Page 23 of Stolen Vows
“Everyone has fantasies. Even sweet virgins like yourself.” A pause, and I feel leather scrape against me, sliding inward and upward. One sweep over my panties makes my knees tremble. “What is it you get off to?”
Gritting my teeth, I shake my head. “That’s none of your business.”
“No?” While he continues exploring, his other hand glides up my throat, collaring me. “Whose business would it be, aside from your husband’s?”
I don’t respond. Already, I’m starting to recognize this little game he wants to play—cat and mouse—where he wins every time.
Well,almostevery time.
“Fine. If you don’t want to share with the class, I’ll just use my own.”
“Your own what?—”
Pressure blossoms on my pussy as he curls his fingers under me from the back, swirling lightly. I suck in a gasp of air, the sudden friction making me dizzy. Aside from outside the church yesterday, no one’s ever touched me there before; my stolen groping sessions in the Fontbonne Academy bathrooms and the confessional at confirmation were strictly above the waist, because the older girls said it wasn’t a sin if you did it that way.
But this feels like sin. Delicious, deadly sin. The kind that gets you kicked out of heaven for good.
His hand leaves my throat to thread in my hair, and he buries his nose in my scalp, inhaling deeply. “God, your hair is fucking magical. I wish I knew why I want it wrapped around my dick so badly.”
My eyes widen, and for a second, I’m afraid he’ll do just that. I cringe, imagining the mess, but then another image takes over—his complete and utter desperation, driving him to such miserable heights that he finds arousal from my hair alone.
Neither of my sisters can say they’ve driven a manthatmad before. Just me, the boring one.
It fills me with a surge of pleasure, but then Leo’s speaking again, strumming that thread and making it coil tighter within me.
“We can save the depravity for later, I suppose. My cum in your hair might not be the best decision right now, so I’m just going to finger fuck you right out here. You’re going to ride my hand to oblivion, and you’re going to come all fucking over me.Allover me, got it? I want to be dripping wet. I want to smell you before I taste you, and then I’m gonna get on my knees and eat your pussy until you forget your name.”
I feel leather on my bare flesh, parting me and finding that sensitive spot again. He rubs slowly, breathing in tandem with me as I try to steady myself. Each stroke feels better than the last, like he’s learning how to play my body.
People could be watching right now from the comfort of their residences across the street or maybe even from the sidewalk down below. We’d never be able to know for sure, and for some reason, that implication is alluring.
I shift, falling into the moment a little more as he continues to tease euphoria from me.
“How’s that?” he whispers, gently biting my earlobe. “Feels good, doesn’t it? My hands on you after leaving you needy allday? Don’t you wish I’d taken advantage of your state last night and not waited to satisfy you?”
My mouth dries up as tension coils in my gut. “Take them off.”
“Take what off?”
“T—” I swallow again, my brain short-circuiting as he pauses and starts moving in the opposite direction. A little pressure to the right, and my toes curl inside my shoes. “The gloves. I—I want to feel you on me.”
He freezes, and I sense a shift in the air around us. His hand retreats from my clit, quickly removing itself from my body, and the one in my hair follows a second later. Deflated, I adjust my clothes and spin around to face him as he moves back, putting a considerable amount of distance between us.
What the hell just happened?
One minute, he’s hot, dragging me to the edge of oblivion, and the next, he’s leaving me out to dry with no satisfaction.
Shame bubbles up in my chest at the sudden unexplained rejection, even though I shouldn’t care. If anything, I should begladhe stopped. The less he touches me, the more capable I am of keeping my wits about me.
Clearly, I need them.
“You should go inside.” His throat bobs on a swallow, and he shoves his hands in his pants pockets. “It’s late, and you’ll catch a cold out here.”
Confusion pulls at my nerve endings. My eyes slowly drag down his form, noting the torn suit jacket and the red splashed across the chest of his shirt, stretching into a splatter on the side of his neck and beneath his chin.
“Is that blood?” I ask, my hands moving of their own accord, seeking a solution of some sort. Immediately, the desire to correct and erase fills me, and I step toward him, wondering what’s going on.
“Don’t worry.” His lips twitch. “It isn’t mine.”
