34. DIANA #2
His thumb grazes my upper lip, tracing it, flooding me with a prickling heat that pools between my legs.
“Realising that if we ever had sex, it wouldn’t be the first time.
That we’d already done it and I hadn’t even known.
I could never have you for the first time.
” My breathing slows, but I can’t form a word as his thumb pulls down on my lower lip. “What do you have to say about that?”
I shake my head, but the movement is negligible because my lip is still pinned by his thumb. I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.
“Hmm.” He drags his thumb back and forth. “I should punish you. Bend you over my knee and spank you until you can’t walk.”
“I deserve it,” I say, words muffled because of how he’s still touching my lip.
He nods. “You do. How are you feeling about that no repeats rule right now?”
Tension swirls, tugging me towards him.
“It’s a terrible rule,” I mutter. “We should scrap it.”
“Agreed,” he says, and as I open my mouth to speak again, his thumb slips inside. I suck, curling my tongue around it, tasting the salt of his skin. “Because I can’t let you walk away again.”
I suck harder, and he groans, easing his thumb out of my mouth and fisting it inside curled fingers.
“How many men have you slept with, Diana?”
The question surprises me. I wipe my mouth on the back of my hand. “You can’t ask that.”
“Fine. But tell me, did it ever feel the way it felt with me?”
All the breath leaves my lungs. “No.” My nipples are hardened peaks beneath the cotton of my top, and all I want is for him to reach out and touch them. “Never.”
As he looks down at me, his pupils are so dilated that his eyes are almost black. “You wanted more, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” I say breathlessly.
Sinking onto the stool beside me, he cups my face, thumb gently caressing my cheekbone. His forehead touches mine, leaving only a tiny gap between our mouths that holds so much more than a few millimetres of air. It’s potent with confessions we haven’t yet made.
I’m trapped with him, right here, on the edge of irreversible change.
“I hate that you did this,” he says.
“I know. I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you. So many times, I wanted to. But I couldn’t do it.”
“Fuck,” he moans, the sound full of regret. “And all along, I’d already kissed you. Tasted you. Slid my fingers inside you and made you come.” He sighs out a few breaths, rolling his forehead against mine a touch. “I wanted all those things so much, and I’d already had them.”
“I wanted them too. I wanted them again. I still want them.”
He groans, then his mouth is on mine, soft and almost tender.
I melt into his arms, accepting this kiss for what it is: the culmination of the tension between us.
The us that lives in this house. The dangerous version that isn’t just no-strings sex, but is something else entirely.
Something frightening and all-consuming.
I could fall into this kiss and never get out.
I could drown in it. Each hot glide of his tongue against mine offers another version of reality, one where I’m allowed to fall.
Allowed to feel. I’ve never felt so consumed by someone else’s mouth, as though all that exists is his mouth and mine, and the darkness behind my closed eyelids.
We move like one being, tasting and feeding and taking everything we’ve denied ourselves over the last weeks.
I moan into his mouth, and he answers the call with a low rumble of his own.
I can’t do this. I don’t deserve it. He should have punished me for what I’ve done, just like he threatened to. Instead, he’s rewarding me with kisses.
I break away, my breath coming rapidly, chest heaving through the cotton of my top. The corners of his eyes crease with concern, the dark irises scanning all over my face.
“Diana…” He glances away, pulling in a few ragged breaths. “We shouldn’t.”
It sounds almost like a question, as if he’s giving me the final call.
“No.” I shake my head. “No.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “But yes.”
He lets out a breathy chuckle against my lips. “One time?”
Relief has my shoulders dropping. “To get it out of our systems?”
He nods. “Just sex. Is that easier to handle?”
I can’t work out what he means. Easier than what? But I don’t care, not right now, and the only words I can form are, “Yes. Yes.”
“Okay.”
The tenderness in his gaze vanishes as he slides his hand to the back of my neck, where he grips my hair, tugging so hard my head tilts back further.
He lowers his mouth to the exposed expanse of my throat, the tip of his nose running over the skin, a shiver of potent need racing in its wake.
“Do you know what I want tonight?” he asks.
“What?”
“I want to be thoroughly indecent in my own home.” He tugs on my hair again. “Do you know how often I’ve watched you in here? Wanted you? Wished I could carry you into my office and lock the door and…”
I gasp, my head spinning from how fast this situation is escalating. “And what?”
“And bend you over my desk, push up your skirt, and slide my fingers into your cunt. You’d be wet, wouldn’t you?”
Slickness gathers between my thighs at the words. “Mmm. Yes.”
“Mmm,” he echoes. “Just for me. Are you wet every day, living in my house, Diana?”
I take a few breaths before answering, even though I’m pretty sure he knows the answer. “Yes. Every day, all the time,” I admit, and I don’t miss the satisfaction that dances over his face, fleeting and transient, but there nonetheless.
“I’d make you come like that, bent over and full of my fingers. Mindless and moaning on the desk.” A smirk tugs at one side of his gorgeous mouth when I let out a whimper. “Would you like that?”
“Yes.”
He kisses the side of my neck, trailing more right up to my earlobe, which he pulls into his mouth and sucks on, sending a flare of lust burning from that point, diving through my core and hollowing me out.
“And when you were so desperate for my cock you couldn’t think straight, I’d fuck you from behind. How does that sound?”
“Good,” I gasp.
He nods at my top. “Take it off.”
I want to be reckless; I want to be completely naked in his hands and let him do anything he wants to me. I crave this man, his body, his touch, his voice; all of it. I need him like an addict needs their next hit.
He grips my cotton tank top and tugs it upward, urging it over my head. I’m not wearing a bra and my body fizzes, the anticipation of being touched by him almost too much to bear. He grazes his fingertips over my stomach, and each contact sears, my skin fluttering beneath it.
He tosses my top to the floor, and I stand before him, half-naked and bathed in moonlight, my skin a pale silver.
“You are divine. A goddess,” he whispers, cupping my breasts in his hands, strumming my painfully hard nipples.
With each brush of his thumbs, I melt a little more, arching my back, pressing into him.
“You want to come like this?” he growls, leaning in so he’s speaking at my ear.
“With just my hands.” He strums my nipples. “Here?”
“Uh-huh.” I know he could do it. If I let go entirely and sank into the building arousal, he’d have me orgasming just from how he’s playing with my tits.
And he fucking knows it. I lean into it, focusing on the desire, the lust, the need in my system, and ignoring the other unmentionable thing we’ve set aside.
Lizzie.
He dips his head, teasing my peaked nipple with his tongue, circling it, and using his hand to caress my other breast. He sucks hard, and a fiery streak of desire blasts all the way from his mouth to my clit. “Oh, fuck,” I gasp.
He straightens to his full height, towering over me. “Put your hands on the island.”
Obediently, I do as he says.
“Bend over.” His voice is a deep growl that makes my stomach somersault even as I fold myself in half, presenting my arse to him.
I can hardly believe this is happening here, right where we’ve worked side-by-side every night.
To sleep with him at Delirium was one thing, but here, in the penthouse… there’s no turning back from this.
He slides his fingers in the waistband of my shorts and glides them down my legs, helping me step out of them. On his way back up, he strokes the outside of my legs from ankle to hip, and I can’t catch a breath.
A whimper escapes me as he stands behind me, palming my bare arse, teasing the cheeks apart. I can’t imagine what I must look like; I’m so desperate for him I can hardly keep still.
Leaning forward, he pushes my hair to one side and whispers, “You have a perfect pussy.” He pushes his fingers inside me, and I groan at the fullness and the weight of his body against my back.
“So wet. So tight.” He lets out a low groan, full of want that makes me feel powerful, yet helpless, bent over for him like this. “You want this so bad, don’t you?”
“Mmm. I do.”
“Look at your needy little cunt, begging to be full of my cock. Can you hear that?” Holding me in place with one hand on my lower back, he uses the other to slide his fingers slowly in and out, and the unmistakable wet, slick noises of my arousal fill the kitchen. “I fucking love that sound.”
His voice sounds like it’s coming from somewhere low, as if he’s crouching behind me. Imagining him inspecting me, and how filthy it must look, my pussy throbs, making me squirm. God, this is depraved.
My palms press harder on the island. If anyone could bring me to climax with just his words, it’s Rafe Bastion.
“You have a beautiful cunt. Fuck,” he curses, and then his hands are on my arse, opening me up, his tongue at my entrance as he feasts on me.
I let out a feral moan, and my legs tremble. Much more of this, and I’ll collapse.