Page 94 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
His eyes fixated on my slit. Taking his time, he approached me, reached a finger out, and traced the lettering on my shirt. “Selcouth. Do you think you are wondrous, Emery?”
I didn’t answer, but my hips jerked forward at his words. He knew what selcouth meant, and I didn’t think I could be more turned on.
“Or,” he continued, his fingers brushing my nipple over my shirt, “perhaps you think you’re rare.”
“I think no one is rare.” I shook my head, unable to focus on my response. He took turns teasing my nipples. “No one is special. Everyone just wants to be.”
It was perhaps the realest thing I had ever said to anyone but Ben in a while. Too real for this moment. This was supposed to be raw, ugly, filthy, fuck-it-out-of-my-system sex. This was not supposed to be an interview with Oprah.
Part of me wanted to demand that he fuck me already, but I wouldn’t. I refused to play into his hand.
He wanted to draw this out.
Tease me.
Make me beg.
Prove to me I wanted him and not the other way around.
And at the end of the day, after we finished worshipping each other’s bodies, both equally panting, both sweaty, both spent—he would somehow come out the victor. I knew this, but I wanted him anyway.
“Tell that to the millions of dollars in revenue Prescott Hotels brings in annually from birthday events alone.” Nash’s fingers drew mine back to my pussy when I tried to remove them. Together, we trailed a path down the slit. “Open them. Hold your fingers still. Beg me to run my tongue from your pussy down to your ass.”
“Birthdays are a lie,” I said, ignoring half of his orders. I held myself open for him, feeling too naked in front of his perusal, but I refused to beg. I wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. The room had no door. Anyone could walk in and see Nash fully clothed as I spread my lips for him. “Society gives you this day to celebrate, and you’re supposed to feel special and unique on it, but the truth is, statistically, you share your birthday with twenty-one million other people, and that is what’s special. The threads that tie people together are what should be celebrated.”
He agreed with me. I saw it in his ticked jaw and the way his fingers paused at my hipbones, skimming just beneath my shirt. They dug into my skin for a second before releasing. Tiny indents marked the flesh.
“Selcouth…” He tore my shirt down the middle until the two halves hung loosely on my frame. “Your shirt is a lie, and I hate lies.”
He didn’t give me a chance to respond.
He whipped me around, pressed my front against the window, and bound my wrists behind my back with his belt. My breasts were on display for everyone at the beach.
I prayed no one would see.
I prayed everyone would see.
Desire played tricks on my mind. I didn’t know what I wanted, but I knew I would go crazy if he didn’t make me come now.
His palm landed on my ass. Twice. Not giving me a second to collect myself. “I told you to beg me to run my tongue from your pussy down to your ass, Emery.”
He was a storm, chaotic and volatile.
But I never ran from storms.
I chased them.
“Stop pretending I’m the only one who wants this,” I ground out, hating myself for arching my back, giving more of my ass to him. “I won’t beg.”
“Fine. Then, you won’t come.”
My wetness trickled a path down my thigh. I couldn’t see him, but I knew he saw it. The awareness pricked at my cheeks, coloring them. He dipped a finger between my legs from behind, ran my wetness up and down my slit, and dragged it to the hole no one had ever touched before.
I instinctively clenched at the contact. “What are you doing?”
Nash stepped back, not answering. I turned my head, tracking his path to the unfinished cabinets in the corner. He picked up the cabinet knob, the one Ida Marie and I had insisted resembled a butt plug.
Anticipation filled my stomach, but I felt compelled to refuse for my dignity’s sake. “No. Whatever you’re thinking of doing with that, no.”
