I was still face-down in his sheets, thighs sticky, cunt throbbing with the aftershocks of how hard he’d just f****d me, when I pushed myself up onto my elbows and looked back at him.
Sinclair sat on his heels behind me, chest rising and falling hard, c**k still half-hard and shiny with everything we’d done. His c*m was leaking out of me in slow, thick trails that ran down the insides of my thighs and soaked into the mattress. He looked ruined. He looked like a man who had just broken every rule he’d ever set for himself and already wanted to break them again.
I turned over, spread my legs wider so he could see the mess he’d left, and smiled.
“You’ve tasted me,” I said, voice still rough from screaming into the pillow. “Now I get to taste you.”
His eyes dropped to my mouth. Then lower,
