Page 11 of Arranged Control

We stand there a moment. Me, nearly naked, pearls around my neck, flushed and breathing hard.

Emotional and scared.

And wanting this so badly it’s like a hole in my chest.

Seamus looks like a dark, murdering god, an unholy demon who survives on lust and all that’s pleasure and wrong.

He bends down, lightly brushing his lips to mine.

“Shouldn’t we save this for our wedding night?” he whispers.

“No, thanks. I don’t think I can save it for ten minutes from now.”

His lips press hard and he kisses me.

The first touch of him was intoxicating. His fingers and his smell draw me close like a song playing just for me. But it’s his taste that slams a needle straight into the base of my skull and leaves me brainless with want.

Mint, whiskey, promise. A little hit of something sharp and metallic. Like fresh blood.

His tongue invades my mouth, his lips strong and soft all at once, the hand in my hair tangling and tightening as he dominates me. I moan into his mouth, shocked at my physical reaction as my core begins to pulse and my nipples stiffen. I’ve never been this turned on in my life. Not even close. That handon my lower back slips down to my ass and lightly squeezes, and he lets out this erotic groan.

He likes it. He really, really likes it.

That drives me wild. I kiss him harder, throwing myself into the moment. Losing myself in the wrongness. We shouldn’t be doing this, not right now. One day we’ll be married and this will be expected, but right now?

I’m too emotional. And he’s a fucking bastard.

I still can’t help myself.

His hand moves off my ass and up my body. He explores me, fingers tracing lines along my hips, up my spine, down my breasts. I whimper at that light caress, and he begins to back me toward the bed. I stagger, still kissing him, before he finally wrenches my head back, pulling my hair.

I yelp and moan at the same time as he gently tugs my panties down.

His fingers twist through the light mound of my pubic hair, moving toward my swollen and aching pussy.

“You want to hear something deeply fucked?” he whispers, kissing my neck, my ear, fingers teasing my folds, slowly stroking them before parting me. He teases my clit, rolling around it, and I melt into his touch.

“Oh, god. Go ahead and talk to me.”

“I don’t care if you’re going to regret this tomorrow.”

“Great, I don’t either.”

“A part of me hopes you do.”

“Actually, that is kind of fucked.”

“I told you.” His fingers slide inside. “I’m not a nice man.”

I shiver and bite his chest. He grunts in surprise as his fingers drill in deeper before pulling out. “You seem okay to me.”

“Easy for you to say. I didn’t tattoo my knuckles on your face earlier.”

“No, you’re tattooing your fingers in my—” He pulls them out and shoves two right into my mouth before I can finish that sentence. I whimper in shock as his gray-blue eyes stare at me.

“Now, now, princess. I don’t want any dirty talk from you. Not until we’re married. We wouldn’t want to spoil you. Now clean these off. Turns out, you’re dripping fucking wet.”

I whimper again as I suck his fingers. He’s right; I can feel myself on my thigh, the tingles running down my spine. He pushes me back until I tumble to the edge of the bed, and he drops to his knees, shrugging off his jacket, tossing it aside, and unbuttoning his dress shirt.