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His fingers pushed back my hair. “You’re such a good girl, Ivy.”

His cock was clearly outlined in his jeans. God, he looked big. I wanted to touch him. I wanted to taste him. Was it just because he was out of bounds? Or maybe he wasn’t the only one who wanted to give a ‘fuck you’ to my family. Maybe I was doing the same thing myself?

His fingers trailed from my hair, tracing my jaw, and then running down my throat. I found myself tilting my head to one side, giving him more space. He moved farther downwards, leaving a rash of goosebumps in his wake. I sighed and leaned in closer, wanting more. He obliged, his hand reaching my shoulder and slipping under the strap of my dress. Unlike last night, I wore a bra, but that didn’t seem to slow him down at all. He slipped both the straps of my dress and the bra down my shoulder and then lowered his head and placed his lips against the spot where they’d been.

This was crazy. He was a Wynter, and I was a Gilligan, and we were enemies. But right now, I suspected we’d both forgotten which families we belonged to.

His palm brushed my breast, and my nipple tightened. He dropped lower, tugging my dress down, together with my bra, and cupped my tit to raise the nipple to his mouth. He covered me with his lips and tongue, sucking and squeezing, grazing his teeth over the sensitive flesh.

“Oh God.”

Arousal coiled tighter in my pussy, and I squeezed my thighs together. I wanted more, hungry for it, but the tiny, sensible part of my brain that still existed blared a warning.

This was Jayden Wynter. He was known to be a complete man-whore. How many women had he taken on this sofa? I was making myself another notch in his bedpost.

He pulled down the other side of my dress, freeing my other breast to the air. He moved to feast on them as though he was starving, and before I realised what was happening, I found him pushing me with his body so I was lying on my back, with him over me. I should tell him to stop, but God, his mouth felt good on me.

“You have such pretty tits, Ivy,” he told me between sucks and licks. “Anyone ever tell you that before?”

Breathless, I shook my head. No one had ever told me because I’d never let anyone close enough. Here was me, a twenty-year-old virgin with a total male-slut. Only one of us was going to get hurt here, and it was bound to be me.

He continued to suckle on me. His mouth felt incredible on my nipples—I had no idea they could be so sensitive—and it was as though they had a direct line to my pussy. I definitely got the impression he was a boob man. He jammed his hardness against me, and I ground against it, the sensations it caused leaving me spinning, like I was drunk, though I’d only had a couple of mouthfuls of champagne. I loved the way he spoke to me, though. What was with that? It did strange things to me I’d never experience before.

His hand found its way under my dress, his fingers skimming my G-string. It was sopping wet, and he’d barely touched me.

“So wet for me. Your pussy wants me, Ivy.”

“Jayden, wait,” I gasped.

He applied pressure to my clit over the top of my underwear, and my hips bucked into his hand.

If I didn’t stop this now, I was going to lose my moment. I opened my mouth to speak, but then he was kissing me again, his tongue sliding across mine. I responded, lacing my fingers through his hair. He nibbled on my lower lip, catching it between his teeth, hard enough to hurt but not badly.

I shoved at his shoulders. “No, wait, stop.”

He didn’t stop, and I was so tempted to let him do whatever he wanted to me. Desire had caught me in its grip, and I so badly wanted to chase my arousal all the way to orgasm.

But if I let this continue, there was no going back.

I twisted my face away, breaking the kiss. “Jay, no. I said stop.”

He removed his hand from my pussy. “What’s the matter? Aren’t you comfortable? We can go to my room.”

I shook my head. “I’m sorry, Jay. I should go.”








Tags: Marissa Farrar Romance