Series: Chicago Sin Series by Renee Rose
Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Our first hook up was a lightning strike. This time, he goes slow. He bites through the layers of my crop top and the camisole beneath it to scrape his teeth over my nipple. My legs wrap around his waist, pulling him in tighter. I twist my hips, trying to find satisfaction rubbing against him. He reaches down and pulls something out of his pocket. I think it’s going to be a condom, but it’s the roll of floral tape.
Like he planned on tying me up again.
And that thought should scare me way more than it does. But with the way his mouth is on mine, I can only interpret his actions one way: the tape is for sexy times.
He winds it around my wrists—not nearly so tightly as he did back at the shop—and pushes my wrists back over my head. He leans up on one hand, gazing down at me. His pupils are blown, eyes full of dark intent, but his face is expressionless. Like he’s forgotten how to smile.
He traces his thumb lightly down the inside of my arm. I squirm when it covers the most ticklish part.
“You didn’t answer me before.”
He sounds so gruff. So serious. If it weren’t for the light touch, I would think he was pissed.
“About what?”
“What part turned you on—being tied up or spanked? Or the other thing?”
The other thing. I guess that’s him grappling with a guy in a fight to the death.
It definitely shouldn’t have turned me on. Except I always had a thing for those Jason Bourne movies, and Armando looked every inch as badass as Matt Damon. Or Chris Hemsworth in that Netflix movie Extraction. So yeah, up until the actual death part, it tweaked the most primitive part of my brain. The part that seeks to reproduce with the fiercest warrior in the land.
“All of it,” I murmur.
He stares a moment longer, without saying anything. Like he’s trying to read into the depths of my soul. Then he asks, “You like it rough?”
My face grows warm. I’d be a fool to admit such a thing with a guy I can’t trust. Besides, I don’t know if it’s true. Before today, I hadn’t tried it.
“I liked it rough with you.” That’s the truth—and all I know, really.
Something shutters behind his eyes, and he reaches for my wrists, pulling my arms long over my head and attaching them to the bedpost.
Shivers of excitement run through me at my helplessness. The thrill of being completely at his mercy focalizes every sensation to a sharp point. He shoves my two shirts up and tugs down the front of my bra roughly. I gasp a little, my belly shuddering in and out with my breath, my nipples bead up into stiff peaks. He pinches my right nipple between his thumb and forefinger and squeezes. Hard. Then he slaps the side of my breast.
I croak in surprise. I’m scared—definitely scared—because it hurt a little, and no one’s ever touched me that way before. There’s a disrespect to it, too, that I’m not sure I like.
Except he watches my face intently.
And that steady regard calms me.
He pinches my nipple again then drops his head to suck it. He laves it with his tongue, scrapes his teeth lightly over the taut bud, pulls it into his mouth and releases it with a pop.
My lips part. Brain fries and scrambles.
He gives the treatment to the left nipple, only he starts with his mouth and ends with a slap.
I cry out, startled once more. I’m a little frightened, a lot turned on. He pinches both nipples at the same time, rolling them between his fingers and thumbs and pinching before he expands his grip to encompass all of the breast.
I drop my head back and arch, filling his hands with my breasts, begging for more.
Armando moves lower, his large palms sliding up my skirt, skating lightly up my thighs to my hips, then hooking under the waistband of my panties and dragging them down.
“I didn’t make you come enough before, did I?” His voice is a rusty rumble. “You’re a greedy, greedy girl.”
I shake my head.
“I’m gonna make it up to you this time.”
My breath comes out in a low moan.
He tosses the panties to the side and runs the pad of his thumb over my dewy slit. “Juicy,” he observes.
I’d be embarrassed, except he brings his thumb to his mouth and sucks my fluid like it’s honey. “Spread.”
I stare for a moment, taken aback by the command. He grips behind my knees and pushes them up toward my chest, then slaps the inside of my thigh. It smarts, and I don’t like it, but then I forget because he lowers his head between my legs.
The first lick makes my hips jump off the bed. He slides his hands under them and grips my ass, squeezing and releasing as he strokes his tongue up and down my slit.