Sins of the Soul

“Wait…” Her protest was barely a whisper as he sank down before her to kiss her belly, and lower, taking her out of her comfort zone. This was too fast. Too intimate. “Wait—”

“No.” He splayed his fingers on her thigh, gently pushing her back against the wall.

The plaster was cool against her naked skin. He slanted her a glance through his lashes, then dipped his head and ran his tongue along her center in a slow glide, making her gasp. Again he licked her, and again. Her knees buckled. She slid down the wall, legs splayed, his hands on her buttocks, guiding her descent until she lay with her shoulders propped against the wall, which meant she could watch him lick her, suck her—

He used his teeth, not hard, just enough to make her arch and cry out in pleasure, in need. Then he used his tongue, slow and lingering, then faster, working circles and lines. He made her sigh his name. He made her gasp. He made her whisper, “Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Oh, God. Please, don’t stop.”

Closing his hands on her hips, he held her still as she thrashed and struggled, trying to get away, trying to get closer. Closer. Please. Yes. Now. So close.

Her fingers tangled in his hair and held on like he was the only stable thing in a wild, pounding storm.

“Come for me, Naphré. Now. Let me watch you come.” He pushed his fingers inside her again, stretching her, filling her. He put his mouth on her clit.

She was so close.

He reached up and stroked his thumb over her nipple, then pinched just hard enough to take her to the thin line between pleasure and pain.

She tore apart. She screamed as she climaxed, hips thrusting up from the floor, back arched, every nerve in her body chasing the pleasure. He held his tongue lightly against her clit, making her release go on and on in endless crashing waves.

Her heart felt like it would beat right out of her chest.

As though from far away, she felt him disengage her fingers from his hair, felt him move away from her and she thought he would strip off his clothes and come to her, heavy and hard. The thought made her shiver.

She lay there, drifting, waiting, and then she realized he was taking too long.

Forcing her lids open, she saw him sitting on the edge of her bed, fully clothed, his eyes hot as he watched her. His gorgeous mouth was curved in a masculine smile.

“I’d love to have a photo of you, just like that.”

She pushed up on her elbows and felt a flush creep into her cheeks as she looked down at herself. Her legs were spread wide, offering him a very clear view of anything he might wish to see.

She straightened her legs and brought them together, feeling strangely shy.

“Aren’t you going to…” She shook her head, not certain how to ask, what to ask. He’d made her come. One of the wildest orgasms of her life. Maybe the wildest. Now he was sitting there in his charcoal pants and impeccably tailored—if somewhat rumpled and bloodstained—white shirt, with a hard-on so obvious she could have seen it from the moon. And he wasn’t making a move toward her.

A pained expression touched his features, and he reached down to rearrange himself as he shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. There’s the small inconvenience of a drug wearing off.”

The silence was deafening. She stared at him, uncomprehending.

And then she heard what he’d heard. A moan, followed by the shush of cloth on cloth. Like someone was shifting restlessly in the moments between wake and sleep.

Looked like puke girl was waking up early.





CHAPTER THIRTEEN



ALASTOR WATCHED AS Naphré reached for her underwear, enjoying every small movement and the play of sleek muscle under her smooth golden skin. He almost groaned as she slid the straps of her bra up her arms and positioned the lace to cup her breasts. He found the sight of her putting things on as intensely erotic as watching them come off.

She slanted him a glance from beneath her lashes. He didn’t bother to pretend he wasn’t taking in the view. Instead, he reached down and shifted his cock to a less uncomfortable angle. Didn’t help. He was so hard, he felt like his skin would split.

Her gaze dipped to the front of his slacks. She wet her lips.

“I should have left her in the alley,” she said, her voice rough with both lust and regret.

“No argument.” He held out his hand. “Come here.”

She crossed to the bed and stood over him, holding his gaze, a million questions in her eyes.

Catching her hand, he drew her closer, between his spread thighs. Then he reached up, curled his fingers around the back of her neck and drew her lips toward his.

“I don’t want to…” Her voice trailed away, but he knew what she meant to say. I don’t want to kiss after oral sex.

“I do,” he said. And he put his mouth on hers, opening his lips, tasting her, letting her taste him…and herself.

A second of resistance, and then he felt it melt away.

She leaned one knee on the bed, bending in closer to him, her hand sliding down the front of his shirt along the planes of his chest and the ridges of his abdomen.