Page 103 of A Lethal Game of Trust

There, in all his frustrating, masculine dickheadery, he sat.

The menace himself on my sofa, head bent, reading ‘Erotic Intelligence: How to Pleasure Yourself’.

I lifted both hands to my chest, contemplating whether to cover my back or not as he stared at me, taking in every inch of my skin. His ankle rested on his knee, and because he was reading, he had those bloody glasses on.

I hated him.

Because, right now, I knew I could quite easily come in his presence.

So I leaned my wet body against the wall and let go of the towel just a little. It fell slightly, revealing one of my breasts.

My nipple was hard because of those glasses.

He leaned over, eyes intent on the newly revealed skin. “You asked me to come back.”

“Was lonely,” I said, playing with the hem of the towel so short that if I lifted it only an inch, I would be baring myself to him. “You might not have been in the wrong tonight. It might have been me.”

He nodded gravely. “I meant everything I said.”

I was starting to believe him. He’d never been cruel as a teenager, I’d never thought him capable of truly hurting me. He wasn’t a liar.

“What were you doing in there?” he asked, hazel eyes twinkling as he jerked his head to the bathroom door. “Sounds like you were frustrated.”

“Nothing my own fingers can’t fix,” I said, letting them drag up my thigh under the towel.I need you.

He licked his lips. “Thought we established that I can pleaseyou better than you can.”

“Mm,” I moaned as I ran a finger through my folds. “But not when you cause me so muchdispleasure at the same time.”

“Displeasure?” he asked. He was on the edge of the sofa now, the book beside him. He squeezed his dick through his shorts. “Tell me how to fix this.”

I dropped the towel.

At the same time, I closed my eyes, throwing my head back into the wall. It wasn’t hard to get going, not when imagining those beautiful spectacled eyes watching me.

He always wanted what he couldn’t have.

His presence was a shadow over my body. He breathed in the scent of my shampoo, his touch scaling my jawline. “Tell me, Leonie.”

“Beg for it,” I demanded. “Beg me like you said you would.”

“I’ll beg you every day if that’s what you want,” he said, his hold slipping from my arm down to my moving hand. “I willpleadfor you. Leonie, please. I need you. I’ve had a taste and I—I can’t go without anymore.”

“How cute,” I said, dipping my fingers inside myself. “Get on your knees.”

He went down without question, his knees hitting the wood floor. The second he was down, he was kissing, biting, sucking on my thighs.

Something about his touch made my fingers work harder, faster.

“Let me taste you,” he murmured into my skin, so close to my pussy it caused tremors to my pulsing clit.

But he wouldn’t be getting a direct taste. He hadn’t earned it yet.

He was marking me along my inner thighs, adding to thecollection of bruises he gifted me; the one on my neck, the few on my breasts.

When I opened my eyes, panting and looking down at him, his gaze made me come with a whimper. It was warm, heated,hot. Worshipping.

I placed my two fingers to his mouth and he opened up and sucked off my residue with a mischievous grin. “Will it ever stop?” he asked from the floor, but it sounded more like he was talking to himself. “Will I ever stop wanting you?”