Page 98 of Filthy Little Regrets
The fine hairs on my body rise one by one, a tidal wave of awareness as he closes in, but I force myself to act natural, to keep loading the food back into the bags. The more I panic, the more guilty I’ll appear. Tell that to the anxiety banging around inside my chest. The tips of Mace’s shoes bump my heels, his hands falling on either side of me. My stomach flips. He cages me against the table, looming over me, andinch by inch, he presses his body against mine. Eyelids fluttering closed, I swallow around the lump in my throat. He nudges my head with his cheek, and despite all the warning signs and better judgment, I tilt my head, exposing my neck.
Starting at the base, right at the center of my thudding pulse, Mace drags his nose along my throat, breathing in with a hum of approval. By the time his lips find the shell of my ear, I’m trembling. Fear and lust course through me. The adrenaline from the possibility of being caught tangles with dopamine, an intoxicating mix that has my breath shuddering out of my lungs.
“You have no idea how angry I am,” he says, voice strained.
Fuck. He knows. How? I was so sure it would work. “Mace,” I begin, but he grabs my chin with one hand and my stomach with the other, tugging me against his body. My heart stops.
“And here you are,” he continues, the pads of his fingers pressing into the softness of my belly, pushing my body against his. Fear chases lust, ping-ponging inside of me. An influx of scorching heat and frigid ice. “My pretty liar,” he murmurs.
“Mace,” I manage to say, even with the tight grip on my jaw.
He shushes me and pushes two fingers into my mouth. “Keep saying my name, and I might do terrible things to you.”
My eyes widen, and on instinct, my lips close around his fingers.
He releases a low groan. “That’s it, baby, show me how much you regret lying to me.” His other hand drifts to my dress, tugging the hem up my legs. Slipping his fingers out of my mouth, he drags the wet pads downmy chin, placing his fingers around my neck like a choker. “Time to admit the truth, Cassia. Tell me how much you enjoy your husband fucking you,” he says, knuckles caressing between my thighs.
His words shock the air from my lungs. Is that what this is about?
“Come on, baby,” he coaxes. “Confess.”
“What am I admitting?”
“You’ve been lying to yourself, swearing you hate me,” he murmurs, fingers pulsing on my throat as he drags my dress a little higher. “But you want me, too, don’t you?”
Relief shoots through me. He doesn’t know. Fear slowly dissipates, leaving my limbs trembling and the heat of his touch scorching my insides. I’m still trapped, but the thing is, I like the feeling. I like being surrounded by his strength. To know that, if he wanted, he could destroy me. Anticipation shoots through my veins.
“And I’m tired of you lying,” he continues, cupping my cunt with his hand. He chuckles at how damp my thong is and the way I arch into his hold.
I have no words. My mind’s ability to function has fled, along with the fear. He’s right—I’m a liar, about more than one thing. It almost feels cruel to let him continue knowing what I’m about to do, but he grinds his palm against me and electricity lights up my insides. I gasp.
He hums. “The thing is,” he says, slipping his hand into my panties. “You don’t even have to say it. I know that, despite how much you want to hate me, your body craves me as much as mine craves you.” He slides two fingers through my folds, gliding down with ease to tease my entrance. “Every time that pretty mouth screams my name, I know you’re lying.”
My walls clamp down on his fingers as theyease inside of me. His thumb ghosts over my clit, and I release a heavy exhale, dropping my head back against his shoulder, his hand still a pretty necklace.
“Despite all the lying, you feel like heaven in my arms,” he murmurs, squeezing my throat. “Do you want to come?”
I nod.
He tightens his hold. “Let me hear you say it, gorgeous.”
“Please,” I rasp, licking my lips. “Please make me come.”
“God, you’re a fucking masterpiece,” he says, thrusting his fingers into me, pumping deep and fast. I rock my hips to meet his pace. He hums in approval, petting my neck. “That’s right, wife, for better or worse, you’re mine. Your pleasure. Your lies. Your wicked mouth. This body.”
My breaths are coming in frantic pants. I can’t deny his ownership when my body writhes against him. It’s so glaringly obvious that I enjoy this.
“All. Fucking. Mine,” he growls in my ear. I shudder in his hold, and he quickens the rolling of his thumb, knowing exactly how I like it. Fingers curling against my G-spot, thumb pressing down hard, relentlessly attacking my clit, even as I try to escape the pleasure as it grows so intense I don’t think I can handle it. He refuses to let me run away. He holds me right where he wants me, pushes me into the orgasm, palm clamping over my mouth as soon as it parts, stifling my cry.
“That scream is only for me,” he reminds me, carrying me through the crest of the pleasure and through the comedown. He withdraws his fingers and slips them into my mouth. I suck them clean without needing to be told. “Good girl.”
The praise he pours on me every time he gives me an orgasm rewires my brain, making me want to do more to earn those reverent words. In our game of chess, Mace hasmy queen cornered, but I’m not ready to give up yet. No matter how much I enjoy whatever this is between us, it doesn’t change what I have to do. The lies sour on my tongue as his fingers slide out of my mouth.
“We should eat,” he says, gliding his hand on my throat down to my hip. He shifts us to the side, yanks out a chair, and drops into it, taking me along with him. I land in his lap with a soft huff.
“I’m not sitting in your lap,” I grumble, attempting to get up.
He tsks and both hands grasp my hips. “Keep writhing in my lap, and I’ll fuck you so hard Kyle will have to send everyone home.”
