18. Bianca
18
BIANCA
R ork’s fingers touching my clit nearly make me come undone. The sensation is overwhelming, my body responding to his touch with a mind of its own. His fingers explore my slick heat, and I can’t help the soft moan that escapes my lips. It’s maddening how much control he has over me, how effortlessly he can break down my defenses.
The sight of his bare, muscular, tattoo-covered chest as he burst through the door was enough to get me excited, but I’m not going to tell him that. The raw, untamed power he exudes is intoxicating, making it hard to remember why I was angry in the first place.
And then he kissed me, and I nearly forgot my own damn name. His lips claim mine with such conviction, such fierce determination, that it leaves me breathless. James Ambrosio’s kisses are nothing compared to this. James and I were each other's first kiss, and it showed in how clumsy James was. Even our make-out sessions made me feel like I'd just kissed a dog.
But not Rork.
Every kiss is a statement, a promise of things to come. His mouth moves against mine with a hunger that mirrors my own, a desperate need that consumes us both. I can feel the heat radiating off his body, the intensity of his desire matching my own. It’s as if the world outside these walls has ceased to exist and all that matters is this moment, this connection between us.
His fingers continue their relentless exploration, and I arch into his touch, unable to resist the pleasure coursing through me. He somehow knows exactly how to drive me wild, how to make me forget everything but the feel of him against me. My hands clutch at his bare shoulders, my nails digging into his skin as I struggle to hold on to some semblance of control.
“Bianca,” he whispers against my lips, his voice thick with desire, “you can’t deny this.”
I want to protest, to push him away and regain my composure, but I can’t. His touch is too persuasive, too commanding. “Rork,” I manage to gasp, my voice trembling. “This… this is…”
“Real,” he finishes for me, his fingers sliding deeper, eliciting a cry of pleasure from my lips. “Don’t fight it.”
But my willful defiance wins out, and I try to push him away, desperate to make him stop. I don't want him to know how appealing I find him, how his touch sets my body on fire. I summon every ounce of strength I have left, pressing my hands against his chest, trying to create distance between us.
“Rork, stop,” I order, but my voice lacks conviction, trembling with the intensity of my conflicting emotions. I need to maintain control, to keep up the pretense that I’m unaffected by him, but it’s a losing battle. His touch is relentless, his fingers coaxing sensations from me that I can’t ignore.
Now, I have nothing to hide behind, no self-righteous indignation to shield me. My traitorous body has given away my secret, the undeniable truth that I am as drawn to him as he is to me. My resolve crumbles, leaving me exposed and vulnerable.
“Bianca,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down my spine. “I can feel how much you want this.”
I hate that he’s right. My body betrays me, arching into his touch, my breaths coming in shallow gasps. The desire is overwhelming, a tidal wave that drowns out my protests. I want to deny it, to cling to my anger and pride, but it’s impossible. Rork knows exactly how to unravel me, and he does so with devastating precision.
“Don’t fight it,” he whispers, his lips brushing against my ear. “Let go.”
I don’t want to, but my body has other plans. Bucking my hips forward, I grip his shoulders and pull him closer. His eyes gleam with a mix of triumph and desire as he leans closer, his breath hot against my skin. “You clearly like something about being my wife if you’re this aroused,” he taunts, his voice a husky whisper.
Before I can muster a response, he inserts a third finger inside me, stretching me beautifully. The sensation is electric, his touch skilled and deliberate. Each movement sends waves of pleasure coursing through my body as his thumb circles my clit. I gasp, clutching at his shoulders, trying to ground myself as he takes me to the brink of sanity.
“Rork,” I try to say, but it comes out as a moan.
My mind goes blank, unable to remember what I was about to say. I’m overwhelmed by the intensity of his fingers pumping in and out of me, teasing and coaxing, driving me closer and closer to the edge. This is so much better than touching myself. This is exquisite.
I can feel the pressure building, my body tightening with anticipation. It’s almost too much to bear, the pleasure so wonderful it borders on pain.
“Rork,” I try again, my voice a desperate plea. I can hardly form words, lost in the throes of sensation. He continues his relentless assault, his fingers curling just right, hitting a spot inside me that makes my vision blur.
Just when I think I can’t take anymore, when I’m on the verge of climax, he pauses, his fingers stilling inside me. The sudden absence of movement is maddening, leaving me teetering on the edge of climax, my body aching for release. I gasp and look up at him, my eyes wide and pleading, my breaths coming in ragged gasps. His eyes lock onto mine, dark and intense.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asks, his voice a seductive murmur that sends another wave of heat through me. His eyes bore into mine, challenging me, daring me to admit the truth.
Every nerve in my body screams in protest at the thought of him stopping. I shake my head, unable to form a coherent response. The need for him, for this, is too overwhelming to deny.
“Tell me, Bianca,” he says, his fingers moving just enough to send a wave of pleasure through me and cause a groan to escape my lips. “Do you want me to stop?”
I want to say yes, to reclaim some semblance of control, but all that comes out is a lascivious groan, a sound that betrays my desperate need for him. Rork’s lips curl into a dark, cruel chuckle, a sound that sends another jolt of desire through me.
“That’s what I thought,” he murmurs, and before I can gather my wits, he kisses me deeply, his mouth claiming mine with a hunger that matches my own. At the same moment, his fingers begin to move again, resuming their relentless rhythm.
The combined assault of his kiss and his fingers is overwhelming. His tongue explores my mouth with the same expert precision as his fingers explore my body, driving me to the brink of madness. I moan into his mouth, my nails digging into his shoulders as if holding on for dear life.
Rork’s fingers move faster, deeper, his thumb continuing to brush against my clit with perfect timing. The pleasure builds and builds, each wave crashing over me with increasing intensity. I can feel myself spiraling out of control, my body trembling as the climax approaches, unstoppable and all-consuming.
“That’s it, Bianca,” Rork murmurs against my lips. “Let go. Let me see you fall apart.”
And then it hits me. The orgasm rips through me, powerful and all-encompassing, leaving me gasping and crying out into his mouth. My body convulses, every nerve alight with ecstasy as Rork continues to finger me, prolonging the exquisite torture.
Finally, the waves of pleasure subside, leaving me spent and breathless in his arms. He pulls back slightly, his eyes searching mine, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips.
“That’s what I thought,” he whispers, his voice a low, satisfied purr. “You can’t deny it, Bianca.”
I can only nod weakly, my body still humming from the aftershocks of my climax. At this moment, there’s no point in denying the truth. Rork has shattered my defenses, leaving me—for the moment—exposed and vulnerable, completely at his mercy.
And despite everything, I can’t help but crave more.