“Yes. Yes, I do.” The very prospect has been the one thing I’ve been afraid of since he took ownership of me from Julio, but now I’m desperate for it. Begging him, just like he said I would underneath that oak tree.
He’s upset. He’s pissed off and boiling with anger, but that just seems to add to this undeniable attraction I feel coursing through my veins. “How badly do you want to touch me?” he rumbles.
“Then undress me.” He steps back, tilting his head back, challenging me yet again, not just to allow this to happen but to participate. To prove to myself that I do want this. I slide my hands over his chest, up the front of his white dress shirt, and then underneath his black suit jacket. His mouth twitches, either with the beginnings of a smile or with amusement at the way my hands are shaking. He doesn’t tease me, though. If anything, the look in his eyes is keen with curiosity, waiting to see just how far I really will go. I pull his suit jacket over his shoulders, my heart slamming erratically as I feel the hard ridges and planes of his muscular back underneath my fingertips. His physique is hard won. Five years at military school, two tours in Afghanistan and the years he’s been running the Widow Makers can’t have been easy. I’m definitely reaping the rewards of his labor.
His suit jacket hits the floor. I start working on the buttons of his shirt, aware of his eyes burning into my flesh. Another bolt of adrenalin zigzags through me when he leans into my neck again and whispers, “If you don’t hurry up, I’m gonna have to take you fully dressed.”
My hands move like lightning, ripping at the remaining buttons, then at the material of his shirt. I’ve been covertly checking him out for days now, trying not to, trying not to get caught at least, but once his shirt is gone now I can’t help myself. I drink him in the same way he’s been drinking me in, eyes hungry, barely able to look away.
He is perfection. There isn’t a spare inch of fat anywhere on him. I run my hands up and over the bird tattoos on his chest, hesitant but determined at the same time. His breath blows hard across my cleavage, making me break out in goose bumps. “I need to feel your tits up against me, Soph. God, they’re fucking amazing.” He makes quick work of freeing my breasts from my bra; his fingers barely skate over the clasp before he’s ripping the straps down my arms and throwing my underwear to the ground. I’m almost naked; only my panties remain. Rebel grinds his body against mine, pushing me even harder into the wall. He dips down, his mouth moving over the skin of my neck, my collarbone, my chest and then my breasts. I gasp as he takes my left nipple into his mouth.
Fire ignites in the pit of my belly, roaring, sending flames in every direction, burning me up from the inside out. “Oh, fuck. Fuck, Rebel, I need you.” My head rocks back, my body feeling boneless. Rebel’s hands work their way over me, investigating and exploring every last inch of me. His fingers move down, down, down until they’re hovering over the lacy material of my panties.
“Are you ready for me, Soph? Am I gonna find you soaking wet and desperate when I play with your pussy?”
No one’s ever referred to it that way before. Only certain men can say pussy and own it without it sounding sleazy or plain weird coming out of their mouths. When Rebel says it, the word sends heat and electricity charging in between my legs. “Yes. I’m wet for you,” I whisper. “Please, Rebel. Please.”
I can feel him getting harder against me, his cock straining at his pants. Rebel lifts one eyebrow, a ruinous smile teasing at his lips. “If you’re lying, sugar, you should know…you will be punished.”
I have no idea what form of punishment he has in mind but I’m not sure if it’s the bad kind or the good kind. Is there such a thing as a good kind? My head says no, but by the way my body reacts, it might just know something I don’t. “I’m ready. I want you, Rebel. Please. I can’t…” I can’t wait much longer. I’ve never reacted to anyone like this before.
With Matt it’s always felt nice, but in the same vein it has felt rote. Like we’re going through the motions, having sex every three days because that’s an appropriate amount of time between adventures. With Rebel…fuck, with Rebel, I feel like I’m going out of my mind. I don’t think any more of Matt. Alexis was the girl who belonged with him. I haven’t wanted to admit it, but Alexis is gone. She might as well have died right alongside Rebel’s cousin in the alleyway back in Seattle. Now, I’m Sophia, and there’s no way she and Matt would have a future together. She belongs to Rebel, the man standing in front of me, looking at me like he’s about to screw me into oblivion.
I start fumbling with his belt, determined to get his pants off him. Rebel slips his hand down the front of my panties, and my hands suddenly still. I can’t move, can’t react, can’t breathe. His fingers find my clit right away—no fumbling around, searching. He makes a guttural, animalistic sound at the back of his throat.
“Oh, sugar. You weren’t joking, huh?” Sliding his fingers back, he draws his pointer finger and his middle finger through the slick folds of my pussy, and then he brings his hand up to his mouth. I’m paralyzed as he sucks his fingers into his mouth, humming, the vibration of his vocal chords traveling through his chest into mine. “You taste fucking amazing, Soph. I can’t fucking take this anymore.”
Unfastening his belt and tearing down his pants, Rebel does what I couldn’t do the second his fingers touched me between my legs. His cock springs free, swollen and way bigger that I’d anticipated. I’m no prude. I’ve not exactly had a vast number of lovers, but I’ve seen a cock before. And Rebel’s is way above average. I feel dizzy just looking at it.