Page 72 of Tears of Ink

“Okay?”

“Yes.”

“Look at me.”

Somehow, I force myself to open my eyes. He’s close, his breath hot on my face. He smiles slowly, and it calms me just a little, although not enough. My instinct to run is too deep. I wiggle my hips to try to get him to remove his fingers. “Can you move? Please?”

“No.”

“What?”

“I said no. You aren’t running, Faith.”

“Jeez.”

He laughs. He actually laughs in my face.

I hate him again even if he did just give me a thunderous orgasm using his fingers.

To my absolute horror, he starts to dip his fingers deep within me again. Even more horrifying is the way my body reignites instantly. The heat which had only been quenched a couple of moments before is back like it never dissipated.

“Have you ever let anyone do that to you before?”

I glare at him, my heart thumping in my chest all the while his fingers lick and stroke, teasing and warming me up from the inside out.

“No. Why are you torturing me like this?”

He frowns, and I regret my choice of words instantly. This is messed up. I’m so messed up.

“Torture?” He lifts an eyebrow. “Torture, really?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

His hand is still between my legs. His fingers flex, and I let out a low moan.

“Awful torture. It’s downright shitty of me to make you moan like that.”

His fingers delve extra deep and he dips his head, edging the waistband of my trousers down, his lips following the exposed skin.

Holy crap, he’s not…?

“No. Please, Elijah. Please don’t do that.”

“Do what?” He lowers further, opening my legs with his elbows. “This? Is it torturous?” His tongue sweeps along the super-sensitive skin of my clit, flicking, and then sucking hard.

“Shit,” I bellow, bucking from the bed. He catches me, tilting my pelvis until it’s almost a cup he can drink from, as his lips suck and his tongue probes. His thumb slides inside me, massaging the walls of my vagina as I ride it out into his mouth. “Elijah!”

When I’ve crested the wave of my second orgasm, he pulls back, pecking gentle kisses on every bit of skin he finds. Pulling down my trousers, he places my knickers back into a suitable position, but quickly discards the rest of my clothes onto the floor.

“Come here, my runaway girl.”

“I need to pay you back.” I look at him in confusion. Does he want to snuggle? Surely, he wants something in return?

“Another night, Sunshine. It’s late. Come, we need to sleep.”

I settle down next to him, but as his arm wraps around me tight and he slides his chin onto my shoulder, I have to ask. “What are you doing?”

“I’m staying. It’s what you wanted.”