Page 28 of Deceptive Desires (The Syndicate #2)

Cecilia

I unlock my front door like I do after every date, but instead of turning around and kissing him before opening the door, I open the door first, then face him.

“Do you want to come in?” I force myself to maintain eye contact. I need him to see how much I want this. I suspect he’s been holding back physically because he doesn’t want to rush me, but I am done with waiting.

“I’d love to,” he says with a wolfish grin. It’s not wolfish in a scary sense, more predatorial. He’s ready to pounce.

With his palm on the small of my back, he leads me in.

“Is Gracie home?” His voice is low, matching his hooded eyes.

“She’s not here. She won’t be back until late.” Because I asked her not to be. Because I planned this.

I continue to my bedroom, but he redirects me to the couch.

“Why not my bedroom?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious. Have I read this wrong? Does he not want me like that? We go on dates and kiss, but he’s never tried to make a move. I start to redden with embarrassment.

“Sunshine, if we go to your room, to your bed, I won’t be able to resist you.

And I want to do this right. To be a gentleman.

I’m not going to sleep with you yet, despite every fiber of my being begging to.

” He pleads with me to understand. His voice raw with need and restraint.

“Your bed would be too much of a temptation. I’m trying to be a better man. ”

“Oh,” I whisper, stunned silent for a moment. “So, we’re not going to kiss on the couch? I can turn on a movie or somethi–”

I’m cut off by his mouth viciously attacking mine. He’s relentless. His tongue parts my lips and duels with mine. Every nerve in my body lights up. I’m on fire.

I wrap my arms around his neck and scrape my fingers through the buzzed hair, loving the feeling of the poky strands. He groans into my mouth and continues his assault.

He lifts my butt, and I take the hint, wrapping my legs around him. He walks to the couch with me hanging on him like a monkey. He sits down, and I’m sitting on top of him. Still kissing him. I lift my skirt enough to allow me to move my knees so I’m straddling him.

I pull back, desperate for oxygen, despite not wanting to break the contact.

He takes the opportunity to trail his lips down my neck. Licking, sucking, biting. I can’t stop the moans from escaping me. Can’t stop the trembles rolling through my body.

My hips move of their own accord. Grinding into the hardness between my thighs. Pressing my core onto him.

Just like at the club, he uses one hand to move my hips, controlling the pace. Controlling the friction. I’m blinded with every pass.

His other hand runs through my loose waves then grips them at the base of my skull, pulling my head back, causing me to arch my back.

He licks around my right nipple though my top. Despite the fabric barrier, I can feel him scorching my skin.

He continues guiding my hips on his, continues meeting my movement, grinding into me.

Then, he bites my nipple. And it’s euphoric. I groan uncontrollably.

He growls in response, and tightens his grip, pulling me closer.

I reach to take off his shirt, needing to see him. Needing to feel his skin on mine.

When I pull at the neckline, he separates just enough to whip it off.

And reveals his tattoos.

His entire torso is covered in intricate ink. It’s mesmerizing. I want to trace every pattern, every shape, every word etched into his skin. I want to trace them with my tongue.

“Fuck, sunshine. Look away. Another second of you eye fucking me, then being on the couch won’t stop me from taking you.” His plead comes out a demand. Instead of begging me, he’s commanding me.

I look down and lift the bottom of my blouse, ready to shed it, when he grabs my wrists, stilling me.

“Please,” he begs. “You can’t undress. Seeing you will kill me. Destroy every last ounce of restraint. Please, keep it on this time.”

Instead of answering, I lean in again and capture his mouth with my own.

He doubles his efforts, thrusting against me, maximizing the contact and the pleasure. His hand leaves my hip and lands on my thigh.

He slowly starts trailing it up.

Under my skirt.

Up my hips.

Stopping at the lacy strap of my thong.

He pulls against it lightly, then traces his fingers along the seam, until he’s at the front.

“Is this sweet pussy wet for me?” It comes out so quietly, I’m not even sure he meant to say it.

When I don’t answer, he lifts his gaze to mine.

“Cecilia, I asked you a question. Is your sweet cunt wet for me? Wet because of me?” His voice comes out sternly.

“Yes,” I say after a gulp.

“Are you sure?”

“It is, I swear. You can check,” I gasp out, needing him to believe the effect he has on me.

The grin that breaks out across his face is beautiful. It lights him up. He looks alive in a way I’ve never seen.

“That’s all I needed to hear,” he says in a low voice.

Then, his fingers trail down, over my thong, until they’re covering my opening. My wet opening. So wet, I’ve soaked through my thong.

He growls when he finds what I promised would be there.

He pulls the panties aside and runs his fingers along my core. He does it a few more times, soaking his fingers.

Then, he pulls his fingers from my panties and lifts them to his mouth.

He sucks off my arousal while maintaining eye contact. The loud sucking is positively sinful. I can’t help the flush that stains my skin.

He drags his fingers from his mouth, and they crawl back up my thigh. He stops at the strap of my thong and tears it. He moved to the other side and does the same.

He pulls my thong off and brings it up to his nose, inhaling my scent.

He places it to the side and brings his fingers back to my exposed core.

He runs his fingers through the wetness again, collecting it, then brings them up to my clit. He rubs circles around the swollen bud, and I throw my head back in pleasure.

He stills immediately.

“Cecilia, eyes on me when I’m touching you. When I’m playing this perfect body like an instrument I’ve mastered. When I make you feel this good, you watch me and know who’s doing this to you.” It’s a promise of pleasure and the threat of denial rolled up in wicked words.

“Okay,” I whisper.

“Good girl,” he says after a growl.

He trails his fingers back down, until they hover over my opening. Then he dips one in me.

Even lubricated by my own arousal, there’s a pinch of pain. My body not familiar with the intrusion.

“So… fucking… tight,” he groans, gasping and panting. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“I’m sorry,” I mumble, embarrassed by my lack of experience.

“Fuck no, sunshine. You’re fucking perfect. This tight pussy is going to kill me. Choke me to death. And I’ll die the happiest man.”

He pumps into me a few more times, and once I’m well adjusted, he adds a second finger. It takes a few more strokes for me to relax, but then he changes his angle and starts brushing against a spot inside me that has me seconds from my release.

“You like that, sunshine?” he asks.

It takes everything in me to answer, but I know how much he needs to hear it.

“Yes! I love it,” it comes out a breathy moan.

He continues thrusting his fingers in me but adjusts his palm so that it’s brushing against my clit, and I explode.

His name comes out a prayer on my lips, and I fall over the edge. My pussy spasms arounds his fingers, and I hear him groan. His entire body tenses, and I feel his member twitch. I’m too far gone to think about it.

He pulls his fingers from me and licks them clean.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says.

He grabs my discarded, ruined panties and rubs them through my slick folds, collecting my arousal, effectively cleaning me dry.

He’s the perfect gentleman.