Page 45 of XOXO, Little Butterfly (The Storyteller’s Bodyguard #2)

Her wrists brush together as she follows the line of my gaze.

A crooked smile curves her lips. “What’s the plan, Mr. Morra?

Tie me up to your bed while you choke and spank me and pull my hair as you fuck me senseless every way you want?

” She throws back at me what I once told her in the cabin.

“Or are you going to reenact a scene from my books and show me how much of a good student you’ve been?

Who is it going to be? Dom…” she hisses and curls her lip under her teeth, “Tino?”

“The daddiest daddy of all book stalkers. That’s your favorite, isn’t it?” I can’t hide the edge to my voice.

She shrugs playfully and thrusts her hips forward, pressing into me, reseeking proof of how far gone I am for her. “But not yours. I know what you have in mind. The Nightingale’s Whispers .” A tremble runs through her. “Holy fuck.”

You don’t know the first thing about what I have in mind for you, Birdie.

I claim both of her wrists in my grip, hard and tight, and savor her gasp and the anticipation in her eyes. But then I separate her wrists one in each of my hands and guide them to my chest.

Her glance drops to where she’s touching me. “Tristan, what are you doing?”

I don’t answer with words. My frantic heartbeat does the talking. Swallowing, I take my hands off hers. My fingers pause in the air before they drop to my sides. It’s not her who surrenders, it’s me.

Dazed, she holds my gaze. “You’ll let me touch you without your control?”

“Remember that day in the shower?”

“How can I forget?”

“What was the last thing you told me there?”

She roams my body with hooded eyes and licks her lip. “Mine.”

“I am yours, Birdie. Always have been.”

Something shifts and ignites through her. A different kind of hunger sharpens in the way she looks at me. “Then I’ll take what’s mine.”

Her fingers spread against my chest, hesitant at first but then bolder, skating over my muscles, curling in the fabric of my shirt. My pulse riots. I should hate this. Instead, I burn.

She works the buttons of my shirt and pulls the fabric out of my pants.

Then she pushes my suit jacket off my shoulders.

I take off my holster and lay it, with my gun and the radio, on the dresser, and she takes care of my shirt.

When I stand half- naked before her, she trails every scar, every tattoo with deep concentration, as if she’s editing every inch of the man who has been before this moment, rewriting him into the man she now owns.

Her fingers travel up the back of my neck and thread into my hair. Then she pushes me down.

“Fuck.” I know what she wants me to do, and I don’t fight. “Only for you.” I’m down on my knees, my cock aching against the zipper.

“Good boy. Now, keep your eyes on me…all the time.”

Growling, I yank her heels out, one by one, and then hike her skirt up her thighs until her panties are on display.

They’re red. Fucking red with a huge wet spot staining them. “ Mirá lo que sos… No sabés lo linda que quedás así. ”

She spreads her thighs wider, giving me a better view, and then her foot lifts and lands on my cock. She rubs me over my pants with her foot travelling up and down my hardness, and I almost nut in my pants.

“Oh, God, you’re so naughty.” I slide my fingers down either side of her panties and roll them down to her ankles. “I’m gonna take these, too.”

“That’s not creepy at all.” She chuckles. “What do you do with them?”

“What do you think?” When I free them, I take a sharp inhale filled with her soaked scent.

A moan slips from her lips as her eyes and pussy glisten. “You sniff them, lick them like a dog and then hump them until you come all over them.”

I push the red silk in my pocket and capture her legs with my hands. “Yes, ma’am.” I feel every plump curve up and down until I lock my grip around her hips. Then I align my head with her pussy, winking at her. “Woof.”

A laugh starts but dies instantly in her throat as I thrust my nose and tongue inside her wetness. I am an animal, sniffing her pussy, lapping my tongue all over, licking every drop of arousal and salivating for more.

She shudders, pushing down on me, taking my tongue deeper, gasping my name, tangling her fingers in my hair, pulling me in until I’m buried in her taste, drunk on her.

I never take my eyes off her as she’s demanded.

I dig one hand in the ample flesh of her ass, and use the other hand to drive her to the edge.

Fingers plunge into her slick heat. Thumb adds circled pressure on her clit.

She wraps her ankles behind my neck and arches her back, legs spreading wider.

I’m about to lose it just from the sight.

“Tristan!” She screams and bangs the door. Then she clutches at me, her nails tearing down my neck.

My tongue forces its way as deep as possible, claiming her pussy. Every spot I touch earns me another sound from her, another breathless gasp, another broken moan, until she clenches. She throbs around my tongue, breaking in my arms, flooding my mouth with her orgasm.

It tears through me. My body detonates. Heat surges in my gut too fast. My balls ache, and I can’t control anything in me. I curse against her cum, a guttural, violent sound as I break with her. “Fuck, fuckfuckfuck.”

“Tristan,” she pants, “are you okay?”

My jaw clenches so hard.

She unwraps her ankles and lets them touch the floor. Then she tilts my chin up to look at me. “What’s wrong?”

I just shake my head.

She studies me, and then her eyes drop to my crotch. It’s a second or two before realization hits her. “Oh… Have you just…”

“Come undone in my pants just by watching you orgasm all over my tongue? Yup.”

She freezes for a split second. “God, Tristan, that’s…”

I bury myself against her skin. I could die in shame.

“...so fucking hot.”

My head snaps up. “Yeah?”

“Fuck yeah.” The look she’s giving me along with her face, hot and messy, her disheveled hair, and her cum trickling down her inner thigh, ignite me all over again.

I don’t wait. I don’t hold back. I lift her at the waist, and she wraps her legs and arms around me. Walking us to a bedroom, she takes my mouth like we’ll never get another chance. God, this woman can fucking kiss.

By the time I lay her on the bed, my cock is straining again. I undo my belt and step out of my pants and boxers.

She glances between my cum-stained cock and my backup gun tucked around my ankle. “Too many guns.”

I laugh under my breath and take my ankle holster off. “How about now?”

Her eyes zero in on my piercings, and her tongue darts and swipes across her lips. “Perfection.”

She crawls out of the bed and wraps her hand around my shaft. I suck in a long hiss. Birdie Abel, my favorite author, my idol, no fuck that, Reagan Fletcher, my forbidden teacher, my unholy fantasy, has her fingers wrapped around my cock while the taste of her cum is carved inside my mouth.

Her palm opens, and she glances up at me before she spits on it.

“Oh, fuck me.” My cock hardens even more.

She rubs her wet saliva on the crown and then she bends her head and licks my own cum off.

I fight every urge to fist her hair and stuff her mouth with my cock. I don’t want her mouth, not now. I’m desperate to be inside her.

“I need to fuck you, Birdie.” My eyes squeeze as I run my fingers through my hair. “But I won’t until you say it.”

“Say what?”

“Say you want my cock inside you.”

“You still want me to beg, Tristan.” She straightens and strips down naked. “How is that for begging?” She presses her body lush against mine. “How’s that for saying I want you? I want you inside me, Tristan. Fuck, I need you.”

That’s it. That’s all I can take.

I lay her back on the bed and take a mental photo of her gorgeous body, her abundant curves I will worship until the day I die…

her scars. Like me, she has plenty of them.

A constant reminder of how we belong together.

Every mark of pain is a dagger to my heart and fuel to my rage.

And yet they make her even more stunning.

I fill my hands with her tits, her ass, her thighs, her waist, taste every part until she’s writhing again.

But when I straddle her, she shakes her head.

“What? Don’t tell me you changed your mind. Are you worried about Abel?” She’s cheating on her motherfucking blackmailing husband with me. “No one will ever find out. I swear on my mother’s grave.”

“I don’t give a fuck about Blake anymore. He’s a dead man walking one way or another. If anything, I want him to know. I want him to see how a real man fucks a woman like me.”

“That’s…so hot.” The idea of sending Abel a video of how I fuck his wife… “Why do you want me to stop then?”

“Do you have a condom?”

I grind out a curse. “I’m clean. I swear.”

“I’m clean, too. Since the hospital, I haven’t let him touch me. Thank God. Who knows who he’s been sinking his disgusting dick in other than Gia? But…you know this isn’t just about being clean.”

“I…” I wanna say the right thing because there’s no way in hell I’m inside you with a barrier.

Nothing comes between you and me. And I’d love nothing more than to fill you up with my cum, over and over, until I claim your womb, too.

But if I say that, she’ll freak out. She’s almost thirty-five and has been married for seven years.

There must be a reason she doesn’t want children or she would have had them by now. “I… Are you… I can pull out.” I won’t.

She giggles. “Relax. I’m messing with you. I… I can’t get pregnant.”

“You’re so mean.” I pinch her nipple and bite the other until she yelps. “That’s what you get for being so naughty.”

She laughs again, but it doesn’t touch her eyes.

“Wait, when you say can’t…”

Something sinister crosses her face for a split second. It vanishes as she rises to her knees and pushes me on the bed. “I’m on the pill, Tristan. You’re safe.” She straddles me, her thighs locking me in. “Now, enough talking.”

She holds my cock, gives it a rub before she guides it into her entrance.

My eyes roll back as the scalding wetness coats me, as she pushes her hips slowly all the way down on me, taking every inch of my cock, and her lips part with a strained moan.

“Reagan.” Her name tears through me, a prayer I’ve never believed in until now. I force my eyes open to look at her, fragments of every fantasy I’ve had of her shattering, collapsing, and reforming into something so very real. “I can’t believe I get to see you like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like a queen.” I feel her tit. “Like a slut.” I cup the other tit, bring both her nipples to my mouth and suckle. “Like a fucking goddess.”

She lifts herself a little and then comes down on me even deeper. “Then start worshipping.”

I hold her hips and thrust my pelvis up and down, my cock fucking her, worshipping her, as if I’ve done it a million times before.

Her tits bounce with every drive, her head thrown back, mouth open, moans flying.

My head jerks back, my throat stretched, my breath short in my lungs; I’m being possessed.

“You feel so fucking good, Reagan. So fucking good.” I break.

Her body was carved out just to lock me inside her.

I’m not inside her; she’s inside me, gutting me from the core out.

This isn’t just sex. It’s trespassing into a sacred place, and the terrifying part is knowing I’ll never be free again.

“You feel so good, too. Those piercings… Oh my God. Oh, fuck me. Please. Fuck me harder.”

“You feel that?” I growl, pounding into her harder, faster. “No one else will ever give you that. No one else will ever touch you again. Mine. Do you hear me? Mine. Say it.”

“Yours,” she moans, eyes rolling back, body shaking on top of me. “I’m yours, Tristan. Fuck, I’m yours.”

Her pussy clenches around me, tight and convulsing. Then my name stutters on her lips as her orgasm rips through her. The sight of her coming on my cock—screaming my name, clawing my chest raw—is the best thing I’ll ever see in my life.

I bury myself deep, groaning her name, and spill inside her, pulse after pulse, until there’s nothing left but sweat, heat and the unbearable truth that I’ll never get enough of her.

Another unbearable truth drills through my skull: if I lose this, if I ever lose her, I’ll never breathe again.