Page 54 of Wicked Sinner

Caesar looks at me for a long moment, and then his lips are on mine again, his hands sliding hungrily over my body as the twilight turns to dark and the stars come out above us.

The beach is deserted now, no one left to see as he brings me down to the sand with him, pulling me astride him as his hand slides into my hair. I can feel how hard he is, hips arching up to grind into me as he devours my mouth, and I break the kiss, gasping.

“Your security—”

“—will keep their distance,” Caesar groans, pulling me down into another kiss. “They won’t watch. I promise. Bridget—”

I can feel the need in his touch, the way he can’t seem to stop. My blood feels like it’s on fire, and I can’t help thinking about all the times I refused to have sex on the beach with past boyfriends, thinking of the sand and the damp and the uncomfortable aspects of it.

Now I don’t care. All I can think about is how good he feels under me, hard and needy and wanting me. I can excuse this one away by saying we promised not to think about the reasons why we shouldn’t do something like this today. And I want an excuse. I want him again.

His hands are under my shirt, at my hips, feverishly undoing the button of my jeans as I reach for his belt.

We get my jeans off, toss them away on the sand just as I reach in and slide him free.

My hand wraps around his thick, pierced length as I lift up my hips, and his fingers hook under the edge of my panties, pulling them to one side as I guide him against my drenched entrance.

All it takes is him kissing me to get me this wet.

To make me feel like I’m dying to have him inside of me again.

I moan as I sink down onto him, feeling him fill me up more than he ever has before, on the verge of being painful at this angle.

But I don’t care. I slide up and down again, relishing the look on Caesar’s face, the lust in his eyes, the way he makes me feel like a goddess when he looks at me like this.

I feel beautiful. Powerful. Unstoppable, that I could make a man like him want me so badly.

The thrill races through my blood as I grind against him, riding his cock as his fingers find my clit, pushing me to a quick, hard climax as my knees dig into the sand and I taste the salt from the wind on my lips.

There’s something charged between us out here, primal, almost feral.

Caesar grabs my hips as my orgasm tears through me, fingers digging in as he thrusts up into me, groaning as he finds his release, too.

He moans my name, holding me down on his cock as the hot spurts of his cum fill me up, and he reaches up to pull me down for another kiss as I feel him throb inside of me.

Afterward, we lie tangled together on Caesar's shirt, watching the stars appear in the darkening sky. I should feel self-conscious about having sex on a public beach, but all I feel is satisfied and warm and completely content.

"We should go," Caesar says eventually, pressing a kiss to my temple. "Before someone sees us and calls the cops.”

I roll my eyes, knowing he’s being sarcastic… but he is right. We should go. We can’t stay here all night. I feel a stab of disappointment, not wanting the night to end.

“Although—” Caesar slips his hand into my pocket, sliding out his keys. “I have something I want to show you.”

I raise an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

"Trust me." His eyes are bright with something that might be excitement or might be danger. "I want to show you something." Caesar tosses the keys in the air and catches them with a grin that makes my stomach flip.

"Get in," he says, as we reach the Ferrari, and he has that look on his face again, the one I remember from that first night. Cocky. Confident. Adventurous.

The look that makes me want to give him everything.

"Where are we going?" I cross my arms, and he grins.

"Anywhere." He opens the passenger door for me. "Everywhere. I want to drive, and I want you with me."

He starts the car, driving until we reach the back roads that I suspect he was driving that first night when he had car troubles. There’s a long stretch in front of us, and Caesar looks over at me, a boyish smile on his face.

"Hold on," he warns, and then we're flying.

He drives like he does everything else—with complete confidence and a recklessness that shouldn’t turn me on… but God, it does. We race through the back streets, past palm trees and scrub brush, the speedometer climbing higher than it should.

I should be terrified. I should be telling him to slow down, to think about the baby, to be responsible.

Instead, I find myself laughing as the wind whips through my hair and the engine roars beneath us.

I’m thrilled that Caesar is doing this, that he’s not worrying about me or the danger, that he’s confident enough to know he can keep us safe.

And then, it hits me. I feel like that because this is something I love. Because this is something I would want in a partner.

But he’s always trying to keep us safe. Confident that he can do so, if I’d just let him, just as he is right now.

And, as Caesar pushes the car a little harder, as I see the look on his face and the smile on his lips, I feel something that I could put a name to, if I let myself. I know what I feel for Caesar Genovese, in this moment… and I know that I can’t allow myself to admit it.

Not out loud. And definitely not to him.

But this man… the one I’m seeing right now? This is a man I could love.

This is who he really is, I realize. Not the violent crime boss or the overprotective kidnapper, but this—pure adrenaline and freedom and the need to push boundaries just because he can.

This is the man I met… and this is the man I want. If only I could keep him.

"There," he says suddenly, slowing and pulling off onto a dirt road that leads into a wooded area. "This'll do."

I blink at him, startled.

"This'll do for what?"

But he's already stopping the car and reaching for me, and suddenly we're kissing again, desperate and hungry.

The bucket seats aren't exactly designed for what we're trying to do, but Caesar doesn’t give me time to think. My jeans are off again for the second time in an hour, and this time my panties too, his fingers inside of me as he strokes himself with the other hand and kisses me like he’s desperate to taste me again.

When he drops the seat back, maneuvering me so that my legs are over his shoulders, I see stars. I can smell salt and his cologne and warm leather, the heat of our skin and the scent of sex, and I’m so wildly aroused that I don’t know how I’m ever going to say no to this man again.

His mouth is between my legs, his tongue at work as he drives me to a climax quicker than I thought possible, and I barely stop to wonder what his security thinks and where they are.

It feels so good—everything he does feels so good, and I grip his hair with one hand as the orgasm tears through me, crying out his name.

He doesn’t stop until I’m limp and breathless, and then he pulls me onto his lap, pushing his seat back as he sinks me down onto his cock and thrusts up into me with ruthless abandon.

“I can’t fucking stop,” he groans, burying his face in my neck, teeth and tongue nipping and licking at the sensitive flesh.

“I can’t stop fucking you. Every time I’m not inside of you, I’m thinking about when I can be again.

When I can come the way I only do with you.

When I can feel your perfect pussy wrapped around me like it was fucking made for me.

” He grips my hips, bouncing me on his length as he claims my mouth again, a hungry, needy sound coming from deep in his throat.

“God, I’m going to come so fucking hard for you, Bridget—”

I love when he says my name. I love when he says it like that, most of all, like it’s being torn from him, so full of need and pleasure that I can’t think of anything but how much I never want all of this to stop.

He finishes a moment later, throbbing inside of me, his hand tangled in my hair as he fills me for the second time this evening. And I know, if I let him, we’ll be doing this again and again before the night is over.

I’m so sore I’m starting to wonder how I’m going to walk, but I don’t want to stop, either. Because sooner rather than later, this is going to all be over.

His arm is around me, holding me to him as if he doesn’t want me to slide off just yet. And I don’t want to. I want to lean against his hard chest, feel him inside of me, pretend that every day could be like this one.

I feel something for him. Something deep and real and something that I’ve never felt before for anyone. But it doesn’t change who he is. It doesn’t change the danger of his lifestyle or the perils of his world, and it doesn’t change that I don’t fit in… and that I don’t want to.

And I can’t reconcile any of that.

Especially when it’s not only me who would be a part of that world. Not only me who would be in danger.

It would be our child, too.