His thumbs slide to either side of my lips, he presses down, parting, and his warm breath beats down on my now exposed swollen clit. Within a second, he is using the pointed tip of his tongue to stimulate the buzzing bundle of nerves in hard, purposeful flicks.
“Oh God. Oh God.” I gasp. “Please. Please, Sir.”
“Let me have it all, sweet girl,” he demands, dipping his kiss lower, moving his thumb to press down on my clit so he can lap the wetness from me as I start to shake, convulse.
A thunder-strong sensation shocks through my core, to my soul. My thighs tighten.
My stomach muscles bunch.
I release a long, uncontrolled moan as I give in to the waves and come apart for him. “Sir,”I breathe his name like it is air, life, reason,everything…
Clay hums and sucks me until my muscles slow their intense contractions, my pussy stops pulsing, and all my wetness is licked from my folds in a way that suggests he wants to savour the taste of me, to not waste any.
Rising over me as I roll my head from left to right on the pillow, he presses the thick, warm crown of his cock against my opening. “Now to fuck it sore and fuck it swollen. Now to fill you.”
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
fawn
“Your luggage is here.”Jasmine peeks around the corner of the French doors to my position on the new outdoor lounge suite by the poolside. “I’ll take them to your room. Want me to pack for you, Fawn?”
I gaze over my shoulder at her, dropping my line of sight to her hand, hoping she has the new luggage for me to see. She doesn’t, and I don’t want to leave my kitten or order her to grab them, so I say, “No. I can do it.”
“Righto,”she says in her English accent, forcing a little chuckle from me. I never had any acquaintances who weren’t Australian born and raised.
She disappears, and I look back at my kitten. It’s been three days since Clay brought her home. And, well, tonight, I’ve been instructed to meet Clay at the airstrip, meaning I won’t see her until we get back from wherever he’s taking me.
I need quality kitten time.
She rolls around, her white fluff shedding all over the dark-grey cushions, her needle-like claws plucking the occasional seam out of place.
Kittens are so full of life—the epitome of playful chaos. At odds with so much of what Clay Butcher—the Devil’s prototype—embodies. She meows and meows.
Squeaky sounds.
She likes her own voice.
Smiling, I see similarities too. There are two things that my kitten and Clay have in common: vocalisation and honesty.
I like cats because they are always honest. If they don’t like you, you’ll know it, if they want space, they demand it, and if they want attention, they’ll take it.
The confident little creature stares up at me, tilting her head, her ears flicking around. Cats also consider everything in their path as though it belongs to them—just like the kitten is doing with me right now.
Like Clay always does.
The mild breeze touches my legs, my white shirt-dress ruffling around my waist. And I’m warm on the inside as well.
Sweeping my long white-blonde hair over my shoulder and twirling the ends around my finger, I smile at a memory. The vision of when I first saw this elevated area, overlooking the crystal blue waters of the pool and canals, I thought to myself that if I ever lived in a place like this, I would sit here every morning and enjoy the view. Take time to appreciate it.
And I would get a cat.
I shuffle.
Stretching me, the plug he placed inside me this morning forcesaware, my mind perpetually drifting to Clay Butcher. He ensures control—consuming me—even in his absence. And between my thighs, the ache of his passion remains too.
“You must be Fawn,” a woman says from over my shoulder, and I glance behind me to see Clay’s mum in a pink matching sweater suit and jacket, gold jewellery dangling from her thin wrists. The woman who created the most impressive man I have ever met.
Kudos.