fully in control. The latter made her devil bristle. No, he didn’t have that control. Not yet.
Havana slowly pulled back the leg he’d hooked over his shoulder. She rested her foot against his chest … and shoved him hard enough to give her room to escape. She ran. Her feet pounded on the stairs as she rocketed up them, egged on by her cat, conscious of him pursuing her.
Hands grabbed her hips as Tate pulled her to a halt halfway up the stairs. He covered her body with his, forcing her to her knees. She hissed and writhed and tried bucking him off. But he slipped one arm beneath her and banded it diagonally across her body to grip her shoulder, holding her securely in place. Still, she fought him. He let her, pressing soft kisses and gentle suckling little bites to her nape … acting for all the world like her struggles simply weren’t on his radar.
Havana slapped the stair in front of her. “You motherfucking motherfucker.”
“That wasn’t very nice.” He roughly plunged two fingers inside her, shocking the breath right out of her. “I’m not saying it ain’t true, but it wasn’t nice.” He pulled back his hand, spread his fingers inside her, and drove them deep. “Now you’re going to be still while I have my way. That understood?”
“Uh, no.” She lunged, meaning to escape again, but his grip on her shoulder kept her exactly where he wanted her. Which pissed her off even as it turned her on. All that strength and power … yeah, it pushed all her best buttons. Still, she growled and struggled.
“Yeah, fight me, baby.”
She did. Even as he fucked her with his fingers, she fought to be free. But it wasn’t long before her body betrayed her and got swept away by the feel of his fingers swirling and plunging and scissoring. She kept one hand planted on the stair in front of her while reaching back her other arm to curve her free hand around his nape.
“Yield, baby, and I’ll give you what you need.”
Havana let her body relax beneath him, as if the fight had drained out of her.
He hummed, sliding his arm out from beneath her to cup her hip. “Good girl.”
No, she wasn’t a good girl. And forgetting that was his mistake.
Tate swore as she fled. One moment his fingers were buried inside her, the next she was rushing up the rest of the stairs. He followed, hot on her heels. In the bedroom, she dashed around to the opposite side of the bed. They stared at each other, panting, tense, each waiting for the other to move.
He feigned right. She leaped onto the bed, ran across it, and jumped. He caught her midair and, ignoring her punches and kicks, set her on the floor near the wardrobe. He roughly turned her to face the mirrored door, plastered his front against her back, and curled his arm tight around her. “Tricky little bitch, aren’t you?” He kicked her legs apart and thrust his rock-hard cock inside her.
“Fuck.” The word popped out of her as she instinctively shot out her hands, bracing herself against the wardrobe.
Tate clawed off her dress. “Now you’ll watch me take you,” he growled into her ear, “so you remember you can’t keep this pussy from me.”
He pounded into her body, sensing her surrender, relishing that she’d yielded control to him.
She was pure liquid heat around him, holding his dick in the snuggest grip. In the most perfect grip, because she was tailor-made for him in every way. Other men might have been in her bed, but she hadn’t been created for them, hadn’t existed purely for them. She was Tate’s. Always had been. Always would be.