I WILL SLAY YOU #3
I stare up at him, a long way up because I’m not wearing heels.
He steps into me as another vehicle approaches, and the pressure of him against my hip has me wishing he’d lean down and kiss me.
What is he waiting for?!
I want to scream the words. But I don’t.
I wish I could read his mind, understand what I have to do to make him act, but I’m at a loss.
Unless… I act.
Seizing the moment, I surge onto tiptoe and press my lips to the soft skin below his jaw. It’s embarrassing but that’s all I can reach. His swift inhalation fuels my courage as I rest my hands on his waist, the silk vest a caress against fingertips that would prefer to feel the silk of his skin.
I should have done this last night when he was naked.
Or sweaty. Or both. Wet, too.
Fuck.
All of the above, please?
An exhale whooshes over my forehead and just as I think he won’t act, his hand tips up my chin and his lowers and—
Oh.
God.
The brush of our lips is nothing I expected and everything I hoped for.
It’s expert.
And that triggers my jealousy.
But I have moves of my own. I’ve kissed enough frogs to prepare myself for the prince.
The brush of his mustache against my top lip makes me shiver as I open my mouth to welcome him in. No prevarication when I want him inside me. Desperately.
His tongue flutters over the sensitive underside of my lips, more playful than I thought he’d be as he stirs the nerve endings there to life.
Soft licks, small sips, gentle tastes.
It’s not what I expected.
I like it.
But it’s…
Not Maxim.
I moan.
He graces me with a husky chuckle.
Annoyed, I press into him. Squirming against him so that he can feel my nipples—bra-free—against his chest. Fingers digging in. Hunger dripping from my touch.
And I bite his bottom lip.
Hard.
Which is the “Open sesame” I was hunting for.
He dives in for more.
There’s the dominance I expected as he seizes control of my mouth, of our kiss. Me.
Time stills as he feasts. Suddenly, I’m the smorgasbord from before and he’s the one eating. I’m so okay with the turnaround because, dear Lord, the way he kisses me is divine.
I’m worshiped yet savored.
His reverence is right there—hovering behind every slip of his tongue against mine. Every raw thrust a mimicry of another type of penetration as he looms over me, controlling the tone he established.
Blood settles in my core but also surges to the surface so I’m awash with heat. Skin tingling in desperation for more. His hands cup my throat, the best type of necklace, but the rest of my body craves contact it’s never known before.
I whimper.
The soft sound is another trigger.
The pedestal he put me on years ago cracks and sways when my bones liquify as he forces me to submit to him.
My head falls back as if my neck no longer exists when he fucks my mouth.
Over. And over. More biting thrusts of his tongue against mine as he consumes me whole, proving that his hunger for me is real.
So what’s his deal?
I have to ask? Or show him I want him?
God, why is he so confusing?!
I feel the urgent press of his dick against my hip and take my embryonic hypothesis for a ride. When I rock my pelvis forward, however, he freezes.
Steps back.
I stare at him with blind eyes. Unaware that I look ravaged. Unaware that I silently plead with him for more.
His mouth tightens. His eyes freeze over. His hands fasten the buttons of his sports coat. And like that, he shuts me out.
I hate it.
I hate it so much!
The urge to scream almost chokes me, but he reaches for his pocket square, dabs at his lips, then uses the same handkerchief to press against mine.
“It won’t come off.” That I don’t sound pissed is unfair. Because I am. I’m so mad at him right now—
“The gloss has.” Another vehicle approaches and he steps into me again. “I want that on my neck, Victoria. On my shirt collar. A bright red hands off sign.”
“W-What?”
“You heard me. Let them all know I’m yours.”
“Mine,” I mewl, slumping against the car.
“Oh, yes. Even better, I want that bright red stain around my cock.” He dips low and brushes his lips over my earlobe. “Why would I settle for anything but you?”
My dark red nails press into his chest. “I don’t understand you.”
His callused fingers, a reminder of his origins, smooth over the curve of my ear. “Yes, you do.”
How didn’t I know I was crazy sensitive there?
“I don’t!”
“Can’t you feel who I want?”
“M-Me.”
“Almost.”
“Tell me.”
I don’t care that I’m begging.
“You know the answer. You’re just afraid of it.”
“I don’t. God, tell me. Please!” My hands seek him out again, scooping over his shoulders so I can bury my fingers in his hair. “You’re driving me crazy.”
“When you know who I want, you can have me.”
I stare at him in confusion. Suddenly, I don’t feel smart at all. What the hell is he talking about?!
He tsks but takes pity on me. “I want my future wife, Victoria. Nothing less will do.”
“When?” My nails dig into his scalp, burrowing beneath the crisp waves of his hair, and I see the slightest flicker of his lashes at the biting caress. “When, Maxim?”