Page 80 of For the Plot

“Would you like that?” I slide it in just a little bit and her response is only a gasp. “You’re filthy, aren't you, Skye?”

She tries to remain cool but I can see her losing it. “Only for you.”

I push the cigar farther in this time. She arches, whimpers. The sound she makes is like a prayer. Like surrender. And all I want is to make her give me more of it. I pull it out slightly before sliding even farther in this time.

She clenches around the cigar like she’s trying to hold it in, like her body doesn’t know what to do with this kind of teasing. With this kind of possession.

I slide it out in a controlled motion, watching the wet sheen coating the length. She moans again, a soft whimper. The kind of sound that ruins a man.

My throat is dry. My control’s shot. I bring the cigar to my nose, inhaling her arousal before slipping it between my lips. And then I light it. I close my eyes, inhaling.

The smoke tastes like her—sweet and sharp, laced with heat and something primal. Something I shouldn’t crave but do.

She’s watching me now. Chest rising and falling, thighs trembling where they’re still open, skirt bunched around her waist. Her lips are parted, her eyes unfocused.

“Reece…” she whispers, voice barely there.

I don’t answer. I set the cigar back in the tray, stand between her knees, and press my hands to her thighs. Then I drop to my knees.

She gasps as I hook her thighs over my shoulders and drag her to the edge of the desk.

“You wanted to play,” I say, my voice rough and low. “You wanted to tempt me.”

She nods quickly, too quickly. “Yes. Please.”

I don’t tease. I devour her. One long, firm stroke from her entrance to her clit that makes her cry out and grab a fistful of my hair.

She tastes like sin. Like victory. Like every bad decision I’ve ever wanted to make twice.

I do it again, slower, savoring the way she shudders when I flick my tongue over the sensitive spot just beneath her clit.

“God—Reece.”

She’s writhing now, trying to grind down, to take more of me. I hold her still. Make her take it how I give it. Her body is so fucking responsive. Every moan, every breath, every twitch of her hips is for me. Because of me.

I suck her clit between my lips, just enough pressure to make her sob.

“Fuck,” she pants. “I’m gonna— Oh God, I’m so close.”

“Come for me.” My voice is muffled by her, by the way I refuse to stop, refuse to let up.

I flatten my tongue and drag it in slow, punishing circles until her legs tighten around me and she comes with a cry that echoes off the walls.

She’s shaking. Boneless. Wrecked. And I’m not even close to done. I rise slowly, letting her feel the shift in air, the absence of my mouth on her. She looks at me through heavy lashes, lips swollen, chest heaving.

“Holy shit,” she breathes. “You just?—”

“You earned it.” My voice is gravel. I reach for the glass of scotch and take a slow sip, never breaking eye contact. She watches me drink, eyes still dazed. I’m about to go in for seconds when, without a word, she slides off the desk and drops to her knees.

I freeze.

“What are you?—?”

She steps in closer and places her hands flat on my chest. I don’t stop her. I can’t. My whole body is coiled tight, vibrating under her touch.

She pushes gently. I let her guide me until the backs of my thighs hit the chair.

“Sit.” I ease down onto the chair.