Jill’s own hands jerked against the handcuffs as his fingers found her nipples, tweaking her in just the right way to find that exquisite place between pain and pleasure.
By the time his hands moved down to her skirt, his fingers pulling the fabric upward, inch by slow inch, Jill was panting.
“If I say sorry, do I get these off now?” she asked.
In response, he placed a hand on her back, pushing her gently but firmly forward so she was bent over the counter.
He slid down the back of her body until he was crouched behind her, roughly pushing her skirt the rest of the way up over her hips.
Jill squeezed her eyes shut, torn between embarrassment and arousal. Then arousal won over, because his fingers hooked into her panties, yanking them down so she was completely exposed.
“Shall I read you your rights, Henley?” His breath was hot on her skin, his fingers dragging slowly along her inner thighs.
“Wha—what?” She was definitely panting now.
He pushed her thighs wider apart. “You have the right to remain silent…”
Vincent slid his hand upward, one finger sliding slightly into her.
Jill moaned.
“Apparently you’re forgoing that right,” he said, his teeth nipping at her left butt cheek as his fingers continued to play with her.
“Vin, you—”
“Careful, baby. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”
He eased his finger all the way inside her then, his other hand sliding around to her front to rub her in slow, torturous circles.
“You’re a bastard,” she said, pressing her cheek against the cool surface of the counter, even as the place between her legs grew wetter, hotter.
“Yeah? Tell it to your attorney. Because you have a right to talk to a lawyer—” He broke off at Jill’s cry of pleasure as he slid another finger inside her.
Vincent was still in control, but he was unraveling fast. She could hear it in his breath. Feel it in the way his hands were shifting from teasing to greedy.
She parted her legs as far as she could with her panties still around her ankles, silently encouraging him to continue his wicked touch.
His forefinger centered on her core, rubbing in tight, perfect circles, and Jill’s entire body tensed—begging for release.
Release he didn’t give her.
He withdrew his hands, standing behind her. Jill heard the clank of his belt buckle, the rasp of his zipper.
Felt the brush of his fingers against her as he positioned his cock at her opening. But not entering.
She pushed her hips back, and he pulled away slightly. “Tell me what you want,” he said, tracing the sensitive finger just above where the handcuffs held her hostage.
Jill refused to answer. He already had her handcuffed and bent over her kitchen counter. Damned if she’d give him everything.
She looked over her shoulder, lifted her eyebrows in challenge as she remained stubbornly silent.
His eyes narrowed, and his hand slid down to her butt, slapping it just hard enough to cause a delicious little sting. “Jill.”
She pushed her ass toward him in response, arching her back, and relished his little groan.
“Sorry, babe. Not good enough,” he said, planting a kiss between her shoulder blades.
Then he spun her around, dropped to his knees, and tongued her.
Jill gave a sharp cry, pulling at the handcuffs in a desperate, futile attempt to hold his head against her. But she didn’t need to. His hands found her hips, holding her still as his mouth devoured her in a hungry caress.
Only when Jill sobbed his name did he stand, nipping her nipple once before spinning her around once more and plunging into her with one firm smooth stroke.
He paused then, resting his forehead against her shoulder, his breath ragged. He kissed her once on the top of her shoulder. It was a sweet gesture completely at odds with the fierceness of the rest of their encounter, and she turned her head, her lips finding his. Their tongues tangled in a hot kiss until he finally pulled away, his eyes latching onto hers. When she turned around he pulled back before pushing into her, slowly.
This time when Jill leaned forward, it was of her own volition, and Vincent groaned in gratification. His fingers dug into her hips as he took her hard.
There was nothing soft about the way he drilled her into the counter. Nothing tender about the sounds their bodies made as they slapped together. Nothing delicate about the way she came apart the second he slid a hand around to her clit.
But when Vincent found his own release, the way her name sounded on his lips sounded like a prayer.
And that was everything.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Vincent wasn’t prone to embarrassment. He didn’t think he was hardwired for it.
But when his vision stopped spinning enough to pull himself away from Jill and unlock the handcuffs, he was damn glad her back was still to him, because he felt oddly shy at the way he’d taken her like an animal.
Shyness transitioned to regret as he saw the faint red lines around her wrist. “Ah, Jill—”