I can’t help but wonder if it stretches farther.
Short breaths puff from her chest, and she glances back at the door Gio and Jenna went through. “What if someone comes back?”
“They won’t. I’ll be done before they do.”
“They won’t come back, or you’ll finish before they do?” she rasps. “Those are two different things.”
“You’ll finish before they do.”
“This seems like a bad idea.”
“The worst,” I agree. “We’ll probably regret it in the future.”
She frowns. “You think?”
“Undoubtedly.”
I don’t mention that my regrets will come in the form of an obsession, one that’s been brewing on the outskirts of my mind all night. Once I’ve tasted her, I know I’ll never have enough.
“But who the fuck cares about tomorrow? Just enjoy the right now with me, and deal with everything else later. Okay?”
I pause, watching her for signs of discomfort. It’s there, veiled beneath layers she’s erected in an attempt to hide it away. But I see it.
Finally, she gives a slight nod, and the pressure releases in my chest like water draining from a bathtub.
“Okay.”
Dropping to my knees, I run my hands up her thighs, fitting my shoulders between them. “You smell so good. Like peppermint.”
“It’s a lotion,” she breathes, the sound barely registering.
“Scoot closer, pretty girl. If you won’t show me everything, I at least want to see this perfect cunt.”
“You’re extremely demanding.” But she obeys anyway, shimmying forward so her ass is hanging half off the edge of the table.
“Please accept my tongue as an apology.” Her thighs flex, pressing against me as if she’s trying to close them. Trying to hide from me.
I curl two fingers into the lace crotch of her thong, tug it to the side, and lean back on my heels to admire the shape of her glistening sex. Like the dewy petals of a pink rose blossom, she opens up, perfection in the form of the sweetest sin.
“Jesus. How long have you been wet for me?” I taunt, leaning in to lap from top to bottom, spreading her arousal along her lips.
“I-I don’t—”
“Were you going to keep it a secret?” Pressing the flat of my tongue against her swollen clit, I soak in the soft vibrations, flicking the tip gently. “Pretend I didn’t have an effect on you, and then what, angel? Were you going to touch yourself to the thought of me tonight?”
My licks turn languid, broad swipes along her seam as I grow more starved for her.
“No,” she gasps out, hips bucking up.
“You’re a filthy little liar.”
One of my fingers moves, teasing her slick entrance at the same time I pull her clit between my lips and suck. Her head falls back, and I moan as I watch her break apart, alternating between massaging her flesh with my tongue and swirling in circular motions.
I pull back just enough to speak around her. “But goddamn, do you taste good. So fucking perfect.”
Diving back in before she can reply, I take note of what has her panting and squirming and redouble my efforts. Sparks of pleasure rain down my back like hellfire, and I feel that familiar heaviness in my balls as my cock hardens to the point of pain, threatening to release from the sound of her enjoyment alone.
I’m not thinking about anything else as I work her over, pushing my index finger into her gently. She’s tight, impossibly so, and I imagine her inner muscles suffocating my dick, milking me dry as I curl and knead, searching for that sweet spot.
Her orgasm crawls through her slowly, starting with her shaky thighs; I can feel it cresting as she pinches her eyes shut and tightens around me, practically cutting off my circulation.
“Yes, just like that, angel. You’re fucking magnificent, coming for me like this. Such a good girl for your stranger.”
Lips parting on a silent scream, her body goes rigid, tremor after tremor racing through her as she finally surrenders.
I groan, trading my mouth for my finger, and vice versa. “That’s it, pretty girl. Soak my fucking tongue.”
Immediately, she’s trembling, fingers grabbing at my hair as I spear into her tight channel. A gush of wetness trickles along my tastebuds, and I can feel myself leaking in my jeans, my cock desperate to be inside of her.
Only when she collapses against the table, limbs going limp, do I pull away. And even that proves to be the most difficult thing I’ve ever fucking done.
Face flushed and drenched in sweat, she keeps her eyes closed, throwing a forearm over them.
I wipe my mouth on the back of my hand, wishing there was a way to imprint the taste of her cum on me forever.
“Well.” I grin, reaching for her arm. “That was—”
Jolting up, she flinches away from my touch, shoving her way off the table. My eyebrows draw in as she scrambles to her feet, yanking her sweats back on.
“A mistake.”
Arms dropping to my sides, I frown. “The only mistake was not starting our evening with that.”
She shakes her head, running a hand through her disheveled hair. “No, no. I told you, I’m not a hooker. This was wrong. So wrong.”
Stepping toward her, my hands slide around her waist, trying to pull her close. To calm whatever switch has just flipped. “It’s not like you get the money I donated. What’s the big deal? Did that not feel good?”
Watery blue eyes turn up at me, and her bottom lip wobbles. “I’m sorry, I need to go.”
“Go?”
I should just let her, especially since I’m sure my own freedom is coming to an end. It probably won’t be long before one of the bodyguards following us tonight makes himself known and escorts me back to the penthouse. Back to reality.
But for some reason, I don’t want to go back yet.
I cup her cheeks, trying to lean in for a kiss, but then she’s tearing out of my grasp and darting from the tattoo station. She barely has time to remember to grab her purse on the way out, and she’s bolting past the front desk and out the door before I can say anything else.
11
The trip back to my hotel is a blur, and my phone rings incessantly the entire way.
My teeth chatter as I stand on the corner of East Fifty-Ninth and Second Avenue, struggling to catch my breath. I sprinted out of the tattoo parlor and didn’t stop until I was swallowed up by the crowd, safe from Aiden’s intensity.
By the time I manage to hail a cab, I turn my cell off completely and pull my hood up, trying to block out the sounds of the city.
It doesn’t do anything, though; pressing my hands to my ears just amplifies everything, and I buckle forward, shoving my head between my knees the way my therapist used to tell me to.
God, I can smell him on me.
What he did to me.
What I let him do.
Bile burns the back of my throat, and it feels like I’ve swallowed a razor blade. My palms slide around to my face, fingers trembling violently against heated skin as I try to focus on getting air to my lungs.
In through the nose, out through the mouth.
“Hey, you can’t puke in here, girly.” The driver’s voice barely penetrates, his harsh tone not loud enough to cover the way my brain screams at me.