He already knew the only thing I forgot was my f*****g sanity.
And I could feel it in his smirk as his hand slid from my throat to my jaw. His thumb traced the corner of my lip, slow, almost lazy, like he was remembering the feel of my mouth wrapped around it.
Then it dipped into my mouth again.
Not deep.
Just enough to taste me.
To make me open.
I moaned around it like a goddamn slut.
His eyes darkened.
He leaned in close, mouth barely brushing mine. “You lie so sweetly,” he whispered. “Like your p***y’s not still dripping down your thighs. Like your cunt didn’t beg for my c**k a minute ago.”
I whimpered as he dragged his thumb out of my mouth and slid it straight down.
Over my chin.
Between my t**s.
Down my stomach.
Until he reached the hem of the dress—what was left of it.
