Page 56 of Dance With A Devil

Holy fuck.

My hand finds the back of her neck, and I kiss her like I’m dying. Because in a way, I am. Every second I’m not inside her, I’m dying.

She moans against me, soft and needy.

“Wyck…”

“Don’t fight it, Little Fox,” I rasp, sliding my hand up her thigh, under her dress, past her heat. “Let me have you.”

“I won’t,” she breathes. “Take whatever you want.”

And just like that, the Devil in me rises.

“Good girl,” I growl. “Now slide down, open those legs, and show me what’s mine.”

She obeys without question, and fuck, that obedience?

It’s a drug.

She rests her head on my shoulder, trusting me to take care of her. But she should know by now… I’ll never just take care of her.

I’ll destroy kingdoms for her.

I’ll carve out the hearts of men who dare look too long.

Because she’s mine.

Forever.

And after tonight, the whole goddamn world will know it.

I shove the table out of the way with my boot. “Stand.” My voice is iron, no room for doubt.

She rises, and I guide her back between my spread thighs, settling her where I want her: on display, caged by my body.

“Wyck, what are you doing?” A whisper, equal parts fear and hunger. Exactly where I want her.

“Do you trust me?”

Her weight melts into my chest. That’s all the consent I need.

“Good. Lean back, open, and keep your pretty little mouth shut.”

She gasps; I laugh. The heat rolling off her is almost painful. I drag her top upward, a slow reveal, and her bra, transparent, useless, shows me everything. One flick of the clasp and thoseperfect breasts spill into my hands like they were molded for my palms alone.

“Fuck, they’re sore,” she rasps. “Use your mouth, Devil.”

One order, gladly obeyed. I pinch, roll, pull, gentle is a word that does not exist here. Every twitch of her body feeds me. Every ragged breath is a hymn in my name.

She squirms, grinding her ass against my cock, testing my restraint. Her cheeks are flushed; breathing ragged; nipples pearled and aching. She’s close, so close, from my fingers alone.

I press the heel of my hand against her cunt through the skirt, feel the heat, the damp. “My Little Fox… did you just come for me?”

“Feel for yourself,” she hisses, then drags my fingers to her lips and sucks them deep, staring into my eyes like a challenge.

I nearly explode.

“Greedy.” I shove my hand beneath the skirt, past the heat-soaked fabric, slide one finger inside, silk and wet sin. She moans. I add another. Then two more. She arches, chokes on a cry.