Page 47 of Vicious Butterfly
“A bit.”
I catch his unauthorized hand, attempting to move down my neck. I catch it, circling his wrist, shaking my head.
“Okay, you need to tell me about that. At least fill me in on the rules for touching you.”
I grit my teeth. “It’s simple. You fucking ask.”
He bites his lip. “But sometimes you let me without asking. Are there areas you’re okay with?”
“It’s not about areas. It’s about …” Do I tell him? If we’re married and fucking regularly, we’re going to have to work something out. I’d like him to touch me as much as I can stand.
“It’s about control,” I finally admit. A knot in my chest loosens. I take his hand, tracing a pathway with the palm from the base of my neck, along my jaw and cheek, then curl his fingers into my hair.
Ryan gets the idea, keeping our skin-to-skin contact sequestered to the permitted areas. I kiss him some more, attempting to satiate my hunger for him, but it might not be possible. He purrs into my mouth. I suck on his bottom lip. Something ignites again, and our lips move from gentle exploration to attack. His fingers tug harder on my neck as our mouths open wider, tongues sliding together, wet and rough.
He spreads his legs wider, opening for me instinctively, and I try to get closer, mauling his mouth. I bite down on his lip, the one place I can mark him where others will see. His face is already beat to fuck—I’m going to find out who did that, and I’m going to extract retribution from their skin—so I might as well seize the opportunity.
He’s intoxicating.
I pull back to get a look at him, gauge where he’s at. He already looks wrecked. I rub my hand under his sharp jaw. “Are you hard, dollface?”
“Yeah, are you going to fucking do something about it?”
“I haven’t heard any begging.”
“Oh, c’mon. Are you really gonna make me beg?” He tries to manipulate me, blinking his pretty eyes.
“Yes. I wanna hear it. Now, or I’ll spend the rest of my time teasing you till you wanna die.”
He groans.
I lean toward his ear, licking a wet line along the curve. “C’mon, dollface. Tell me what you want me to do to you, and I’ll do it.”
“I want you to play with my body and stroke my cock. Please.Please, Tate.”
“Are you mine to play with?”
“Yes.”
I move a hand over the bulge in his pants. His hips buck. “Is this mine to touch?”
“Yes. Please. Oh, god. Don’t make me wait anymore. Please, I can’t stand it.” He squirms, desperate. Needy.
I can’t stand it either, but I don’t want to make it easy for him. I want his body responding to my touch. I want him ravenous for it. “Up.”
He rises, and I sit in my wide leather chair, hauling him closer by the waistband of his dress pants—he went full out, dressing the part of coach for his team tonight. He exhales the breath he was holding as I pop the button, slowly undoing the zipper. Ryan watches, eyes intense. He’s so serious all the time. Does he ever laugh? He’s smiled a few times, but they’re few and far between.
Leaning forward and to the side of him, I rummage through one of my desk drawers, coming up with the bottle of lube I know is there, and slip it into my pocket. He scowls at it. Why would he scowl at lube? Is a chafed cock his thing? Guess I’ll soon find out.
I pat my lap. “Sit. Facing away from me.”
He assesses my lap, figuring out how he’ll fit, lips forming a wry twist. He’s not used to being in this position in the relationship. I bet people sat in his lap. His cheeks color the prettiest shade that I think I’ll callembarrassment pink.His round hockey ass finally connects with my right thigh, and I pull him back until he’s lying against my chest. I take his arms, pulling them back and hooking his hands around my neck.
“These stay here. Move them, and I stop.”
“I’m too big for your lap, Tate. This is fucking stupid,” he says, but he doesn’t move.
“You fit perfectly, dollface.” I smooth my way down his arm, my fingers skimming over his toned arms. I love that he’s a big man, I’m gonna reduce him down to my obedient toy. “Now, let’s see … what did you say? My memory fails me.”
