Page 25 of Sins of Arrogance (Syndicate Sins #1)

KARA

My most intimate flesh is still pulsing when Mick shifts his body so his muscular thighs are stretching my legs wide open again.

Muscles like jelly, I give him no resistance.

His shaft bobs thick and angry, his pre ejaculate making the bulbous head glisten. He's so turned on his foreskin is fully retracted and my mouth waters wanting to taste him.

But that's not what's coming next and we both know it.

I tug against my restraints, but I don’t want to be free. I don't want to go back to having to think, to having to be Kara, mob princess.

Right now, like this, I'm pure sensation. There is no mask I have to keep up, no fake smile I have to force my lips to make, no perfect words to say.

It's just me and Mick. And he wants me raw and open, like I am nowhere else.

My body is replete with pleasure, but I still want more. I need him inside me .

He presses the tip of his erection against the swollen and sensitized opening of my body. "You're mine, Kara."

"Yes," I whisper, not recognizing my own voice.

His big hands cup my breasts, squeezing and playing, teasing my nipples, forcing more pleasure to spark along nerve ending that connect directly to the pulsing flesh between my legs.

"You will always be mine." His voice is guttural, his eyes filled with primal possession.

For some reason, the agreement I know he expects is stuck in my throat.

It's that word always .

Mick's right. I need him. But I need so much more than sex, no matter how mind blowing. I need to know I come first. I need to believe that if I asked him to take time off to have lunch with me, he'd make it happen.

And I really, really don't. Because he wouldn't. Because outside the bedroom, I'm just not that important to him.

Not wanting the demoralizing thoughts to impinge on this time, I tilt my hips up and let my body answer so my mouth doesn't have to. My slick and swollen folds suck his head in and we both groan.

"Always," he says, like he knows that's the word stuck inside me and then Mick thrusts deep in one harsh surge.

I cry out, the sensation too much at first, but he doesn't let up and I don't ask him to. There's no slow buildup this time. He claims me like a man who’s been starving.

His strokes are hard, deep, relentless. Every thrust sends aftershocks through me. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.

He kisses me then, raw and possessive. Our tongues tangle, the taste of me on his. He kneads my breasts, pinching my nipples until I moan into his mouth.

"You feel that?"

I nod.

"These baps are mine."

I nod again.

He growls, "Say it."

"They’re yours. I’m yours."

His thrusts grow even harder and more driving. "Whose pussy am I fucking?"

"Yours." For now , flits through my head.

And it's such a shocking, disturbing thought, my body stills.

He doesn't like that, and he grabs my legs, pushing them back so he can go deeper.

His brutal pace is punishing, but I love it, reveling in this moment that not only am I his, but he is entirely mine.

When he swivels his hips to stimulate my oversensitive clitoris, my body lights up like Times Square at midnight.

"Don’t hold back," he growls.

And I don’t. I can't. I come again, writhing under him, crying out his name.

He throws his head back with a primal yell as he finally lets go, pulsing inside me.

It takes minutes before either of us can move.

He nuzzles into my neck, licking the salty sweat from my skin. "You’re mine, Kara. Every inch of you. In every way that matters."

I don’t reply, but I don’t pull away either. I just breathe.

Eventually, he lifts off me and shifts to kneel beside me. Unbuckling the cuffs, he rubs my wrists and kisses each pulse point before carefully lowering my hands to rest beside me.

After that, he massages my shoulders and arms until I'm barely awake and boneless. I'm so tempted to fall asleep, but I know what comes next.

So, I'm unsurprised when he leaves the bed. The sound of water cascading into our two-person whirlpool tub seconds later tells me he's preparing a bath for me with essential oils and Epsom salts.

Memories of the first time he did this play like a hazy movie reel in my head.

I'd winced from a twinge in my nether regions the morning after a night of passion like tonight.

Mick's eyes narrowed like I'd done something wrong. "Are you sore?"

Not wanting to lie, but unable to say, "No," I shrugged.

"Where?"

I shook my head, unwilling to go there.

"Is it your pussy? Your thighs? Your buttocks, what?"

My face flaming, I glared. "Leave it. I'm fine."

"Tell me."

But I shook my head again.

What followed was a different game from the one we played that had made my muscles sore to begin with. Mick tested my shoulders, my arms, my inner thighs and my buttocks.

By the time he got to checking my most intimate flesh, I'd given away the sore spots with my reactions. I'd tried to control them, but the way he stilled each time let me know he noticed every micro expression, every tiny hitch in my breath.

I was also really turned on.

He gave me an all over body massage, bringing me to a shattering climax once my body was completely relaxed. After, he made me take a soak in a hot bath with Epsom salts and drink a bottle of water while doing it.

I'd enjoyed the sensual massage and the aftermath, but not as much as I enjoy when he binds my hands before torturing me with pleasure. I crave it now. The way I can lose myself completely in his touch, in the ecstasy he wrings out of me.

I don't have to be "good and obedient" Kara. I can scream and beg and even cry and not for a single second does he take his intense focus off of me.

Now. It wasn't always that way.

When I was too embarrassed to pick a safe word, he introduced me to the traffic light system. Red for stop everything. Yellow means I'm nervous, or something is borderline painful or uncomfortable. Green means go.

I yell "green" a lot with even more "pleases."

I've only said red three times. The first time, I wanted to know what he would do.

He untied me (he'd used one of his silk ties that night) and grilled me on what I was feeling, but his hardon never abated.

I finally shamefacedly admitted I'd been testing to see if he would really stop. He didn't get mad. Not even a little.

He never gets angry at me.

And I don't know how I feel about that.

I mean I try so hard to be perfect, but no one is, right?

Anyway, he didn't get mad.

He didn't second-guess me either, when I said I wanted him to tie me up again.

But the second time I said red, I meant it.

"Fuck, Kara. Yes." Ropes of Mick's hot cum splatter against my neck.

He's got my breasts pressed together and slippery with lubricant for him to fuck. It's almost like having him inside me and I love when he comes like this.

My body is on an overload of bliss. I've already come twice and if my husband follows his usual pattern, I'll have at least one more orgasm before he unbuckles my cuffs.

He sits back, resting lightly on my stomach and starts rubbing his semen into my chest. The first time he did this I got a little freaked out.

Just like the first time he tied my hands.

But now, I love it. I feel like we're connected on a really primitive level and that makes me happy.

He likes it too. "That's right a stór . You're going to smell like me all night long."

I love going to sleep with the scent of him on me, but I don't tell him that.

He's playing with my nipples, slowly ratcheting up my desire again when his phone rings.

"Bleedin' hell." He jumps off of my body and grabs his phone. "Yeah?"

I don't know who he's talking to or what they're saying, but Mick starts touching me again. But it's like he's doing it subconsciously; his attention is on his phone call.

And I don't like the way that feels.

Suddenly the sensation of his cum saturating my skin makes me feel dirty.

Worse, I feel naked. Exposed.

Which I am, but since our wedding night, I've never felt ashamed to have Mick look at my nude body.

Now he's doing it while talking to someone else, probably making plans to leave me like he did our first night together.

He hasn't done that since, but I realize now it's because he hasn't been needed. No one has called him.

He turns away and crosses the room to flip open his laptop on the desk against the far wall. Mick doesn't sleep nearly as much as I do and he'll work on his computer sometimes after we do what it is we do.

Is it called making love when we don't have intercourse? I don't know. It feels as intimate as anything else could be.

But before Mick, no one had even touched my boobs, so that feels pretty intimate to me too.

Usually, I like that he works in here rather than going into the living room, but I don't like it right now.

Shame prickles across my skin as Mick boots up the computer while talking to the other person on the phone.

"Red." It's barely a whisper and he doesn't hear me. So, I clear my throat and say it again, louder this time. "Red."

Mick spins to face me, his eyes traveling over me like he's trying to see what's wrong. Like maybe I'm hurt. But he doesn't come back to the bed and undo the cuffs.

This time, I yell it. "Red!"

"Hold on a sec," he says into the phone before pressing something on the screen.

Probably the mute button.

Mick jogs back to me and unbuckles the cuffs with quick movements, his brows drawn together. "Do you need to pee, Kara?"

Without replying, I roll away from him and scoot off the opposite side of the bed. Probably making him think his guess was right, I rush into the bathroom, locking the door behind me.

My body still pulses with arousal, but it's laced with embarrassment now. I turn on the shower, flipping it to a lukewarm setting. That's supposed to make the desire go away, right?

I lather my loofah and wash every inch of my breasts before doing the rest of my body. I feel like I can still smell him on me, so I soap up my chest again and rub vigorously.