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“Pretty pink pussy,” he mutters against me. “I like you bare.”

The wrongness of this warms me—it feels so good—and Soren spears his tongue inside of me again before he lifts to suck my clit between his lips.

Then he adds a finger, probing my entrance before sliding it inside to the first knuckle and crooking it. He glides the pad against the top part of my channel in little fluttering motions and I clench around him.

My hands convulsively clench at nothing. I should push him away. Do something other than let him work me this way.

How can it be so wrong yet feel so good?

The orgasm crashes down on me despite the nerves.

Holy…

Oh my god.

Soren gives me no time to float or come down from the high.

He rips off his shirt and I light up like a sparkler at the sight of him. He’s cut, his chest sculpted, the play of muscles emphasized by the black veins of the tattoo on his arm. The design curves from his shoulder to his wrist like he’s some kind of ancient Norse warrior, in designs I don’t understand.

He jerks his pants and boxers off in one go, and I barely catch a decent glimpse before he lunges for me. His lips crash down on mine.

The kiss pierces something inside of me. It’s like a shock, like I’ve stuck my finger in a light socket, and if I wasn’t already lying on my back, my legs would surely have buckled.

I wrap my arms around those shoulders and cling. In here, it’s just the two of us.

We’re animals on top of each other, tearing each other to shreds, my skin tingling wherever he touches me. I shiver and break the kiss to jerk my head to the side as I drag my nails across his biceps.

The taste of him fills me, and on his tongue, I taste myself. My belly swirls and dives as he trails his nose along my cheek and my neck.

Soren pinches my chin and forces me to look at him, nudging my legs open with his knees and falling between them again.

“You want this?”

The forbidden aspect of this makes it the hottest experience of my life. I want to say yes. Planting my palms on his chest, I push, because it’s better to say no and end this now, while also silently begging him to continue.

“Tell me to stop,” he demands through a kiss. “Tell me to get the hell out and leave you alone.”

Tell me I have to pay for what I’m taking. That’s what he means.

He dives his hand between my legs, slicking his fingers with my desire, and lifting it to his face. He smears it across his beard until his lips glisten, sucking his fingers clean, and then kisses me again.

“Christ, Gilli. I’ve had dreams about your tits but reality is so much better.”

Is he only doing this to get it out of his system? Or to punish me?

Then his mouth is on my nipple and I forget I’m supposed to fight back. I gasp. Letting him do whatever he wants to me.

This is a culmination of years of repression, and also this entire week where we fought, hating each other, knocking heads.I don’t want him to stop.

Soren bites down on my nipple hard enough to send pain spiraling through me, but my blood pumps hot. I clamp down on my lip and my head drops back, my eyes fluttering shut.

I want him to kiss me bloody and bruised. I want him to punish me because I like it.

I grab for his cock, eager to take him in my hand. He’s not massive by any means, despite his height, and he’s uncircumcised. I haven’t seen one of those since my first boyfriend, and back then I had no idea what to do with all the extra skin.

Soren is thicker at the base, the length average sized, and all of that goodness is nestled in trimmed golden hair.

It scares me how much I want him. How much I want this.