“What happened here?” he murmurs, sounding almost casual.
“Nothing.”
“It wasn’t there before.”
“‘Before’? It’s five years old.”
A slight pause. “Does it still hurt?”
“Not really,” I lie.
He places a soft kiss over the jagged scar. His mouth feels so hot yet gentle, it brings tears to my eyes again. He kisses all around the underside of my breast, his hand kneading the other one. Then he licks all around and pulls the tip into his mouth, sucking it greedily, scraping the delicate skin with his teeth and soothing it with his tongue.
I arch my back, panting, my fingers digging into his silken hair. The pleasure rushing over me is so sweet, so intense, that I can barely drag air into my lungs. God, it’s been so long. I part my thighs, cradle his thick erection and vaguely hear him groan against me, the soft vibration traveling right down to my clit.
He lavishes the same tender care to my other breast, as though he wants to make all my hurt go away. A cold sliver of guilt pierces the haze of pleasure.
You don’t deserve this.
And I don’t. I don’t deserve to have him worship my body like he used to. I don’t deserve any of this comfort, this warmth, this tenderness. I’m being selfish, using him to salve my old wound.
His lips leave a hot trail, tickling my navel and kissing my belly. Slowly he pulls my bikini bottom down my legs…and off. I feel his heated breath over my inner thighs, his lips traveling from my knee to my slick core.
And I know what he’s about to do. He always loved to drive me crazy with his mouth between my legs. And suddenly, I don’t want that—I can’t have that.
“Make it hurt,” I say, my voice breaking.
He pauses, raising his head. “What?”
“Make me hurt. Please.”
His thumb brushing over the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, he looks into my eyes. His pupils are so dark and intense, I feel like I’m being stripped layer by layer, revealing how little I have now. Because I have nothing—no heart, no soul.
What I have is a mask that I’ve perfected over the years. I know I look like a woman with a big heart and gentle soul when I put it on, even though it doesn’t fool Dominic. He can see what’s underneath.
His eyebrows pinch together for a moment, and suddenly I’m afraid he’s going to pull away. Pain play has never been his thing, and I shouldn’t have imposed that on him, not like this.
He firms his lips, his eyes narrowing, and I shudder with relief over the realization he’s not going to stop. I hold my breath, waiting for the pain, praying it can lessen the horrible guilt eating at me.
But instead, Dominic swipes me slowly with his tongue, sending an electric shock of pleasure along my spine.
“Dominic.”
He traps my wrists beneath the small of my back. “You don’t get to
demand anything. You’ll take what I give you.” His voice is rough with lust and a hint of anger, but his mouth is patient and clever against my clit.
He swirls his tongue against me, licking, nipping, sucking. I cry out, white-hot bliss twisting inside me tighter and harder. He laps me up like he’s starving and I’m a feast just for him. When he pulls the sensitive nub inside his mouth, I come violently, my spine arching, my whole body convulsing, a scream caught in my throat.
Still, he doesn’t pull away. Instead he continues to apply pressure to prolong the climax. Then without giving me time to recover, he pushes his fingers inside, stretching me, filling me, soothing the aching emptiness. I’m so wet, so sensitive from the orgasm, every movement feels amplified and unbearably erotic. He curls his fingers, bumping into the sensitive spot inside me. And I come again, the orgasm exploding, leaving me shaking.
I sob out his name over and over again like I used to all those years ago.
He makes his way up my body, his mouth trailing hot kisses. He’s on me, above me, between my legs as he takes my mouth, tasting like himself and my slickness. “I can’t wait.”
“Don’t,” I whisper hoarsely and part my legs further. “Fuck me. Use me. Make yourself feel good.”
A low groan tears from him as he positions his cock at my entrance and then pushes inside, the motion slow, sure, breathtakingly sweet. I’m totally open to him, my ankles over his shoulders, knees bent, legs wide. He thrusts, the friction wet, slick and blissful. The tempo is slow at first, designed to make me feel every delicious inch of him as he surges inside. The pleasure builds again, and I pant and cling to him, yearning desperately to give him what he’s given me twice already. His eyes narrowed to brilliant blue slits, he changes the angle of our bodies, grinding into my clit with every stroke.