Page 88 of Bastard

“Get the condom and put it on me.”

His eyes rake over me as I trudge away in my heavy boots. I retrieve a roll of condoms from the box by the door, feeling wild and ambitious. When I turn back, my mouth goes dry.

He’s facing me, completely naked, his body too beautiful for words, his gorgeous erection standing proudly at attention. The tattoo of the beautifully inked dancer on full display.

I want to ask him, of all things, why a dancer?

Yet do I really require an answer when the truth couldn’t be more obvious? On our wedding night, I danced for him. He promised my brother he wouldn’t consummate our marriage, yet with one seductive dance, I ruined that plan. It was the first time I felt the truth about us—that he’s as helpless as I am to control the connection between us.

I toss him the condoms, which he deftly catches.

He stares at me, warily. Like he senses the shift in me.

I smile. “Do you remember our wedding night?”

His eyes flash, full of interest.

“¿Te gustaría que bailara para ti?” Without waiting for confirmation, I raise my arms overhead, arch my back, and position the toe of my boot on the earthen floor.

He sucks in a loud breath.

Slowly, ever so slowly, I begin to dance. Moving to the music of us, watching the handsome man I’m performing for break.

It’s been a while since I’ve moved like this. With everything that’s happened, I was first too traumatized, then too heartbroken to pursue dancing. Dios, I’ve missed it. Almost as much as I’ve missed the blissful feeling of knowing how much he wants me.

I tap my heel and then my toe. Hips swaying and arms arching. Bare breasts bouncing as I glide forward.

Tension fills the air, ripe with anticipation.

“You dancing in that red dress has haunted my dreams for years.”

My throat tightens with emotion, and I allow it to fuel my movements. I retreat, spiraling away, only to turn and discover him sliding the condom along his thick girth.

I nearly stumble as he milks his beautiful cock, stroking up and down. Making himself hard and ready ... for me.

I recover, but not before I catch his naughty grin.

Our eyes lock. I keep moving, sharpening each tap, each thrust of my hip. He keeps stroking, until his pupils darken to midnight black.

Then, with a hiss, he’s on his feet.

I’m hauled forward.

We tumble back onto the bed.

He rolls, pinning me down into the mattress.

I feel the thick head of his erection slide against my crease.

“Look at me.”

My eyes flash wide, and even wider when my thong is ripped from my body.

He thrusts and drives into me until he’s fully seated, my body stretching to accommodate him. He pauses, waiting for my signal.

I wiggle my hips and draw him impossibly deeper. “Please,” I beg.

“Please what?”