Page 25 of The Dead Don’t Scream

“It was good.”

I caress the same sensitive place.

“How good?”

“Very.”

“Did you scream his name?”

“Yes.”

“Would you like to scream mine louder?”

She gives me a slow, defiant smile.

“I don’t think you can make me.”

The final thread of my restraint snaps. I spin her around. Sloane grips my shoulders as I lift her onto the counter. Her dress gathers around her waist. Her bare thighs fall open, framing me. I step between them. My mask hovers inches from her face.

“Color?”

“Green.”

“Certain?”

“Yes.”

I place both hands on her knees.

“Good.”

Then I kneel.

SLOANE

I expected Dante to punish me for challenging him. I didn’t expect him to bury his face deep in my pussy between my thighs. The first drag of his tongue steals the breath from my lungs. My head strikes the mirror.

“Fuck.”

He grips my hips and pulls me to the edge of the counter. The Devil mask hides his eyes, leaving only his mouth exposed beneath the painted grin. There is something deliciously obscene about watching that cruel red face between my open legs. Dante licks me again. Slowly this time. My fingers close around the horns of his mask. His hands tighten.

“Careful. Those are attached.”

“I know.”

I use them to pull him closer. A dark laugh vibrates through my body.

“Brat.”

“You like it.”

“I’m deciding.”

His tongue circles me. My answer becomes a moan. He alternates between maddeningly light passes and firm pressure that makes my legs shake. Whenever I begin to find a rhythm, he changes it. There is nothing controlled about Dante. Rhys studied my pleasure as though learning a combination. Dante plays with it.

Steals it. Hands it back and dares me to ask where it has been. He slips two fingers inside me. My heels dig into his back.

“That.”