Page 34 of Sinful Desires (Sinful #4)

He wiped the back of his mouth with his hand, like the taste of my voice pissed him off. His arms crossed tightly across his chest.

“You tell me, Miss Harper. Isn’t he waiting for you in your childhood bedroom?”

He scoffed, eyes cold. “Miss Jung really is thoughtful. Lining up dicks for you like party favors.”

I dragged my fingers down the mic, slow and soft, then leaned in and ran my tongue up the length of it.

“Funny,” I whispered, not taking my eyes off him. “She forgot to list my favorite one.”

I turned around, hands slipping behind my back. The sound of the zipper sliding down filled the silence. The dress pooled at my feet. I stepped out of it slowly, first one heel, then the other.

A low curse broke from his lips.

I was standing there in nothing but a red thong and two star-shaped red pasties covering my nipples.

His eyes dropped as his jaw clenched. “You’re not playing fair, beauté .”

I tilted my head. “I never have, Théo.”

Both of my hands slid slowly up the mic stand, fingers curling around it.

Then I bent forward and dragged my tongue up the length of the mic once more, my eyes on him. I wrapped my lips around the top and sucked—deep and wet, letting it hit the back of my throat before pulling off with a loud, filthy pop.

I then grabbed it off the stand.

“You know what I love about music?”

His gaze burned. His arms crossed tighter.

I trailed the cordless mic down my chest, letting it press between my breasts, dragging lower, slower, until it rested just above the waistband of my thong.

“It lets you sing things you’d never dare say out loud.” Then I dropped to my knees, still holding the mic, still looking at him. “I could sing about someone’s hands between my thighs, and no one would bat an eye.”

Another breath.

“I could moan about the greatest night of my life onstage, and they’d call it art.”

I dropped to the floor and spread my legs, slow and wide. I grabbed the mic by the top and lowered the end between my thighs. Pressed it against my pussy through the thin strip of fabric.

I was wet , and I wanted him to see it.

I pushed my thong to the side and slid the cold shaft against my clit, dragging it up and down. My hips shifted. My grip tightened.

Burning for him, I dragged the mic lower and pressed the cold end between my folds. I pushed it in slowly, inch by inch, and a high-pitched, porn-star moan tore out of my throat.

Loud, needy, shameless .

My head snapped back, thighs trembling, hips grinding forward. I shoved the mic deeper, fucking myself with the handle. My pussy clenched so tightly around the metal I could barely breathe. My tits bounced with every thrust. Faint wet noises filled the air.

I opened my mouth and tried to sing, voice breaking, every lyric tangled in a moan.

“We’re not soft?… we’re not pure?…”

My fingers gripped tighter. My legs spread wider. Sweat rolled between my tits, catching on my skin.

“We’re the kind of ache?… no cure?…”

The words fell apart as my body jerked forward. My mouth opened again, a soft cry tangled in the next line.

“Say my name?… like it’s your sin?…”

A cry dragged from somewhere deeper. Footsteps. I didn’t stop. Couldn’t. I was too far gone.

“And I’ll say it back?…” My voice cracked. My eyes stayed closed. “While I kiss you again, Théo?…”

“If you come, I’ll drag you by the hair through that fucking ballroom and throw you at your father’s feet. Let them see their sweet little star with a mic shoved in her pussy.”

I kept moving. Just a few more seconds. My clit throbbed. My breath shattered. Then his hand clamped around my wrist. I felt his stare burn into mine before I even looked.

He crouched in front of me, not a trace of mercy in his face. “Get up.”

I shook my head. “What did I say about your orders, soldier?”

He scoffed, eyes dropping between my legs. The mic was still half buried inside me, glistening. He reached down, wrapped his fingers around it, and shoved it back in with a low curse.

Something dark flickered across his face.

I arched my back, letting my hand fall to the floor, and moved with it, grinding down as he fucked me with the mic, fast and deep. I came hard, pussy clenching so tightly my whole body trembled, his name leaving my lips.

Then he pulled it out in one slow, deliberate drag. I moaned, breathless, and looked up at him.

“Look how wet I am,” I whispered as I spread my legs wider, letting him see all of it. “It’s only for you, Théo.”

His eyes burned through mine as he brought the mic to my lips. “Clean it up, Scarlett.”

I did.

He held it to my lips, slick and dripping, and I wrapped my mouth around it—still catching my breath as I tasted myself. He thrust it in. Then out. Again. My throat burned as he fucked the mic deeper, my saliva mixing with everything I’d left behind.

Then he put it in the back pocket of his cargo pants.

I crawled on my hands and knees toward him, my cheek brushing the fabric over his cock.

“Fuck, look at you,” he growled, smacking my ass. “And those fucking little stars on your tits.” He stood.

I didn’t wait. My fingers hooked into his zipper, dragging it down with trembling hands.

I still don’t know how my pussy had taken every inch of him yesterday, but fuck me, I was about to try and get him all the way down my throat too.

His cock sprang free, thick and veined. I stared at it like a problem I’d never solve, licked my lips, then pressed my tongue to the base, sucking one ball into my mouth before dragging up the length.

“Do you like me on my knees, soldier?” I asked, brushing my cheek against his cock.

His hand cradled my jaw, thumb slipping over my lips. “More than I fucking want to admit it, baby.”

I giggled and took him into my mouth, as deeply as I could. His cock hit the back of my throat. I choked, coughed, and pulled back with spit stringing from my lips.

“Spit on it, Scarlett.”

I did. Thick, messy, dripping. Then I licked it back down, slower this time, letting it smear across my tongue.

“I’m gonna fuck your face,” he said, voice ragged. “And you’re gonna take it. Compris ?”

I nodded.

He grabbed both sides of my face as he rammed into my mouth again and again, his cock bruising my throat, spit pooling at my chin, my jaw aching. My hands clung to his legs for balance as he threw his head back and fucked my face with zero mercy.

A whimper tore from his throat. “Scarlett?—”

My pussy clenched, wetness dripping down my thighs in hot little rivers, pooling beneath me as I gasped around him.

“ Regarde-toi, putain ,” he snarled. “ T’aime ca, hein? Ma bite dans ta bouche? Tu me rends dingue, Scarlett. ”

He was shaking. I felt it, his thighs tensing, his abs tightening with every thrust. His moans turned to broken gasps, until he suddenly stopped.

His hands dropped from my face. He stepped back, chest heaving, hand wrapped tightly around his cock, pumping fast. His eyes never left mine.

“Lean back,” he growled. “On your fucking hands.”

I obeyed and leaned back instantly, arms behind me, legs wide open, pussy dripping, thighs sticky, tits rising with each breath.

I was a fucking mess. Pretty sure my makeup was ruined—mascara halfway to my jaw, lipstick smudged.

He stepped over me, boots planted on either side of my hips, towering above me.

He jerked his cock, eyes locked on my tits.

“Stay just like that,” he said. “Don’t move, baby.”

Then he groaned. Loud, filthy, and full of grit.

His cum shot out in thick, hot streams, splattering across my tits, my collarbone, my throat. It dripped down my chest in slow trails, painting across my nipples and the tiny star pasties there.

He watched it spread, panting like he’d been shot.

“Fuck?… Look at you,” he moaned, still stroking. “My cum all over your pretty little stars and your perfect tits. Covered like the little whore you are.”

He reached down, grabbing me under the arms, and hauled me off the floor like I weighed nothing. My heels kicked in the air.

Then he kissed me. Hard. Deep. Possessive .

“Thank you, Miss Harper,” he whispered against my mouth.

I let out a broken laugh, delirious, high on him. My hands cradled his face and I kissed him again.

“You’re so welcome, Mister LeRoy.”

He set me down on unsteady heels, and before I could breathe, he wiped a thick drop of cum off my chest, held it between two fingers, and smeared it across my lips.

“There’s one more thing I need you to do.”

I tilted my head, still dazed.

He reached for the red star pasties covering my nipples. He peeled them off one by one, wiped the cum off them with his thumb, and slid both into his pocket like trophies.

My nipples stiffened instantly.

“What is that, soldier?” I asked breathlessly.

He leaned in, mouth brushing the shell of my ear. “We can’t let anyone see what we just did.”

His eyes dropped. I followed his gaze and froze.

There was a slick little puddle of my arousal pooled on the floor.

He met my eyes again, amused. Bastard.

“Fix the floor, Miss Harper.”

I had two options. Run from the shame, or drop to my knees and crawl into it. A beat passed. I folded down slowly. Palms to the floor, tongue out as I dragged it through my juices.

“Look at me while you do it, baby.”

I looked up, breathless and flushed, eyes glazed. From down here, he looked even taller. Colder. Hungrier. It made my pulse stutter. Made my thighs press together.

I moaned, licking the floor like I was starved for it, lips glossy, eyes wet. He crouched beside me and let his hand glide down my spine before gripping my hair into a ponytail.

“Good girl,” he muttered, voice thick and low, “Look at you?…?filthy little thing. Knew you’d obey.”

I moaned again, louder.

When the floor was clean, he pulled me up by the hair and kissed me deeply, his tongue filthy and claiming. Then he turned me around, pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped my chest. My collarbone. My neck.

Gentle in the cruelest way.

He reached for my dress, helped me slide it back on, then zipped it up and dropped a kiss on my bare shoulder. “Let’s go before someone starts looking for you.”

He took my hand. I barely had my heels steady under me when he stopped, veered toward the massive portrait of Louis XVI, and tapped the frame.

A soft click, then it opened.

I blinked.

I’d lived in this house for more than a decade, and I’d never known there was a goddamn secret exit behind the French king.

“How the fuck did you find this?”

He held it open as I stepped through. Beyond the crack in the wall, a long brick hallway stretched out in front of me. Théo closed the panel behind us with a quiet snap.

“I’m a genius in technology, Scarlett. The Navy trained me to break into anything, find every hidden panel, every electric lock. There are three in your house.”

I turned to look at him, raising a brow. “Three?”

“Guess your father has a lot of things to hide.”

Guess so.

We walked. My heels echoed against the cold stone as his hand stayed firm on my lower back.

“Where does it lead?” I asked.

“To the entrance lobby. With any luck, everyone’s still eating dessert.”

After three minutes of silence and shadows, we reached another wall. Théo pressed something near the corner, and it gave. A narrow door creaked open.

He stepped out first, scanned the corridor, then turned and offered his hand. I took it.

The lights were off. Only the hallway glowed faintly from under antique sconces. No voices. No footsteps. No witnesses.

I pulled out my phone, typing a quick message to Victoria.

We left. I felt sick. Probably the prawns.

Sent another to my father.

I left.

Then I turned to Théo speaking quietly enough that no one else could hear.

“Take me home, please.”