Page 88 of The Price of Scandal

“Do you like this, love?” he asked between impatient laps.

“God, yes. Take your cock out. I want you stroking yourself,” I ordered.

He bit my ass cheek approvingly. “Oh, Emily. What a surprise you are.”

“Are you touching yourself?” I demanded.

I heard the tightness in his voice. “Yes.” Then his tongue was nudging the folds between my legs again. I could hear the whisper-soft sound of flesh stroking flesh. I could picture him on his knees behind me. Pleasuring me. Pleasuring himself.

This wasn’t real. This was a depraved fantasy that I’d somehow wanted my entire life.

He didn’t want me because of my last name. Because of my company or my bank account. Derek Price wanted to conquer my body.

He grunted softly behind me, and my muscles rippled around the tip of his tongue.

“Come, darling,” he said, reading my body like a treasure map. He released his cock and used his hands to spread me wider, affording him a deeper angle.

I couldn’t come like this. It was a physical impossibility. And then the orgasm exploded out of nowhere, fluttering around that very talented tongue as it danced and dipped, tasting me.

I slapped my hand against the marble as it rippled through me. It wasn’t enough. I needed more. I needed him.

“Derek, please,” I begged.

“You want my cock, love?” he whispered between deft licks.

“Yes,” I hissed.

He eased back from me, the echo of the orgasm still drumming through my system. I straightened from the table and tore at my shoes. He rose, watching me with those ocean blue eyes. His fingers worked his tie free, and he shrugged out of his jacket, tossing it carelessly on the foyer floor. That magnificent cock hung heavily from his open zipper.

I backed away from him, my breasts still exposed, my dress still mostly on.

I saw the spark in his eyes. The desire to chase. And oh, God. I wanted to be chased.

“Where do you think you’re going, Emily? I’m just getting started.”

The ache between my legs ratcheted up to pain.

I turned and ran, bare feet slapping as I dashed toward the bedroom. He caught me. Of course he caught me, those long legs eating up the distance between us. His arms banded around me from behind, and I reveled at the feel of his cock at my back. Brutally hard.

Caged within his arms, Derek marched me to the mirror in my bedroom. I wanted to be horrified by my reflection. Disheveled and glassy-eyed. My lips were swollen, lipstick smeared. As I watched, he unzipped my dress. Our eyes caught and held in the mirror. The sound of our breathing and the zipper as he dragged it down was the only noise.

“Watch,” he ordered, placing my palms on the cool glass. He slipped the dress down past my waist, hips, thighs, until it pooled uselessly at my feet. Slowly, decadently, Derek reversed the path with his broad hands. Starting at my ankles, they skated up my calves, thighs, over the curves of my ass and waist and higher until they cupped my breasts.

He leaned over my shoulder, teeth flashing. I gasped at the nip.

“I’m going to devour you, Emily.”

I didn’t doubt him for a minute.

While I watched. While my nails scraped at the smooth surface of the mirror, he tugged on both my nipples. Back and forth. Faster. Harder. I pressed my hips back against him, and he grunted in my ear.

“Who’s in charge here, love?” he asked.

“Let’s fight for it.” I pulled one hand off the mirror and reached around behind me to grip his shaft. Moisture leaked from the tip, dampening my back. Derek closed his eyes in the mirror as I worked my hand down to the root.

“Dammit, woman,” he hissed, bringing a hand up to cup my jaw from behind. We made an erotic tableau together in the mirror. I needed him inside me. Needed him pounding into me, racing me to an orgasm.

I released his cock and gripped my breast with my bare hand.