The faint friction had my eyes flaring wide as he touched my most tender part with a deadly weapon.
I felt his volatility at that moment, and my mind began to war.
Life made me hesitate, doubt what was happening here. Experience told me he’d never hurt me, told me to trust him.
“You ran through my stockings,” I told him, voice breathy with a combination of nerves and need.
“I ran through them?”
I eyed his knife. “I need to buy some more,” I croaked when the butt moved down and slipped inside me.
He hummed in response, then stunned the hell out of me by shifting his hand away and flinging the knife across the room.
With a thud, and a weird vibration, I knew it had connected with the wall, and I tipped my head back to see where it had landed—the dartboard.
“Bull’s eye,” I whispered.
Another hum.
His fingers slipped over my legs, and he dragged me down the table, making me feel the strain of the stretch in my inner thighs.
His digits rubbed the taut muscles and I moaned, butt rocking as he touched a place I really didn’t need touching, focusing his caresses there instead of where I wanted.
My glance locked on him, I remained silent, sensing that he was testing me, and I was rewarded when he slipped his thumb to my gate and pressed inward, hooking up and back against the front wall of my pussy.
“Camille?” he crooned.
“Y-Yes?”
“Do you know who you are to me?”
Maybe he’d struck me dumb because my only answer was to croak, “Your wife?”
Brennan shook his head. “You’re more than that. Wives can be ignored. They’re chattel. Bargaining chips. Empty wombs that are to be filled.” He moved his thumb from side to side, rubbing confused tissues that didn’t understand if this was him teasing my G-spot or stretching the quivering flesh. “You’re not an empty womb. You’re not chattel. You’re not a bargaining chip.”
I licked my lips. “I am all those things, just not to you.”
“And who else matters?”
He was right.
I smiled. “No one else matters.”
His head rocked forward, and finally, his gaze moved from my pussy to meet with my own. He said nothing, just held my stare as he dipped down and pressed his mouth to my clit.
Immediately, he sucked hard against the nub, and I groaned as he kept me captive. Not just with his touch, but with his stare.
His tongue flexed and teased the sensitive bead of flesh, and the straining muscles of my inner thighs somehow turbocharged what I experienced, making the sensations hit more ferociously than normal.
When his hand pressed against my stomach, I gasped, back arching of its own accord as I reared up. Yet not once did our eyes break the connection that bound us together.
I dug my heels into the pockets, uncaring that they tangled with the netting, and I rocked my hips so I could grind into his face. His expression morphed at that, turning from moody and pensive to lit with a fire I expected from him.
It was then I realized he’d been holding back.
He smashed his mouth into my cunt, not even an eighth of an inch parting us as he gorged on my flesh like he wanted to swallow me whole.
I screamed.
No one would hear.
I let go.
No one cared if I wasn’t the perfect Bratva princess here.
My head wanted to flop back on my neck, but I didn’t let it, just kept my gaze trained on his, knowing that the way he looked at me as if I were his universe, his reason for getting up in the morning, triggered sensations even more powerful than what he was achieving with his tongue and teeth and lips.
His thumb retreated, replaced with three fingers that he scissored inside me. A groan rumbled from my lips as a fourth made an appearance, and all the while, he sucked.
He licked.
He flicked.
Those fingers spread wider and wider until I screamed again as his knuckles pushed up against my slit. At that, my head fell back some, but I remained locked with him as he carefully started to thrust into me, back and forth, stretching and teasing and torturing my hungry flesh.
I had no idea why I came when his knuckles pressed into my pussy, no idea why that massive hand flexing into a fist had me releasing a guttural groan so deep it seemed to find its source in my soul.
My fingers snapped out, and they sought his ears. I’d never done this before but I guided him, shoving my pussy against his face, fucking him back as he sent his fist into me, taunting me with tiny movements that made me think he was going to open up his hand, but I knew I wasn’t ready for that. So did he.
This wasn’t the first time he’d pushed my limits, and I knew I was in for a lifetime of that because Brennan’s brand of filthy sex was all I wanted.
All I needed.
The pleasure was wicked. Deep and dark and bewitching. It felt better than good, but it didn’t stir a high in me. Didn’t make me feel like I was flying. If anything, it made me think I was drowning.
It was a dull throb that seemed to spread into my bones, that sank into my blood, poisoning every vein and artery it came into contact with.
I didn’t whine with pleasure, I groaned with the sheer agony of it.
It hurt.
It hurt so good.
When he didn’t stop sucking on my clit, just continued making those teasing stretches with his fist, I slurred, “Your cock. Need—”
His tongue flickered against my clit one final time.
He sucked it hard one final time.
Then he pressed a kiss to it one final time as he straightened up.
Mouth and chin and jaw drenched with my juices, I slung my arms around his neck as I hauled him into me. I wiggled so my butt wasn’t flat to the pool table, uncaring that my inner thighs screamed with the position, and I glued our mouths together in a kiss that tasted of me.
When he started to retract his fist, I whimpered and moaned, writhed and wriggled against him, understanding how a fish felt when it was hooked on a line.
The panic inside me was strong, enough to make my heart pound as I felt sure his hand would be stuck inside me or something—
An internal pop.
Logically, I knew that didn’t happen, but I felt it anyway when his fist pulled back and the relief inside me had me sagging into him as he thrust his tongue against mine, taking over the kiss.
I felt the gush of liquids release onto the pool table, but though I knew it would stain, he didn’t seem to care. If anything, I felt his slippery fingers pull away and heard the noise of his zipper parting.
Pushing my forehead against his, I broke our kiss and stared down at his hand, wanting to watch as his slick fingers grabbed a hold of his dick. He jacked off for me, using my wetness as a lubricant.
The sight had my empty pussy clutching down against nothing, and I reached between us, slipping my hand around his balls, holding them firm in my grasp.
With his breath brushing my lips and mine his, I whispered, “A husband is a burden. An albatross around a woman’s neck. Something to endure.” I pushed my forehead against his. “You’re a storm to weather, my darling, but you’re no burden, you’re not something to endure—you’re someone to love.”
My words weren’t poetic. They were drawn from my soul when I was hungry for his dick, but his nostrils flared in response, and the way he tore at my mouth was clue enough that I’d pleased him.