Page 101 of Sin of Love
“Are you for real?” I ask, wiping tears from my cheeks. The urge to cry has vanished; now I’m struggling not to laugh. “God, Gideon, you’re such a—”
“Sinner or a saint, depending on your mood. But you love me no matter what.” Dropping to his knees, he lifts my shirt to kiss my stomach. “Hello, tiny tadpole. I’m your dad. I love you. And I’m about to show your mom how much I love her.”
He pulls the knot on my drawstring pants.
“What are you doing?” I gasp, glancing toward the curtain-free windows, thankfully shielded by a line of trees and a fence. “The car’s outside, Gideon.”
He chuckles, dark and rasping, and goose bumps explode over my skin. The touch of his tongue on my lower abdomen almost buckles my knees.
“We’ll miss our flight.”
My words lack conviction and fade to a moan of surrender when his fingers find me slick and ready. Within seconds, my hips are hungrily chasing the movement of his hand.
Standing, he sweeps his mouth across mine. “I told you once that you were my masterpiece, but I was wrong. You, mon bijou, are your own perfect work of art. You belong to yourself. I’m merely here to worship the divine inside you.”
His words vibrate against more than my mouth. They ricochet inside my heart, spread warmth through my limbs, and ignite a feral need.
I attack his belt buckle.
“What about our flight?” he asks brightly.
“We’ll catch a later one.”
Then I’m in his arms, my legs around his naked hips and the still-wet wall against my back, paint sticking in my hair.
I don’t care about cars or flights or the mess. Not when he drives inside me with abandon, groaning as he licks and nips at my mouth. Not when his slow, rolling thrusts drag cries from my throat that echo through the empty room.
He doesn’t allow himself to climax until I’ve come twice and am a sweaty, boneless mess plastered against the wall. Then, only then, does my wild god grin.
Triumphant.
