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“You’re perfect,” he murmurs against my skin.
The praise drifts down my spine, and suddenly, my hips meet his hand. I want to hate it.
He smiles against my neck. “That’s right, baby. Look at how pretty you are.”
I suck in a breath as he presses down on my clit, the strokes turning more purposeful. I shouldn’t like this.
“You’re so wet for your husband,” he murmurs, nipping my pulse. “This perfect pussy is drenching my fingers.”
A tiny yelp tumbles past my lips. We’re not married yet, but I’m not about to argue over semantics when I’m so close to coming. The grip on my chin drifts down to my neck, creating the perfect necklace. My eyes widen at the sudden pressure, but it only amplifies every touch. I’ve seen Dare do this to Rose a dozen times. I never really understood why she liked it, but as Mace holds me hostage, having his way with me, my pussy clenches, heat blooming deep inside of me for all the wrong reasons.
He rests his chin on my shoulder, gazing down at wherehis fingers pump in and out of me. “You have no idea how much I love your body.”
The words hit me in the chest, and I suck in a breath, ready to tell him he doesn’t have to say things like that, but he doesn’t give me a chance to get the words out. The fingers inside of me curl, pressing against the spot deep inside of me.
“You’re gorgeous.”
It’s just dirty talk.
He kisses my throat.
“Fucking delicious.”
He probably says this to everyone.
His tongue lashes at my overheated skin.
“And most importantly,” he murmurs, lips moving over my skin in a featherlight touch, sending ripples of pebbled skin down my body. “You’re mine.”
The claim is punctuated by the quickening of his thumb. He grinds his rock hard cock into my ass, rubbing himself against me as he gets me off. Everything tightens at once. The space between us growing dense. His breath on my neck arching my back. The thumb on my clit forcing a shaking exhale. The fingers buried deep inside of me, stroking against that yummy spot over and over.
My eyes flutter closed as tingles erupt at the base of my spine. My mouth parts at the pleasure reverberating through me, endorphins waiting to flood through my veins, trapped behind a barrier that Mace smashes through with a final bite at my throat. His teeth clamp down and the world explodes in technicolor. A sharp cry fills the room, and I buck into his touch, gasping for air, only to exhale it on a moan, shamelessly writhing and begging him to carry me fully through the orgasm. He does, maintaining his pace and depth until my body collapses against his.
He languidly draws his fingers out, and I make a tiny sound of protest that has him laughing as he brings them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a pleased hum.
One orgasm isn’t enough to change how I feel about him, but I appreciate the gift of his praise and feverish way he worshiped my body because the insults on that stupid website are the furthest thing from my mind.
ten
CASSIA
Showered, dressed, and wearing a game face that I hope reads,you may have tasted my cum, but I’ll never love you, I make my way down for dinner. Chef strikes me as the type of woman who would take a skipped dinner as a personal affront, so while part of me wants to hide from Mace after our little encounter, the other knows that it’s best to keep the woman with the knife happy.
Besides, I can handle sitting at a dinner table with Mace.
Nothing has to change.
I’m halfway down the stairs when two girls barge through Mace’s front door. The first has loose blonde hair and blue eyes the same color as Mace’s that zip straight to me. The other’s brunette locks are wrapped in a perfect bun. Her irises lean more gray than blue, but they definitely look like Astors. My chest tightens with apprehension. I’m not an extrovert. I generally don’t like people, and sometimes the rich ones are assholes.
The blonde girl takes a step toward the stairs. “So it’s true.”
“Melody,” the brunette says, a plea of sorts I don’t quite understand.
Melody glances at the other girl. “You’re just as curious as I am.”
The brunette ignores her and walks to the base of the stairs. “Hi, I’m Adalie. This is Melody. We’re Mace’s sisters.”
I figured as much. “I’m Cassia.” My grip on the railing tightens as they unabashedly check me out, their gazes taking in every inch of me, from the department store yoga pants to the loose shirt with a knot near my belly button. I brace for some type of judgment.