Chapter 40
“You’ve been driving me insane,” he growls, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of my leggings. “Prancing around my office in those tight little skirts, looking at me with those fuck-me eyes while pretending to be so innocent.”
His hand slides lower, finding the slick heat between my thighs. I bend off the couch with a strangled cry.
“So wet already,” he murmurs, sounding pleased and predatory. “Tell me who this is for.”
I press my lips together, refusing to give him the satisfaction.
His fingers still. “Tell me. Tell me who this fucking pussy belongs to, Rowan—or I’ll torture you with what could be until you do.”
“You,” I rasp, hating how easily he bends me to his will. “It’s for you.”
His smile is vicious, victorious. “That’s a good girl.”
And then he’s stripping away my leggings, my underwear, baring me completely to his gaze.
He releases my wrists to remove his own clothes, and I take my turn to drink in the sight of him.
It’s more than I could’ve imagined, and God knows I tried. He’s hard planes and sculpted muscle, marked with scars that tell stories I’m not ready to hear. His cock springs free, thick and heavy. My mouth waters at the sight.
I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want him in this moment.
It terrifies me.
I can’t breathe when he looks at me like this. He’s cataloging every inch of my exposed skin. Like he’s deciding which parts to devour first.
Vince lowers himself between my thighs. There’s no hesitation, no fumbling. This man knows exactly what he wants and how to take it.
“Spread wider for me,” he commands, his breath hot against my inner thigh. “Let me see all of you.”
I comply because I’ve lost the ability to do anything else.
The first swipe of his tongue makes me cry out. It’s too much. No—it’s not enough. It’s everything I’ve dreamed of for five years and somehow infinitely more devastating than I imagined, all at the same time.
“Look at me,” he growls against my flesh. “I want to see your face when I ruin you.”
I force my eyes open, meeting his ice-blue gaze as he flattens his tongue against my clit.
The eye contact makes it filthier somehow. More intimate. More dangerous.
“That’s it,” he praises, sliding two fingers inside me one knuckle at a time. “So fucking tight. You’re going to need a lot of preparation to take all of me.”
My walls clench around his fingers at his words, drawing a dark chuckle from him.
“You like that idea, don’t you?” He curls his fingers in a come-hither motion that has me mewling. “You like knowing my cock is going to stretch this virgin pussy to its limits.”
“Yes,” I gasp. Shame and desire are tangling together in my chest until I can’t tell where one stops and the other begins.
He adds a third finger, the stretch burning in the most delicious way. “Tell me how long you’ve wanted this. Tell me how many times you’ve touched yourself thinking about me.”
The demand snakes around my throat like a noose. This is humiliation. This is surrender.
This is everything I’ve ever wanted.
“Every night,” I confess, the words tearing from me. “For years. I’d—oh, God—I’d imagine your hands instead of mine.”
He rewards my confession by sucking my clit between his lips, fingers still working inside me.
“And what did I do to you in these fantasies? Did I make you beg? Did I fuck you until you couldn’t remember your own name?”
“Both,” I moan, hips rocking against his face. “Everything. Anything you wanted.”
He pulls back just enough to say, “That’s what’s happening now, Rowan. Everything. Anything I want.” Then he’s back, tongue circling my clit while his fingers stretch me wider.
I feel the tension building low in my belly, that familiar tightening that signals I’m close.
But I’ve never felt it this intensely before. Never had it consume me so completely.
“Vince, I’m going to—”
“Not yet.” He slows his movements, denying me release. “Not until you admit what this really is.”
I whimper, desperate and confused. “What do you mean?”
His eyes lock with mine, fingers still buried inside me. “This isn’t just about sex. This is about ownership. Tell me who owns this pussy now.”
“You do,” I whisper.
“Louder.”
“You. You own me.”
He plunges his fingers deeper. “And what happens when I claim what’s mine?”
“I take it. All of it. However you give it to me.”
He smiles against my inner thigh. It’s the smile of a man who’s won.
“Good girl. Now, you can come for me.”
His mouth returns to my clit with renewed intensity, fingers fucking into me at a pace that borders on painful.
The combination is too much.
I shatter.
My orgasm rips through me like a hurricane, tearing down walls I’ve spent years building. I’m vaguely aware that I’m screaming his name, that my thighs are clamping around his head, that my body is convulsing beneath the onslaught of pleasure.
But mostly, I’m aware of him watching me.
Drinking in every second of my undoing.
Memorizing the way I look when I’m completely at his mercy.
When I’m almost done twitching with aftershocks, he pulls out of me. The absence makes me whimper.
He crawls up my body, his erection pressing against my oversensitive core. “Was it worth the wait, Ms. St. Clair?”
“Yes,” I breathe without thinking. “It’s worth everything.”
He grins. His lips are streaked with my juices and his eyes are burning coals. “You haven’t even tasted the true worth yet.”
I can’t stop my answering moan.
“Protection?” he asks, voice strained with the effort of control.
I reach for the drawer in my coffee table, extracting a condom that’s been there too long, waiting for a man who never measured up to the fantasy in my head.
The exact same fantasy who’s now kneeling between my thighs, rolling latex down his length.