Page 60 of The Other Side

The cycled motion sharpens my nipples, and I whimper at his mastered touch.

“No, you don’t get to moan.” I hear his gentle command, sealing my mouth closed while he plays with me. “You’re not my whore. Not yet.”

I exhale a breath, glueing my eyes to the ceiling. His lips replace his thumb, his forearms snaking under and over my thighs. He holds me open, rhythmically suctioning my clit with expertise.

My lips part on stunted breaths, and his forehead crashes with my inner thigh. “Fucking Christ,” he gasps. “I forgot how perfect that is. Fuck.”

I grow thicker with arousal, wetting my lips before rolling them together in anticipation. My lower belly strangles, my hips shyly scooping up to stretch the riddled tension.

Then his mouth returns to my clit.

I stifle my whines through the wicked sensations at my core. His lips and tongue alternate their jobs, sucking and lashing at me until my limbs shake from excitement.

Ten years of pent-up longing.

Ten years.

His motion is calculated. Unhurried.

I can’t look at him or make a sound, and for some fucked up reason, I’m turned on more. Every crevice of my body feels wound with pressure. The knobs have turned so tight that it feels I may burst at the seams when they’re finally loosened.

When Brant finally unfastens them.

I’m a sex toy for him to play with right now. Not because he wants it that way, but because it’s the only way he’ll survive this.

I know it.

I know it, but I don’t care.

A few more sucks, and he pops my clit out. I bite my lip, my eyes stitching to him as he straightens. He keeps one knee on the floor while his opposite knee bends up and outward.

I’m still spread-eagled, watching closely as he rips his shirt off. He tosses the garment on the floor, and I drag my perusal over his broad and sculpted shoulders.

Then down the length of his arms.

And along his torso.

Swells of firm muscle carve from his olive skin. His body is the evidence of hard work and labor. He’s rugged and dense. So different from Jesse.

In the best way.

Or worst.

He catches my eyes, our lips twitching playfully for a split second.

He caught me.

I lick my lips, stretching my arms above my head as I close my eyes. My hands sink into the throw pillows again, my fingers gripping the plush material as my nerves whirl in a cyclone.

He’s every bit ready to go to town on me—in what way, I don’t know.

“You can look,” he offers with a taunting flair.

I feel his left palm rest on my lower belly, and he glides an opposite finger inside my soaked pussy.

“Could make it that much better for you.”

My head kicks back, body bowing before he gifts me with another digit. I buckle, writhing underneath him as I shake my head.