The Perfect Wrong, page 22
“Try? No, Maggie. How about you listen for once? Didn’t I tell you from day one how much I love reds? The brighter, the better.”
Marguerite looks down and nods sullenly.
Holy crap.
It’s a hellish test of sheer willpower not to march right over and smack some manners into this leering witch.
But it’s like she has a sixth sense for how I really feel.
Evie looks over the poor woman’s shoulder. She gives me the evil eye as soon as she notices me.
I put on my best resting bitch face and glare back before heading to my room.
Yeah, this is just the crap cherry on this shit sundae of a week.
When did my life become an actual thriller?
I don’t know how I’m supposed to process any of this.
My hero, my lover, my obsession is still my stepbrother.
And unless this joke of a marriage melts down a lot faster than I think, he will be for a long time to come.
Even if he wasn’t, he said he’s not the type who settles down.
He’s all work and rough play.
Damaged goods, supposedly, and every time I see Evie, it’s easy to see why.
...but I didn’t see a man who can’t love in Vegas.
I tasted one who blurted his feelings out right in the thick of passion.
We never even revisited that. I was too afraid to ask.
Too scared to hear him brush it off as a mistake, something he just blurted out, because of course he can’t really feel the big, scary L word for me.
It was just sex, I tell myself. Incredible gold medal bedroom gymnastics so good you’re thinking it’s more.
Don’t be stupid.
Yeah.
Maybe if I keep repeating it enough, eventually I’ll start to believe it.
But every time that vow we made to let this go echoes in my memory, it feels like the feeblest promise I’ve ever sworn.
I have to forget Chris and the way he burned me down, broken heart and all.
Later, by the time I collapse, sad and exhausted in my lonely bed, I’m too numb to think about anything at all.
* * *
Bam! Bam! Bam!
It’s always bad news when you wake up to a hammering sound in the dead of night.
I sit up, breathless, and peer toward my balcony door, the source of the sound.
Am I dreaming?
Knock-knock-knock!
Nope.
I race to the door, too shocked to worry about the t-shirt and jeans I’ve fallen asleep in.
For a second, the tall, dark figure outside sends fear slashing through me. My fingers are shaking as I reach for the switch that activates the light outside.
There’s no mistaking those shoulders or that crooked grin.
“What are you doing here?” I rush out, pushing the door open.
Chris smiles in the darkness and steps past me, into my room.
He doesn’t say anything with words.
His hands just lock around my waist, pulling me to his slab of a chest, and his mouth lands on mine like a meteor.
The hunger is insatiable.
It’s like our Vegas fling happened years ago.
My whole body vibrates with need.
We stumble toward the bed and he pushes me down, hovering on top of me, pressing his awesome weight into me while twirling my tongue in his.
This kiss could rival a novel, a hundred thousand ways to share the same vicious feelings.
Hunger.
Hurt.
Need.
“Fucking shit, Delia. How can I miss your taste this much when it’s barely been two days?” He breaks away with a guttural rasp.
God, I could ask the same question a thousand times over.
The summer sweat shimmers on his brow, giving his face a polished glow.
An animal heat strums my nerves, leaving me so on edge I can’t think.
But what is he doing here?
Did he really come back for me? To break the agreement?
I rake my nails softly over his neck, loving how he shudders and groans.
In Vegas, I couldn’t resist him. But I’ve never wanted him between my legs like I do now.
“Chris, why are you here? Didn’t we decide to keep our space?” I try to sound reasonable without letting on how thrilled I am.
“Bad decisions. I decided I need my tongue on your clit, woman. Need to feel you clenching on my dick again, everything I had on our trip and then some.” He stops, shoving his hand in my jeans, my panties.
I’m melting before his fingers even find my clit.
Before his insistent strokes become impossible to ignore.
“But this is—oh!” He pushes two rough fingers inside me, cutting me off.
“Wrong? Yeah, don’t give me that shit, princess. You know what feels right. Tell me you give a damn about technicalities when I’ve got my fingers in your pussy right over the sweet spot.”
And he reminds me just how sweet it is, curling one knuckle against my inner wall.
Holy hell.
This man only needs two fingers to destroy me.
I shake my head, hot lust overpowering a legion of wrong, crafting excuses I need to make this right.
“Chris, we—we shouldn’t,” I stammer out. “We can’t. I want this just as bad as you but we...we have to get over it. Don’t we?”
His eyes narrow, flashing angry evergreen.
“Get over fucking what?” he growls, anchoring his fingers deep inside me again, focusing all his teasing on that spot.
Everything unravels.
I’m breathless.
I’m helpless.
I’m gone.
Completely and utterly conquered, lost in his scent, the rays in his eyes that say, it was over the minute I stepped in this room.
Ready or not, we’re fucking tonight, princess.
He never drags his eyes away as his fingers work, pumping in and out, forcing a gasp from a mouth I can’t shut and a syrupy moan so thick I can taste it.
“There’s my girl,” he whispers, stunning me quiet with pleasure and hot kisses before he starts working off my clothes.
I don’t fight him.
There’s no resisting this when I don’t want to.
I just wonder if I’m still dreaming.
It’s surreal having him here, in my own room, right under our parents’ noses.
We should be careful, especially with the noise. I’ve caught Evie waking up in the middle of the night and roaming the halls several times.
If Chris shares any of my worries, he doesn’t show it.
He bends over me like a doll, undressing me, saving my panties for last.
Then with a searing look, he shears them off in one rough pull, leaving me in flames. There’s a loud ripping sound before they’re gone.
“I’m not sorry. I’ll buy you new ones,” he promises.
Honestly, neither am I.
Everything tightens in my core, anticipating his touch, his tongue, his manic, hungry cock.
“Careful. We can’t be too loud,” I hiss.
He nods slowly and covers my mouth with his big hand.
“Let me help you with that,” he whispers.
Ass. I can’t help but smile at his arrogance.
A minute later, I’m legit grateful. That hand is all that’s keeping me from shrieking through the walls when he starts kissing a line up my thighs and his tongue skims my folds.
His tongue lashes my skin—hot and wild and hypnotic.
“Bite down if you need to, babe. No mercy when I bring you off.”
Oh, boy.
That’s all the warning I get before he grabs my ass and his tongue plunges in me so deep.
My hips rise to meet his mouth while he pulls me closer.
Closer.
His hands capture my thighs, spreading me wider, sealing my pussy to his merciless tongue.
Chris pushes me down, pinning me to the mattress, growling as he takes over.
One second is all I have left.
Then I need his hand.
I bite down hard, my teeth digging into his thick skin.
A delighted growl vibrates through me, and his licks come faster, his face pushing against me until I’m riding his mouth.
Destroyed.
A white-hot tsunami breaches my senses, erupting from my core.
I’m so close I’m already shaking.
But he disconnects at the worst time, running his tongue over his lips, and gives me a feral look.
His next licks flutter against my clit—this strange, teasing sensation that feeds the slowly sweeping burn threatening to turn me into ash.
And I bite him again.
If he doesn’t stop, I’m afraid I’ll hurt him.
It’s either bite down harder or scream bloody murder.
I’m panting now.
Locked onto his hand so hard I’ll leave teeth marks.
My whole body heaves, begging for release, aching for those languid, evil tongue strokes to bring me home.
“Y-you can’t keep me waiting. Not fair!” I pant when his tongue gives me a second of rest. “Chris...please. Please. You’re killing me.”
He ignores my pleas.
I think he enjoys driving me out of my mind.
Until his mouth shifts up, and his fingers replace his tongue, strumming with the same hard, alpha vigor we shared that first night on the beach.
Heaven help me.
But there’s nobody to shield me from the ruthless climax that sends me to heaven’s gates.
My hips writhe helplessly against his face.
His grip tightens, and so does my core.
I throw myself against his mouth like a madwoman, gasping, so close to—
Coming!
When it hits, I’m turned inside out.
My release isn’t white and red and starlit like before.
This time, it’s all emerald green, the color of my ruin by one dragon man.
Chris licks me the whole way through my convulsions, throwing me deeper into ecstasy, drowning me.
He laps for what feels like forever, snarling thunder through my flesh, his muffled breath so hot.
Delia, don’t stop, I can hear him saying. Come out your soul.
I can’t believe how long I ride the high, how my body doesn’t want to stop even when I’m ragged and licked raw.
Right now, I’m just his and nothing more.
I am his property.
I am his dirty secret.
I am his in heat and heart and flesh.
When I can finally breathe again without wanting to black out, I’m so flushed, so drenched in sweat, it’s a struggle to look at him.
And when I do, another shock.
His naked skin rubs against mine, soothing me with its warmth as he slowly rolls me over.
Then he’s at eye level, twining one hand through my hair, pulling my ear to his lips.
“Stay with me, beautiful. We’re not close to done. Let’s find out if this little bed can take it without breaking. Can’t believe your old man doesn’t get you anything bigger.”
Is he serious?
He has a point in his own wicked way.
The bed isn’t much—a pretty mediocre double that feels cramped with his massive bulk sharing it—and it squeaks like a field mouse every time his weight sinks down.
Before I can protest, Chris covers my mouth, making me feel the marks I left behind on his palm.
“We’ll try to stay quiet,” he whispers, his breath steaming against my ear. “We’ll try. Only, I’m giving fewer fucks by the second about keeping this a secret. Not nearly as much as I care about making you sing, Cordelia.”
Yep. He’s officially lost it.
Doesn’t he get that we can’t let anyone hear?
But he’s right about one thing—I can’t bring myself to care when he mounts me from behind, slamming his cock into me in a single determined jerk.
This isn’t like our last night in Vegas where every round was frantic, so hot but so rushed. We were trying to cram a whole lifetime of sex into less than a week.
But now that we’re doing it again, now that we have a little more time...
He starts thrusting slow, but hard.
I push my face into the mattress, trying to remember to breathe.
His rhythm rises to full jackhammer in minutes.
Soon, I’m shaking with every powerful stroke.
I can barely hold myself up on my hands and knees, weathering his thrusts.
The fist in my hair helps, pulling harder all the time, grabbing at the roots with this delicate sting while he growls his pleasure.
Another ten strokes and his balls swing up, slapping my clit with this insane pressure that’s made to bring me down.
My eyelids barely flutter shut before I’m catapulted into the zone.
Another climax cuts through me.
I shove my face into the sheet, praying the bedding muffles my scream.
“Delia—fuck!” Chris rumbles behind me, his wall of muscle hardening.
That sends me spiraling faster, harder, dropping me headfirst into delirium.
I’ve left this world, bound for nirvana.
We come together so beautifully I’m tearing up by the end.
The bed creaks like it’s on rails, so loud it should scare me, if only I could still worry about anything through this mad mating heat.
We rut like animals, drunk on the pleasure erupting through us.
His cock swells, plunges deep, and floods my emptiness.
Ropes of hot come hurl to my depths, and my pussy tightens, greedily drawing it all in.
God.
It feels like he’ll tear my hair out in his raging release.
His climax yanks me deeper into forbidden bliss than anything I’ve ever known.
Pulls me so deep I don’t ever want it to stop.
I’m in flames, transported to a world populated by nothing but sweat and sex and impossible kisses.
Our bodies, minds, and souls bond together on some higher plane I’m too sex-drunk to comprehend.
After he pulls out, we lie together, tangled in the damp sheets.
I love how he never keeps his hands off me, even when he’s spent.
He rests a hand on my ass and leaves the other in my hair, keeping me coiled around him, using his magnificent chest for a pillow.
“I never expected to see you again so soon. What brought you back?” I whisper, running my fingers over his chest.
It’s nice to just slow down and admire him, enjoying the lazy calm of the afterglow.
My nails trace his dragon and trident, admiring all the intricate details, so vivid and rich in black ink as dark and dangerous as the rest of him.
“Why do you think?” There’s a sharpness in his tone. He waits for an answer I don’t have. “Shit, Delia, you really don’t know? I’m addicted. I was up half the night jonesing for another hit of you—and I’ll be damned if I deprive myself while you’re a short drive away.”
“Oh?” I smile, raising my eyebrows. “So, you just stopped by for a hookup? Hmph. I bet you could find that a lot closer to your place or whatever.”
“Look at me, princess.” He grabs my chin, repositioning my head so it’s perfectly level with his eyes. “I can find easy pussy anywhere I please, no question—and it’s not what I want. It’s not you. I don’t have the first clue what voodoo shit you’ve cursed me with, but I want more. I’m no dumbass. I know this house is the last place I should be after your bed. I just don’t care. Instinct got me pretty far, and when it told me I should pay you a visit tonight, I listened.”
His gaze is so intense I have to look away.
I love how his skin feels against mine.
It’s almost like he’s getting warmer, gradually heating up like there’s a chemical reaction between our flesh.
“Yeah? And what’s instinct telling you now?”
He grabs my hand and pushes it down to his thigh, then slowly drags it across his cock.
He closes my fingers around him.
When I feel how hard he is already, I gasp.
At least we had a good five-minute break this time. That’s a lot for him.
“Stop talking. Put your mouth to work and find out,” he says darkly.
Freaking aye. What’s wrong with me?
I shouldn’t be doing this, sucking Chris off in my own bed, much less getting wet when he talks to me like a lovestruck caveman.
And I want to laugh in his face for pretending I’m not the one under a terrible love spell here.
But his hard-on feels so good when I wrap my fingers around his throbbing length.
Soon, that urge to taste him takes over.
So I crawl down the bed and get between his legs, blushing as his green eyes follow me the entire time.
How does he make me feel so self-conscious, even after we’ve done this more times than I can count?
He tells me I’m a natural, but I still feel like a blushing virgin.
I’ve got to get over it if we’re going to keep doing this, and tonight seems like a good time to start.
I lick my lips slowly, watching his jaw clench as I lower my mouth very, very slowly.
“Fuck,” he swears when I kiss the tip of his dick, tasting the bead of pearly liquid at his tip.
My fingers close around him—they try—and I slide my hand up and down.
Time to give Mr. Instinct a little payback.
I’m smiling, ready to engulf him in the slowest blow job ever.
I’m so overwhelmed in him that I don’t hear it at first.
Not until it happens a second time.
Bang, bang, thump!
I jerk up, freeing my mouth from him, shock bolting through me.
“Honey, are you still up? We need to talk,” Dad’s strained voice calls through the door.
Oh, no.
Oh, hell no.
We swap agonized looks before Chris shoves a stiff finger against his lips and jumps up, grabbing his clothes.
I stand gently, racking my brain for words while Dad knocks again, this time louder.
Jesus!
There’s something almost weirdly urgent in his knock, like he’s worried or in trouble, but holding back so he doesn’t scare me.
“That’s my cue to scram. Find out what he wants,” Chris whispers, launching himself outside onto the balcony before I can say anything.
