Chapter 7
Sabrina
“Are you ready for the best mistake we’ll ever make?”
Yes, my body screams. I crash my mouth against his as my fingers grab his hair and my breasts rub against his chest.
Yes. I thought we might have chemistry based on our past kisses. I was wrong. This isn’t chemistry. This is an inferno.
His hands are everywhere, down my sides and palming my ass, gripping my hair and pinching my nipple. My fingers roam his back and clutch at his shirt. Dexter lodges a thick thigh between my legs. I grind against it shamelessly, chasing the pleasure of his muscles rubbing my sensitive apex.
A manly groan reverberates between our bodies and penetrates under my skin, unleashing electric currents into my veins. When he nips my lower lip and licks down my neck, liquid heat pools in my core. Dex gives each of my nipples a graze of his teeth. I arch for more and sigh with pleasure.
The contrast of his calloused palms and his lush mouth, his rough stubble and his coaxing tongue, his appetite and his skill—all of it overwhelms me in the best possible way. Underneath the passion, I feel his control. I’m desperate to surrender to it.
At the same time, imagining Dex with absolutely no control—wild and rough and potent—excites me.
Our mouths are fused, each taste intensifying my hunger.
I’ve never been kissed like this.
I bet a lot of women say that, my insecurity prods. I’ve witnessed firsthand the way women look at Dexter. The man’s sex appeal and gentlemanly ways have proven irresistible to many.
As his childhood friend, I thought I was immune. Not anymore.
“Sabrina,” he whispers in my ear as he gathers my hair in a fist. “Look at me.”
My eyes flick up. I see the unspoken plea. Even now, during the most mind blowing make out session of my life, Dex isn’t carried away. He paused because he wants me to be sure.
Suddenly, after a lifetime of friendship, I’ve never been more certain of a single fact: I’ll die if we stop. I don’t know what tomorrow brings, but friendship is simply not enough.
At least not tonight.
“Don’t stop. I want you, Dex. Take me to bed. Please, don’t stop.”
I grind my center over his thigh, my lingerie bunched and crumpled between us. I want him to rip everything off. We need to be skin to skin. He hoists me up and wraps my legs around his burly hips.
Tasteful sconces light the room, emitting a glow on each side of the mattress. He lays me down and steps back, eyes roaming my body as he licks his lips.
“Fuck, Sabrina. Now that I know what you look like under your clothes, it’s gonna be impossible to keep my hands off you.”
“You don’t have to keep your hands off me tonight.”
I barely hear my own voice because there’s a gong where my heart should be.
The word lingers in the air between us.
Tonight.
We can contain this mistake to one night, can’t we?
His eyes narrow, assessing my expression. I watch his features morph from hungry to determined.
“Everything about you is beautiful. Look at your hair down your back and those breasts that belong in my mouth. Lie back and let me see the pussy I’ve been dreaming about.”
My breathing stutters. Where did this dirty-talking sex god come from?
It’s still Dexter before me, with his searing blue eyes and infinitely capable hands. But it’s as if he’s revealing another dimension of himself. I can’t tell if I’m nervous or eager to see more. Probably both.
I crawl to the center of the bed, though I refuse to lie back. My knees are tight together, calves tucked under one hip. In response to my reluctance, he raises one brow and shakes his head.
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he says gruffly and with a tinge of impatience. “You are going to lie down and open your thighs, nice and wide. Show me how much you want my mouth on your pussy. I like to appreciate my meal before I eat.”
A gasp of disbelief comes out of me.
“Holy shit, Dex, I had no idea.”
“What do you mean?”
“That this is how you talk to women you have on your bed. It’s freaking hot.”
I’ve got no filter. Every bit of energy is spent holding myself in place instead of pulling him over me.
“Women?” His huff is indignant, like I insulted him. “The only woman on my bed is you, Sabrina.”
“C’mon, you know what I mean.”
He shakes his head while unbuttoning his shirt.
It’s mesmerizing, the way his fingers efficiently flick each obstacle out of the way, the fabric gaping till his gloriously sculpted torso is unveiled.
The movement is slow and precise. I can’t take my eyes off his hands as they unbuckle his belt, promising to unleash the rigid length underneath.
Then, he stops.
My eyes fly up to find his amused grin. I know bait when I see it. He rubs his groin, drawing my attention like a magnet. Thick and long, his bulge strains against the zipper. A zipper he has yet to pull down.
“You’re torturing me!” I declare incredulously.
“You want to see how hard I am for you? Then do what you’re told.”
His voice is soft and husky, but there’s no denying the tone. It’s an order.
“Lie back and open your legs.”
“What if I don’t?” I sound like a brat.
Not sure why I’m resisting at all. Every part of my body vibrates with the need to be closer. Yet there’s something stronger thrumming in my veins. A compulsion to see what he’ll do if I disobey. A small rebellion to test his limit.
Instead of answering, he puts one knee on the bed and leans in, his body looming over me. He smells of sandalwood and pine, our kiss lingering on his honeyed breath.
“You need convincing before you do what I tell you? I can work with that.”
There’s a hint of mischief to his raspy voice, like a secret he’s been saving for exactly this moment.
Dex kisses my jaw, the shell of my ear, and down my neck. It’s light and playful at first before the kisses get increasingly urgent and insistent. He sucks the junction between my neck and collarbone, hard and harsh.
I fall on my back at the pleasure.
His mouth finds my breasts as he repositions his elbows on either side of me, using his ridged abdominals to rub against my apex.
Dex shoves the delicate cups aside and worships my breasts, licking the valley between them and pinching the sensitive tips.
A heavy palm runs up and down one side, gripping one butt cheek firmly and tilting my lower half to grind harder and deeper.
He draws my nipples into his mouth and sucks hard till I’m reduced to frayed nerves and delirious moans.
Sensations overwhelm me.
It’s as if I’m discovering my own body for the first time.
He makes me feel treasured and plundered, protected and ruined all at once.
Ruined for anyone else, I mean. Because as much as I’m falling apart, his embrace makes me feel substantial and whole.
An unexpected sense of completeness washes over me.
Dex moves lower, leaving a wet trail of erotic nips and kisses, until he’s over my mound.
He’s right.
I open my legs because he’s right.
“That’s it, Sabrina. Nice and wide, so I can see how wet you are.”
“Dex, Dex,” I chant. His breath lingers over my core and the aching pressure is nearly unbearable.
He licks me in slow, continual strokes. The flat of his tongue awakens every erotic cell in my body.
There’s a steady thrumming at my center.
He eats me in a steady rhythm that intensifies, moving quicker and pressing firmer when I need him to.
My desperation builds. Dex devours me with the enthusiasm of a man determined to relish every flavor.
He carries me to a blissful precipice so acute it’s sharp, nearly painful.
I’ve had a few boyfriends through the years. Nothing serious, but enough to know I love giving head.
The other way around has never been as satisfying. Till now.
This is what it’s like when a man knows what he’s doing. And like someone in complete control, Dex gives pleasure while withholding what my body craves the most.
Release.
“God, you feel so good, Dex.” I can barely speak as lust strangles me. “I need more. Please. I’m so close.”
“What are you gonna do the next time I tell you to lie down and open your legs for me, wife?”
I gasp and look down between my thighs.
His mouth and beard glisten with moisture, his expression possessive.
We stare at each other while he resumes the deep French kissing of my folds.
It’s so freaking hot, my hips buck of their own will, chasing pressure.
Dex’s hands keep me in place while his mouth and tongue penetrate deeper and rougher.
“Hmm?” he asks with a deep baritone that vibrates through my sensitive walls.
“I’ll lie d-down. When, um, when y-you tell me to,” I manage with stops and starts.
He buries his face with a satisfied huff, his tongue penetrating my channel before pulling back to graze my clit. My body scrunches up in response. Dex grips my ass firmly and bites the inside of my thighs, prompting them to widen.
“And when I tell you to open your legs?” His beard titillates my inner thighs and his nose nudges my throbbing center.
“I’ll open my legs,” I mumble obediently, teetering at the brink of an orgasm and desperate for him to push me over.
“That’s right, Sabrina. You open your legs when I tell you to. Like a very good wife.”
He doesn’t wait for a response to those shocking words. I’ve never been talked to this way and yet, somehow, it is exactly what I need to hear. As if his words flipped a switch, my body yields and my brain empties out. I am nothing but an instrument of his pleasure.
A very good wife.
I have no intention of analyzing why those words are so sexy. My brain is no longer working, after all.
Dex returns his attention to my wet folds, lapping his tongue and moving his lips with perfect friction.
Mercifully, his long fingers press into my channel, churning my arousal and stroking my walls. He plunges deep just as he wraps his hot lips around my clit and sucks hard.
My climax whips through me like a live current, releasing jolts of electricity in forceful surges. The sensation arches my back and blanks my mind. I’m writhing and bucking through the climax.
When I come down from the high of an unbelievable orgasm and refocus on my surroundings, I’m treated to the wolfish grin of a devastatingly gorgeous man. I’ve known him for most of my life, yet never allowed myself to admit the truth: Dexter Whitby is the sexiest man alive.
“You’re looking very pleased with yourself,” I say, unable to hold back my own smile.
“Me? You’re not seeing what I’m seeing.”
I chuckle. No doubt I’m a portrait of sexual satisfaction.
“So, that’s, um, wow, it was . . .” I stop because my brain is malfunctioning.
Words. I need words. Instead, my mouth stays open like a gaping fish.
“Take your time. We got all night,” he says.
But then what? What happens after tonight?
Anything? Nothing?
It strikes me that nothing is the safest yet most terrifying answer of all.