The Perfect Wrong, page 18
His palms find my breasts.
My nipples pulse between his fingers, puckering into his own personal toys.
Chris Almighty!
My whole body becomes his, his, and only his.
When his tongue work quickens, pushing deeper through my folds, catching my cream, my legs start shaking uncontrollably.
I’m so close it hurts.
Every thrust of his tongue tells me how desperate he is, too—I just know it—and the thought of him sliding inside me soon sears me from head to toe.
His chin rides up.
His focus centers around my clit, dragging it between his teeth, lashing me over and over in tsunami waves of unrelenting pleasure.
Oh, God!
My fingers tighten on the fistful of sheets.
It feels like they’re about to rip to shreds right along with me and I don’t care.
My body arches up, riding his mouth as the heat in my core swells, as everything tenses, as I start—
Coming!
I throw back my head and belt out a scream that splits me in two.
I’m deliciously broken.
After tonight, nothing will ever be the same.
His diabolical mouth chews the entire world open and swallows me up in an alternate universe, one where tasting heaven and hell is the new norm.
But all I really want to do is kiss him a thousand more times. Savor all the unthinkable ways he’ll bring me over the edge into the blinding white heat that consumes me.
His growl deepens when I come.
He locks my legs around his shoulders, pushing his mouth into me.
He can’t breathe a word, but I hear him loud and clear in every wave of thunder from his throat.
Come like you mean it, princess.
Come for me so damn hard you go to pieces.
Dear God, I do.
And he never stops licking as my body convulses again and again, riding a rainbow.
White like pearl.
Red like my galloping pulse.
Green—so green—like the spark in his eyes.
My body won’t stop convulsing, a slave to his mouth.
I ride his face as he pulls me against him harder.
His stubble, his teeth, his tongue steal my pleasure greedily.
Honest to God, I almost pass out.
When I remember to breathe and the aftershock fades, I look up. He’s standing over me at the foot of the bed, already working off his shirt one button at a time.
His glare invites me to watch.
My legs pinch together, hiding a new rush of wetness.
He shakes his head and gives me a stern look. “Keep them open, princess. We’re not even close to done. Not by fucking half.”
When he’s on the last button, something comes over me.
It’s almost ritualistic, watching Mr. Control Freak exposing the bad boy underneath in all his mad glory.
My hands tremble, but I force them to reach out, grab the sides of his shirt, and peel it back over his shoulders.
“Holy crap.” It spills out of me when I see his bare chest again, this inked canvas stretched over solid stone.
Until now, I’ve only been able to look and never touch.
The dragon curling around his trident seems infinitely more menacing now.
Hungrier than before.
And it glistens on his chest like it’s on the prowl as he shrugs his shirt to the floor.
“Go on. Touch me, Delia. You look like a kid on Christmas morning. Feel these abs. Maybe they’ll hint how hard I’m about to fuck you.”
“Chris...” Biting my lip, I let go and accept his invitation.
My spine becomes one long tingling chord.
My pussy throbs, aching to feel him deep inside me, to see if he’s as good as his word.
I am simmering.
Dangerously ready for the dark, reckless ride he’s promised.
Craning my face down near his belt, I plant a kiss right in the hills and ridges of his abs, total perfection sculpted by life and death in the balance.
How many times have those abs helped him save lives?
He runs his hand through my long dark hair, twining it around his fingers.
He pulls tight.
My face tilts up and he reaches down with his free hand, starting on his belt.
“Do the rest, babe. Take my cock and suck. Been thinking about your lips wrapped around me ever since our first night on the beach,” he rasps, his eyes incandescent.
I can barely breathe, watching as his pants fall open.
Somehow, I steady my hands as I reach around him, pushing his pants and boxers down.
His cock snaps out, angry and so thick it’s obscene.
Whoa. Was his dad a centaur?
If I ever thought “big hands, big feet” was just a phrase...
I don’t even know if I should be scared or laughing or just quietly worshipping every pulsing inch of him.
He’s way bigger than anything I imagined.
So girthy he can split me apart with ease.
So I grip him carefully by the base, moving up, stopping just under his swollen head.
His fist closes over mine, adding the kind of pressure he must enjoy.
“Stroke me, Delia. Harder. Imagine that hand is your pussy.” He’s teaching me how to please him, and I’m so eager to learn it hurts.
My free hand slides between my legs, unable to resist toying with my clit as I pump him up and down.
“Yeah, goddamn,” he groans, rolling his head back. “There, there. Don’t fucking stop.”
The delicious edge in his throat makes me imagine he’s stolen his dragon’s voice, my touch awakening this fantastic beast inside him.
I’m so terrible.
I stop rubbing my clit just long enough to lower my mouth down his shaft.
“Shit!” he growls through his teeth, tugging my hair.
I watch the green gems in his face brighten.
He’s hot, hard, salty.
I’m bathed in his intoxicating scent and I like it.
My body hums with delight, imagining his smell rubbed all over me, that manly shadow of earthiness and testosterone and power marking me.
“Deeper. Go deeper if you can. I want your little tongue everywhere, Delia. Fuck—yeah, yeah—just like that.” His voice is an octave lower, his throat tighter. I moan around his fullness. “Did I say stop playing with your clit? Keep that pussy hot for me.”
Happy to oblige.
His fingers add more tension to my hair, pulling on my locks. The movement helps me engulf his hardness without choking.
I focus on his pleasure first.
But it’s hard as hell to ignore my own, building like a battery charge, when my fingers fall between my legs again and again.
And even harder to ignore the rough moment when he whispers, “Look up,” gesturing to the mirrors lining the ceiling.
I almost keel over right there.
“See? Do you see how much you wreck me, woman?” he whispers roughly. “How much you fucking smoke when you’re full of this dick?”
I answer with a moan, struggling not to come on the spot because I’m that determined to show him the true meaning of wrecked.
My tongue maps his cock, every lick slowly revealing the spots that make him jerk and hitch.
I swirl it deeper into the crown around his head, tasting his pre-come, my pulse echoing in my ears as he flexes and curses.
“Shit, baby. You’re a goddamned natural. You’re lucky I don’t just unload down your throat.”
Oh, mama.
His crudeness should turn me off.
But it doesn’t.
I’m so wet I could die, and die happily.
The jade inferno in his eyes says he actually might do what he threatened, too, and I might not mind it one bit.
Maybe it’s more than I can handle, but I’m so willing to try.
A new climax builds in my core, turning my face red.
My mouth glides up his magnificent shaft and back down again, quickly and firmly, working for a reward I never knew I wanted so badly.
My eyes narrow.
I’m about to explode.
There’s something shamefully reverent about being crouched on the bed with my mouth full of my badass stepbrother.
If I’m going to be defiled, it’s by him, and only him.
I’m so deep in the zone I’m not expecting the way he fists my hair and jerks my head back, tearing me off his cock.
I look up, wondering if I did something wrong.
But his eyes are twinkling. Full of wonder.
“Down on the bed, princess. Spread your legs,” he growls, giving me a gentle push backward.
I feel the huge bed sink beneath his weight, and he’s holding me, pulling me so close as I shift toward the center of the massive bed.
Sweet Jesus.
It’s really happening.
My legs are fire as I open them for him.
I barely notice he’s snuck a condom out of his pocket before losing his pants.
Even how he tears the foil with his teeth is sexy, and so is the way he needs his entire fist to roll it down his length...
I. Am. Gone.
He moves forward, guiding his cock against my opening.
He flicks his tip against my pussy, melding into my folds, one shallow thrust away from owning what’s his.
“You are stunning,” he whispers so slowly.
He stops and his mouth comes down on mine, frantic and hotter than ever, a savage hunger hidden in his tongue as he shoves it against mine.
“Chris,” I whisper, dragging my nails against his chest.
“If you fuck half as good as you suck cock, Delia, we’ll spend the rest of this trip in bed. Once I take this pussy, I’m never gonna stop. Never.”
Oh, God.
Does he mean it?
The ragged way he says it amps up my heartbeat.
I force myself to look at him and suck my bottom lip, reaching out to touch him.
I want to feel him in all his solid, stone-hearted wonder.
In my wildest fantasies, I never imagined I’d be with a man like this.
Never imagined I’d have him after I found out who he was, even though I wanted to until not having him felt like a phantom limb.
We haven’t even done the deed, and this already feels like so much more than one torrid night.
I’m afraid to admit it, but I know.
I just don’t have to think about that right now.
Not with Chris’ hands all over me, cupping my breasts, pushing my nipples between his palms.
He brings his hot lips down my neck, stopping at my right globe, pulling the bud there between his teeth.
Too damn good.
That goes for everything about him, actually.
By any sane measure, I’m the one who’s too good for him. Millionaire’s daughter, teacher’s pet, punching my ticket to a happy, successful, easy life where I could have any safe, boring man I’d ever want.
And yet here I am.
Here I go, coming apart for this hulking sailor with a mouth worthy of one, begging him to fuck me with every raw gasp and scratch and soft little roll of my hips.
Why does it feel like he’s too good for me?
Like I’m not worthy to be under his fleshly masterpiece?
He releases my nipple with a groan, kissing his way back to my mouth, pulling me in for another long round of lips and teeth.
I’m losing my mind and I’m okay with it.
Moving my lips off his, I push my mouth to his ear, brushing my nails on the back of his neck. “Now, Chris. I’m ready. Take me. I’m yours for tonight.”
And I want to be yours after Vegas.
I keep that part to myself, and it isn’t hard with his jade-green eyes beaming pure drunken desire into mine.
There’s heaven and hell and worlds I don’t even understand in his gaze.
I’m afraid I’m already addicted.
He shifts, pushing my legs around him with his hands before aiming his tip against my wetness. This time, there’s an insistent pressure.
Chris pushes into me slow and steady.
There’s a force between my legs, the feel of flesh giving way for the first time.
I clench my teeth, feeling the pleasure fighting through the sharp sting of him breaking me open.
Oh.
Oh, hell.
I never imagined feeling this full.
“Delia, so tight,” he snarls, taking a fresh fistful of hair, holding me down. “Holy fuck. Never had it so good. Don’t think I’ll ever come back—princess, you’re mine.”
Mine.
“Mine,” he growls again.
I whimper.
It’s all I can manage as his hips rear back before slamming into me again.
My legs hook tighter to his and the rhythm begins.
Several strokes in, I start grinding back, my pleasure building through the discomfort.
My walls hug his cock, struggling to adjust to his size, but so desperate to enjoy him.
He glides through me, bringing his mouth to mine.
We seal our pleasure in a pact, all fencing tongues and muffled sighs.
Our mouths clash, matching the tempo of our bodies.
Everything under my skin turns molten, like lava rising, setting every nerve on fire.
“This pussy, fucking hell,” he growls, quickening his strokes. I’m not sure how he can even respond when he’s rendered me speechless. “I love it, Delia. Every ripple, every kiss, every time you clench. I love how goddamned perfect you feel wrapped around my dick.”
The L-word triggers something deep in my brain.
For a second, I hear I love you, but I know that’s not what he’s saying.
This is just sex.
Amazing, mind-blowing, sheet-ripping sex.
And I’m okay if it’s just that tonight.
I’m also too busy clinging to his body, feeling his rampage, to care about anything else.
Just before I come, he shifts up, grabbing my ass and pulling me up to meet his punishing strokes.
“Chris! Chris! Oh, God, I—”
My O chokes off whatever nonsense I’m about to say.
I come so hard I see stars.
No, I see the whole freaking sky.
And he never lets up, his hips working in overdrive, his weight slamming me deep into the mattress, driving my pussy over his piston of a cock again and again.
The shock echoes through me.
I am an empty vessel for his need.
I’m not sure when I start screaming, especially when the hard impact of his flesh on mine jerks to a stop.
Then there’s a noise like an avalanche, and I realize it’s Chris.
This animalistic energy about to rip out of him.
“Delia, fuck!”
I feel him swelling as I clench around him.
He explodes with a roar that could chase that dragon right off his chest.
I swear there’s heat beneath the rubber ballooning inside me, filling with his come, pulsing and pumping so deep it throws me into a zone I never imagined.
His cock jerks deep inside me, emptying his fire into mine.
His pubic bone grinds my clit until my eyes are white-hot lightning.
What will he feel like when we do this skin to skin?
Wait, when?
I barely catch myself as my brain sizzles in a thousand directions, oozing out my ears, sated but hungry for another round.
His weight lifts off me.
He pulls out and drags the condom off his dick, moving to the small trash can next to our bed.
He’s wickedly gorgeous, even when he’s doing something so mundane.
Except I can’t imagine anything about this man being mundane when he’s naked.
“Well? Was it as good as you dreamed? Be honest.” He gives me a wink like he already knows the answer.
Cocky McCockerson.
But right now, I can’t help smiling back, hauling my exhausted body up for another long kiss.
I can’t keep myself away from his lips.
For the next week, that’s okay.
Thank God we still have a week.
What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, and that goes double for us.
For this.
I want to see more of the town if we can do it safely in daylight, and try to forget about my traumatic encounter with Sin City.
On the other hand, if Chris keeps me chained to this bed...
I won’t complain.
Somehow, we have to work out a lifetime of passionate, gravity-defying sex here.
Because it’s all we’ll ever get.
The last time already feels like it’s over too fast.
And it is.
But we can’t possibly keep this going when we’re back in California.
This is it.
One chance to get Chris Triton out of my system.
Is it even possible?
The answer scares me when I search my depths.
In the meantime, though, I’ll run my body ragged trying, and deal with the bitter fallout and a lifetime of cruel memories later.
* * *
I wake up the next morning rubbing my eyes.
There’s something warm and huge wrapped around me, and it’s very good at making me smile.
I roll toward him and reach for his tattooed arm, giving it a tender squeeze.
I need proof that this isn’t just a fever dream.
Holy crap, it’s real.
All of it.
Chris grunts in his sleep, his lips curled adorably and his sandy-dark hair a lovely mess. He’s a total teddy bear when he’s sleeping peacefully.
The glorious memories of last night don’t hurt like they should. Part of me feared I’d be flattened by regrets as soon as I woke up.
No, this just feels too right—and that’s what worries me.
A hole opens in my stomach, knowing our paradise is only temporary.
It can’t be anything else.
Las Vegas is our break from reality, and soon we’ll be returning to the numbing, senseless rules and obligations that are destined to keep us apart.
As if on cue, Chris opens his eyes.
That lush jade-green hue turns teal when his irises catch the sunlight streaming in at just the right angle.
My heart flips over.
That’s when I notice something hard against my thigh.
