Chapter 40
40
Sonny
I don’t know what I’m doing, and I refuse to allow myself the time to overthink or second guess it. This is me taking a moment to veer off the path of what’s right or expected and swerve into something totally unexpected. Something taboo.
It may be a slight overcorrection, but damn . . . it feels right.
The only sign that he’s surprised by my silent agreement to his offer are his eyebrows flicking upward before resuming their usual shadowed scowl. He only allows a millisecond to pass before he’s pushing off the desk and grabbing me by my thighs to hoist me up into his arms with my legs straddling his torso.
In the next blink, his lips are on mine.
They’re softer than I expected. Gentler, but still just as dominant. I’m so swept up in his tongue swiping against my lips, I almost don’t realize he’s carried me over toward the door so he could shut and lock it. Next, he flips the switch on the wall and blankets the room in almost pure darkness before parading us over to the leather couch and softly setting me down.
He pushes his pants down his legs, kicking them off his ankles, and then reaches on the shelf beside me to grab a candle and a lighter.
And while I want to ask what he’s doing, I’m far too distracted by the sheer size of his erection tenting his briefs to form words.
I was way off with my insult earlier. That thing could most certainly gag me.
“As much as I’d love to leave every light on to witness each menial detail of the multiple orgasms you’re about to have, I have a sense that you’ll be quite loud. I don’t want anyone interrupting us because they think I’m murdering you,” he explains, flicking the small lighter and holding it against the wick.
“Someone’s sure of themselves,” I scoff, crossing one ankle over the other.
The longer he’s away from me, the more insecure I feel. Doubt begins to claw its way into my mind, slowly chasing away the confidence I had before.
Setting down the candle, he prowls back over to the couch, stopping right in front of me. With that wicked smirk, he falls to his knees and grabs each of my thighs, then quickly rips them apart far enough for his shoulders to fit between them. My muscles tense, but I force myself to take a deep breath and relax.
He drops his voice an octave, caressing his fingers against my inner thighs. “I’ve had a lot of time to imagine how this would go . . . ”
When he reaches the spot from earlier and notices the purple and black marks that are already forming, he leans forward and places a gentle kiss on each one. Every time his lips meet my skin, I melt down slightly further until my body feels like nothing more than soft putty for him to form and shape however he pleases.
Lifting his gaze to my panties, he hooks his thumbs on either side of my hips and tugs them down with a dark chuckle.
“Such a beautiful little liar,” he muses, holding them between us to show me their saturation.
It’s almost distracting enough to make me forget I’m completely exposed to him with his face just a few inches away.
Almost.
Scooting back onto the couch, I attempt to put some distance between us but he grabs my calves and pulls me down further, until I’m perfectly lined up with his chastising expression.
“If at any point, you decide you don’t want to do this, you can tell me.” When I nod just a little too fast, he tilts his head. “Don’t start getting shy on me now, Little Nightmare. I need you at your worst.”
Biting my lip, I smile sheepishly, and then try to relax again. I should have taken the glass of wine to calm down. This is torture—boomeranging between emotions. The more tense I get, the more insecure I feel and it’s all starting to seem like a colossal mistake. On the other hand, I want this.
No, I need this. On a cellular level, I need this.
When he leans forward again, I stay in my spot but lay my arm across my eyes.
I’m too much of a coward to watch him.
His hot sigh hits my center, and I’m melting again. A simple kiss on the top, innermost part of my thigh has me shuddering out a breath as I lean my head back against the cushion behind me.
Until a large hand wraps around my wrist and tugs my arm off my face.
“I want you to watch me devour you,” he grinds out, returning his hand between my legs to swipe two fingers through my slit.
I gasp, bucking my hips forward and into him.
“I want you to know what it feels like when a real man eats your pussy, so you never accept anything less again.”
My heart shudders in my chest at the predatory expression that’s taken over his face. The aloof, polite professor is long gone, and in his place is the real Raze Whitlock—the cursed man I’ve been warned away from. Someone I get the feeling that few people actually know.
He doesn’t move a muscle until I acknowledge the command, but all I can muster is a stiff tilt of my chin. Thankfully, he accepts, dropping his lashes back down to my soaking wet center. His tongue sweeps against his bottom lip as his arms snake around my thighs, spreading them as far as they’ll go before he leans forward and takes his first taste.
I cry out, shocked at how hot his mouth is against me. Every other man I’ve been with has felt cold and reluctant—a bunch of insecure mouth breathers.
He doesn’t stop, even as I squirm against the seat and whimper into the palm I’ve slapped over my mouth. I can’t seem to sit still as he works his fingers inside of me, his tongue tracing circles around the exact area that sends needles up my spine and turns my legs into jelly.
Navy eyes flick up, framed perfectly between my trembling thighs. When he sees the expression in my face, one brow lifts as he flattens his tongue and runs it across my entire, swollen pussy. I cry out, my hips curling toward his mouth on their own accord as he pulls away and reveals that cocky smirk I’ve grown to hate.
Mercifully, his fingers still slide in and out of me as he asks, “Are you already going to come for me, Little Nightmare?”
My chest heaves, breath flying out of my mouth in hot bursts as I try to focus my mind on what he’s asking and not the way his fingers are working or the building sensation they’re creating. I want to give every piece of myself over to that feeling.
Digging the heels of my palms into the soft leather, I take a deep breath.
“Please,” I manage to hiss out in my exhale.
He chuckles, bowing his head back to my center so the vibration of his laugh reverberates against my skin, and I nearly lose it.
“You taste so fucking sweet,” he muses, tracing his fingers along all the sensitive parts of me before bringing them to his mouth and sucking them dry. “I’ve never had anything like it before.”
I want to ask if he thinks that’s a good thing but just as I open my mouth to speak, his tongue thrusts inside of me without warning, and I see stars.
Pulling back, he pushes his fingers inside of me and quickens their pace while his mouth suckles and swipes around my clit, creating a tornado of sensations. My hands release the leather and grab at his hair as the terror over him stopping before this beautiful feeling blossoms into a full-blown orgasm takes over. My nails scrape against his scalp and down his neck as he increases his rhythm just enough for me to fall completely over the edge and into a weightless, sensational oblivion.
It’s the most powerful orgasm I’ve ever experienced, practically knocking the air from my lungs as ecstasy takes over and soothes my entire being.
Not before I cry out, though. Just as loudly and dramatically as he predicted. I don’t have it in me to be embarrassed right now, especially when he’s looking at me with smug eyes and a broad smile, like he’s proud of what we’ve just accomplished.
He shifts away from me to stand, and all I can do is watch him in wonder as my breaths calm back down. His erection is fighting angrily against the tight material of his briefs, but he doesn’t reach to free it. Instead, he begins unbuttoning his shirt again, only getting halfway before he loses patience and tugs it over his head. I thought I had a decent view of his carved out chest before, but with his shoulders and arms exposed, he resembles something closer to a god than a man.
Tattoos snake down his biceps and over his chest. It’s too dark for me to make out exactly what they are, but it appears to be waves running across his body and a large beetle-looking-thing sitting on his chest.
I don’t have a lot of time to ogle before he’s stepping back in front of me, wrapping his fingers around the base of my crumpled sweatshirt, and pulling it over my head like I’m a child. It had ridden all the way up to the base of my bra, exposing my less-than-flat belly to him.
“Just one time,” he reminds me. “Then, we’ll return to normal.”
I have a feeling he’s telling himself more than me.
“One time,” I confirm anyway, because I may need the reminder as well.
With one singular nod, he points to the back of the couch. “Hold on to that.”
I frown, glancing at the couch, and then back at him. “What?”
“I said,” he drawls, grabbing my wrist to drag me onto the couch and gently set my palm on the spot he pointed to before. “Hold on to this. Both hands.”
When I stare at him for too long, he sighs and puts his hands on his hips.
“New rule: You’re going to do what I tell you without question. Each time you disobey me will draw out your orgasm another minute.” Pointing to the couch again, he barks out, “Now, get your hands on there and spread your knees apart.”
This time, I do what he says without question, fighting against the urge to be a brat and disobey him just to see if he’ll follow through.
“Good.” Walking up behind me, he finally slides his briefs down his legs and slowly begins stroking his length, keeping his gaze trained on my very exposed ass.
“I have this fear that once I get a taste of you, the craving will never subside. You’re an addiction I can’t seem to kick. But you’re going to make torturing you so delicious.”
“I’m doing what you asked,” I whine. The urge to sway my hips and create some friction between my legs builds, but I fight to stay still.
“Yes, but your obedience never lasts very long, does it?”
Raze reaches forward with his free hand, gently wrapping it around my hip to tug me backward, against his groin. He holds us there, with his erection cradled in my ass crack for a few seconds and I can tell by the weight of it there, this is going to hurt.
He hisses out a breath that tells me he’s anticipating this just as much as I am. I want to rush him along—to ask what the hell he’s waiting for—but I know that doing so will only prove him correct, and then he’ll draw it out even worse. Instead, I hang my head between my shoulders and take a deep breath, focusing intently on how amazing it feels at the spot where our bodies meet.
“I lied before, when I implied you weren’t capable of this,” he admits, falling into a slow rhythm against me. “I think you’re far more capable than I’ve given you credit for.”
My head lifts again and I glance over my shoulder with what I hope is a cocky smirk. “Good. Now, fuck me like you know you can.”
Those words activate something in him. One moment, my back is to him and the next, it’s flat against the couch with the air knocked out of my lungs. He falls over me, his lips hungrily working against mine as he settles on top of me.
Everything about us is a contradiction.
His hard hips between my soft thighs.
My heavy breaths sawing out against his calm lips.
His heavy touch digging into my malleable body.
When he pulls away, his pupils are dilated so far, I can hardly see the navy of his eyes.
Long, corded muscles flex beneath the skin of his arms as he shifts his weight onto one palm against the arm of the couch above my head. He uses the other to reach between us and give a lazy stroke to his cock, then line himself up with my center. His head slowly nudges against the entrance, then pulls back.
I whimper and he responds with a subtle grin, then pushes forward again. This time, he allows himself to enter me, and I can feel every inch of him as he slowly leans his hips forward.
A soft sigh passes through his lips and I watch his eyes roll back and shutter closed as he finally has himself seated as deeply as possible. Then, without warning, he quickly pulls back and slams forward again.
His head bends forward to wrap his lips around my exposed breast, catching my nipple between his teeth as he thrusts into me. Each time he pulls back, his teeth leave a burning sting that his tongue soothes with every thrust forward. I cry out in pleasure and pain, arching my back further into him. My body is moving on its own accord, hips meeting his every thrust and pushing him that much deeper each time.
I can’t even wrap my head around what he makes me feel. It’s wild and unrestrained. I want to be ravaged and worshipped by him.
His movements become more frenzied and uncharacteristically sloppy. Uncontrolled. He releases my breast with a pop of his lips, then shifts his weight back on his heels to gaze down at me, never breaking stride. Those wild, wanton eyes watch our bodies move together and I swear, I can almost feel his gaze on me like a physical touch.
He bites his bottom lip and reaches between us, gently rubbing his first two fingers against my swollen, sensitive clit. The smallest amount of pressure practically sends me into overdrive, and I lose my rhythm against him when my hips twitch and my legs shake as the start of an orgasm comes along.
“You’re so fucking intoxicating,” he practically groans, his voice low and strained. Then, he does the absolute worst possible thing and pulls his fingers away to slide them into his mouth and sucks them dry.
“So delicious,” he muses.
My body aches with the need for release.
“Raze, please ,” I whimper again breathlessly, pouting my lips.
He slows his hips and looks back down at me with an unreadable expression, his brows pulled together in a frown. And as if the final piece holding back all his restraint breaks, the infallible mask of stuck-up, overconfident, know-it-all Dr. Whitlock shatters to reveal the real man beneath. He falls forward to capture my lips in a feral, messy kiss that surprises and exhilarates me. Shaking his arm between us, he begins rubbing my clit again and increases his speed until nothing can be heard but the pounding of our flesh and the sound of our lips.
My release sweeps me up swiftly and chaotically. I hardly feel it coming before I’m being carried away in a sea of ecstasy. Raze throws his head back and releases a deep, tormented moan.
He’s the first to move. Pushing his weight back onto his forearms, he gazes down at me with another indiscernible expression. All I can do is stare up at him through hooded eyes, my body limb and satiated.
He leans forward to softly brush his lips against mine, then drops his head into the crook of my neck. I can only lie here, frozen in fear that this spell will lift as hot, uneven breaths saw against my skin.
“You are exactly as perfect as I imagined,” he mumbles against me.
I huff out a laugh that has him pulling away to gaze down at me with his brow cocked in question. How embarrassing would it be for me to admit the same? Why does reciprocating the sentiment feel so childish coming from me?
Instead of explaining, I drop my eyes to his chest and scowl at the realistic tattoo painted across his left pectoral.
“Why is there a huge bug on your chest?”
He frowns and tilts his head, considering me. “It’s a memorial.”
“For a bug?” I laugh. But his face only grows more serious.
“No, for my brother.”
My smile falls. “Oh. I’m sorry for your loss.” It comes out awkward and seemingly disingenuous, especially given our current situation. I’ve already slept with the man, yet this is the first personal thing he’s told me. And I laughed at it.
He doesn’t appear offended. Maybe a little irritated, though I can’t figure out why aside from the fact that he’s been forced to think of his dead brother with a naked woman beneath him.
“It was a long time ago,” he says, eyes bouncing around my face as if he’s searching for something. Pity, maybe?
I wish I could admit that I’ve experienced loss as well. That grief follows me along everywhere I go, and while most people have nothing to offer aside from pity or awkward condolences, I can understand exactly how deep those wounds can go. But I can’t admit any of that to him. Not as Poppy.
So instead, I’ve ruined this perfectly good moment for no reason.
Without warning, he confirms my fears and pulls away, this time to sit back on his knees. But instead of getting him, his hands wrap around my thighs again, pushing them open more.
“What are you doing?” I ask in a shaky voice. I’m not even sure I’ve fully recovered from my last orgasm, and he already looks like he wants to try again.
“I told you, we’ve got one night. I plan to use every second of it. Now, spread your legs and try to keep quiet this time.”