Page 71 of A Taste like Sin

surrendered to his strength completely.

“Maybe I would have played your game before,” he admits before grinding his lips into mine,

marking them. “Perhaps. I’d let you go. Let you taunt me like you have. I could withstand it.”

“And now?” I’m copying him, grazing my lips along his jaw in return, sensing the barest hint of

stubble.

“Too late.” He sounds almost as if he pities me. “I want too much, so I’ll take all of you.”

“By spying on me again?” How I’ve formed a coherent reply, I’ll never know.

“I won’t have to.”

Oh? A morbidly amusing thought comes to mind, even as my thoughts dissipate as he slides his fingers

along my core and mutters something that makes my cheeks flame. Something aboutwet, mingled with

broken words in Spanish. “Will you tie a bell around me?”

He laughs. “Maddening woman with maddening ideas.”

He finds my panties again and tugs them aside. Every slow, deliberate stroke he inflicts reminds me

of a musician playing an instrument only he bothered to learn how to tune.

And I’m pathetic enough to beg for more. “Damien.” My lips seek out his earlobe. “Please…”

His breath stutters. The hum of a zipper pierces the air and then he’s inside me. Sharp, sweet pleasure

instantly displaces any pain. God, he feels so raw from this angle. There’s nothing between us but

sweat and skin. I can feel his heartbeat hammering a melody mine has no choice but to match.

Thump.

Stutter.

Thump.

He goes more slowly than any man has the right to, sensing every curve and ridge of my body,

learning me inside and out. Too thoroughly. It’s a violation I never in a million years thought I’d

crave.

Teeth gritted, thighs clenched, I let him explore, thrust after deliberate thrust.

Far too soon, he loses his polish, gripping me hard enough to leave marks. Bruises. Brands.

Hissed words of Spanish meet their doom in the crook of my shoulder as his body tenses, slamming

into mine and knocking the air from my lungs. God, the friction…

I’m ashes beneath the onslaught. Fire. Heat. Sin.

My world is a collage of sensation of blinding white.