Page 117 of The Pact
“That I am.”
“And then tomorrow, we’ll go home to two kids and figure out the next steps we need to take,” she pauses. “And Rhyan will be very determined to destroy this Oreo tower if we can get it home in one piece.”
“She definitely will.”
She laughs, but it fades into something tender.
“Are you scared at all?”
I think about it for a second and look at her ring, and at the woman who chose me with her eyes open.
“No,” I say. “Not tonight.”
Her hands slide up my chest.
“Good.”
I kiss her again, but this time a little more anxiously.
We stand there, kissing for what feels like hours, before I move us through the suite to the bedroom.
I sit on the edge of the oversize mahogany bed. I pull my suit jacket off and toss it to the armchair next to the bed. I watch as Presley unzips her dress from the back, pushing her breasts out.
She’s wearing cream-colored lace, perfectly molded to her body. She settles between my knees and reaches out to unbutton my shirt. Then she pushes it over my shoulders, and I pull the sleeves off. She takes it from my hand, then tosses it over my jacket in the chair.
When she sinks to her knees on the thick rug between my legs, I freeze.
Her hands grasp my thighs, and she runs her hands up till she reaches the button and zipper of my pants. She slowly opens them and tugs on the waistband of my boxers just enough to reveal my rock-hard dick.
“I want you in my mouth. And then I want you to go down on me because I can’t stand living in the fantasy anymore. I want the real thing. You think you can do that?”
I look down at her, my large hands framing her face, my thumbs tracing the line of her cheekbones. “I’ll feast on your pretty pussy all night long. Till you beg me to stop because you’re too sensitive to take any more.” I put my thumbs on her bottom lip. “Do you thinkyoucan handle that?”
“Yes, please.”
She takes my pants in her hands, and I lift my hips enough for her to pull them over my ass and down my legs.
“Slow,” she whispers, her voice a soft command that cuts through the silence of the suite. “I want to savor every drop of you.”
I nod and have to fight the urge to pick her up and throw her on the bed.
When she wraps her hand around my shaft, it’s almost like she’s studying a work of art. Her mouth is slightly open, her eyes dark with need. And she looks like she wants to swallow me whole.
Her mouth on my cock is warm, a sharp contrast to the cool air in the room. She takes her time licking up, then down, exploring me with reverence.
I lean back on my elbows and revel in the soft silk of her tongue. The way she’s taking me in her mouth. Every slide of her tongue, every intake of breath, is a deliberate act.
She moves with a liquid grace, her hands roaming up to my chest, her palms flat. The sensation is a concentrated heat that makes the rest of the world disappear around us.
I push myself up so I can reach down and tangle my fingers in her golden hair, letting the strands fall over my hands. I don’t push. I just hold on, anchored by the wet heat of her mouth.
“Presley,” I rasp. “Take me deeper.”
She does, and chokes, making her eyes water and saliva pool out the sides of her mouth. She’s looking up at me, her eyes a heady mixture of power and obsession.
I can’t hold onto my control anymore, and I thrust my cock in and out of her mouth. She’s letting me set the pace, but I can still feel her tongue putting pressure on the underside of my shaft.
When she grabs on to my thighs, digging her fingers into the muscle like she’s trying to hold on, I can’t fight it any longer.
