“Someone could see,” I gasped as he mouthed at my throat, careful of the scar but devastating everywhere else.
“Let them,” he growled back, grinding against me. “Let everyone see you’re mine.”
The claiming words should have broken through my haze, but his hand kept sliding. I glanced around, no one was watching. The way we were positioned, pressed above the car, hid me from sight.
He leaned in, his breath searing as it ghosted over the wet cotton clinging to me. His nose brushed up against it, slow, deliberate, inhaling like he was starved.
“You’ve been dripping for me this whole time,” he growled, voice thick with hunger. “This scent… fuck, it’s filthy. Sweet and desperate and mine. You smell like you’ve been aching for my cock every damn night.”
His tongue pressed against the damp fabric, dragging a moan from my chest before I could stop it.
“Fuck,” he breathed at finding me this wet. “Your body knows exactly who it belongs to.”
Two fingers slid inside without warning, the stretch perfect and terrible all at once. Pregnancy had made everything more sensitive, and I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out. His thumb found my clit with the precision of someone who learned my body in one night and never forgot.
“That’s it,” he encouraged as my hips started moving without permission, chasing the pleasure only he seemed able to give me.
Then he pushed the fabric covering my entrance aside and lowered his mouth, licking a slow, filthy stripe right along my exposed center.
“God, Rhea,” he groaned against me, tongue circling deliberately. “Your pussy doesn’t seem to hate me at all.”
Shame and heat twisted inside me, and I tried to push at his head, breath catching.
“Don’t,” I gasped. “Someone could...”
He growled low, gripping my thighs tighter, spreading me open further until I couldn’t close anything off to him. His mouth returned, more demanding now, licking me again and again like he was punishing me for even thinking of pulling away.
I whimpered, helpless to stop him, to stop myself.
He growled low, gripping my thighs tighter, spreading me open further until I couldn’t close anything off to him. His mouth returned, more demanding now, licking me again and again like he was punishing me for even thinking of pulling away.
His fingers returned, slick from my arousal, pumping deep as his tongue worked in tandem. Every thrust curled precisely against that swollen, aching spot inside me. He scissored them slowly, then faster, stretching me open until my thighs trembled.
His mouth climbed higher, lips capturing my clit, pinching it between them before sucking hard. Heat shot through me, sharp and unbearable. I cried out, tried to twist away, but he only held me wider, mouth relentless. His fingers never paused. Twobecame three. He fucked me with them like he meant to leave his shape inside me.
The edge came fast. My body clenched, tried to warn him. He ignored it. Sucked harder, pinched tighter, drove into me deeper.
I broke with a strangled cry, coming apart on the hood of the car, legs spread, dress bunched, slick coating his fingers. My spine arched. My breath stuttered. My nails scraped metal as my body convulsed around him.
He held me through it. Never stopped. Never slowed. Like he wanted to burn the memory into my skin until nothing else existed but the feel of his mouth claiming what belonged to him.
“This doesn’t fix anything.” The words came out breathless, unconvincing even to my own ears.
“You think I don’t know that?” His fingers curled inside me, finding that spot that made me see stars.
My body remembers him, I realized as pleasure built too fast to fight,but my heart remembers betrayal.
The orgasm crashed over me before I could stop it, months of denial making it impossible to resist. I muffled my cry against his shoulder, shaking apart on the hood of his SUV while my chosen family watched from the window. When I could breathe again, when the world stopped spinning, the shame hit like a physical weight.
I shoved at his chest, forcing him to step back. My legs shook as I slid off the hood, underwear ruined, dignity in tatters.
“This doesn’t change anything,” I said, trying to straighten my dress with trembling hands. “I still hate you.”
“I know,” he said simply, his own breathing ragged. “But you’re still coming with me. No more running, Rhea. No more hiding.”
The finality in his voice made my stomach drop. Behind him, Carlton had exited the SUV, ready to enforce his king’s will. Wayne and April still watched from the window, and I knew this was goodbye. One way or another, my time in Millbrook had ended.
26
