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I do it immediately.
His head drops, and his tongue sweeps out. What he does isn’t a kiss. It’s not a tangle of tongues or a sweet slide of lips. He simply glides his tongue over mine in one single swipe. He tastes like expensive brandy and spicy mint.
Before he pulls away, he scrapes his teeth over the tip of my tongue and bites down. Hard enough to draw blood, but not hard enough to cause a lot of damage. The sting is piercing, and I almost yank my tongue back into my mouth because of the shock, but I hold still. He sucks my tongue and swallows the blood he draws from it, along with his cum.
He pulls back, but only far enough so he can look into my eyes. “My cum and your blood taste so fucking perfect together.”
Oh, Jesus, why does that make my pussy clench in need?
“Please,” I whisper hoarsely.
“Please, what, my pretty Savina?”
“Touch me. Make me come.”
“Not tonight,” he says. His hand releases its harsh grip on my hair, and he stands up, lording over me with his towering height. “You haven’t earned your release.”
He stuffs his still-hard cock back into his pants and carefully pulls up the tab to the zipper, then the button.
“Why?” I croak.
“Because you pissed me off and little girls who piss off their Daddies don’t get to come.”
Panic sets in when he takes a step backward, away from me. “No! Wait!”
He continues to retreat, ignoring my plea. Only a few more steps and he’ll disappear completely.
“Please don’t hurt Braxton!” I call desperately. I couldn’t handle it if anything happened to him because of me.
“Sleep well, Savina,” his dark voice calls from the shadows.
And then he’s gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY
HER
Idon’t know how long the utter shock lasts after my devil leaves, but it feels like years.
He fucking left me out here where anyone could find me. On my knees with my arms trapped behind me with his belt.
With my hair a mess and my face probably looking like a horror show. I’m sure I look exactly like what just happened. Thoroughly and freshly face fucked.
But it’s not those things that have me frozen in place, too stunned to move.
I ache. Oh, Jesus, I ache so damn much.
He left me this way on purpose. And I don’t mean out on the terrace with my arms tied behind my back.
He left me unfulfilled. Unsatisfied. With my thighs dripping wet with my arousal and desperately needing relief.
And he did it to prove a point.
That he’s the Master of me and controls my pleasure.
The joints in my arms scream in protest when I wiggle my shoulders, and my knees will probably sport bruises tomorrow from kneeling so long on the concrete.
I jerk my head toward the terrace doors when a loud ring of laughter comes from beyond them. Silhouettes move on the other side of the curtained glass. Panic sets in when the silhouette comes closer. My eyes must be as big as saucers when the figure reaches the door. The knob turns and my alarm heightens.