Page 74 of The Wrong Game

I didn’t have time to moan or husk or agree with his assessment before he slipped that finger inside me, hard, thrusting all the way until he was knuckle deep. I gasped at the feel, hand searching for grip on the glass, but there was no relief. So I tightened my fist around the stem of the wine glass, surrendering to the goosebumps covering my skin.

“Bend,” Zach commanded, and he pressed the small of my back down as the other hand hooked at my hip, showing me how he wanted me.

I leaned forward, cheek hitting the glass as I tilted my ass out, legs still straight, back arched.

“Good girl,” he said, and he hooked his thumbs in the straps of my thong, pulling it down my thighs all the way to my feet.

I tried to step out of them, to free myself from the lace, but he clamped his hands around my ankles.

“No.”

He didn’t say anything more, but in the next second, I felt that same lacy fabric tighten around where his hands just were. He tied the straps into a knot, securing my feet in place, and then his hands hooked in my waist, bending me even more.

And then, without warning, without giving me a chance to catch another breath, he buried his face between my thighs.

His tongue swept over my clit, swirling before diving between my lips as I gasped for oxygen. My breath fogged the window, and the hand holding my wine glass weakened to the point that it was almost painful to continue holding on.

“Fuck,” Zach breathed, his voice rumbling between my legs. “So sweet.”

“Zach, please,” I whimpered, but I had no idea what I was begging for. Did I want more? Less? Did I want him to stop or dive in completely?

I didn’t know, not until the exact moment he delivered on what I hadn’t even realized I was asking. Slowly, he ran the pad of two fingers up my seam, and just as they slipped inside, his tongue ran over the crease where my cheek met my thigh.

And then, he was eating my ass.

My eyes bulged open, like my brain was on autopilot to immediately object. But my body stopped my words from coming before they even had the chance to form.

Holy shit.

His fingers worked relentlessly inside me, curling and pumping, while his tongue swirled the tight, puckered, forbidden hole. He didn’t breach it, just applied the perfect amount of pressure to spark a wave of taboo pleasure through me. I moaned, trying to widen my stance, to give him more, but my ankles were shackled.

And in all my squirming and panting, I spilled my wine.

“Shit,” I cursed, tilting the glass back upright and eyeing the red stain on my carpet.

Zach clicked his tongue, withdrawing his fingers and mouth from me all at once. The loss was instant, my body convulsing, and I cried out in protest.

“You spilled the wine,” he said, running his hands up my thighs and spanking my ass again as he stood. “Now, it’s my turn.”

In the next second, my wine glass was in Zach’s hand instead of mine, and he’d spun me, my bare ass pressing against the window as he slammed his mouth hard-on mine. I moaned at the taste of me on his tongue, his hard on rubbing against my clit as he rolled his body into mine. Then, he pulled completely away, leaving me gasping for air and another kiss as he placed the wine glass on the table next to his and turned back to face me with a wicked grin.

“Careful getting out of those,” he said, eyeing where my panties were still tied around my ankles. His grin disappeared as he yanked his long-sleeve shirt over his head, and though I wanted to move, to untie my shackles, I couldn’t do anything once he was half-naked in front of me.

His chest was broad and tan, a deep line cutting him all the way from the middle of his pecs down to the very last ab that rested right above the hem of his jeans. Every muscle ebbed and flowed as he shifted, tearing his shirt the rest of the way off and letting it drop on the floor at his feet. I followed the movement, scanning every inch of his bare chest and stomach, breath shallow.

My eyes caught on a small patch of hair that started just below his belly button, dipping beneath his jeans, and framed on each side by a dip in his muscles that framed his groin in a perfect V.

Zach reallywasa god.

His eyes raked over me, hands working the button and zipper on his jeans as he watched me. He bit down hard on his bottom lip, tugging his jeans down and letting them drop to the floor, and I swallowed, keeping my gaze trained on his face.

I took his cue, pulling my hoodie and tank top over my head in one, fluid movement. My hair caught in the neck hole, tumbling over my shoulders once I was free, and I unclasped my bra next, letting my breasts spill free.

Zach paused where he was ready to pull his briefs down, shaking his head as his eyes raked over my now-completely naked body. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he breathed, his hand rubbing over the bulge straining against his briefs. “Come here.”

I bent, carefully pulling the lace of my panties wide so I could step out of the contraption he’d tied me up with. And when I stood again, there wasn’t a single piece of clothing left on Zach’s body.

He stood there like a king, stroking his impressive length as his eyes set me on fire from across the room. Every roll of his fist over his cock made his hips flex, made my mouth water, and my heart started beating so fast I was afraid I’d pass out if I didn’t get in the safety of his arms to hold me upright.