Wicked Sin

by Ainsley Booth

  I stop at the foot of the bed to appreciate her lush, naked body. Her legs spread open, wide for me. A wanton offering I take, dropping to my knees. Falling forward to feast on her swollen, slick, sweet pussy.

  She smells like the best kind of sex, sultry and sweet. And her taste is even better licked right from the source.

  “Luke,” she begs. “I need you inside me.”

  I give her a finger, then a second, as I lift my head and look at her. “Come for me first, baby. Come on my face, then I’ll fuck you so hard.”

  Her lips part in a prolonged side as I thrust into her. But she’s intent on getting her way here, and who the fuck am I to argue? “Please,” she whispers. “I want to feel you stretch me with that big thing.”

  The big thing throbs in eager agreement.

  I groan and slide my fingers out of her, sticky with her clear juices now. I wrap my fist around my cock, jacking it for her appreciation.

  “Yeah. That. Put that big hard thing inside me,” she gasps. “Take me.”

  “You want this buried deep?”

  “All the way.” Her eyelids droop, fluttering shut as I push into her, as I imagine myself tearing her in half. Making her mine.

  That’s a fucked up thought right there. And it gets me even harder. So much for feelings being overrated. That’s a huge fucking feeling and it’s surging through me.

  Mine.

  Mine.

  I groan her name. She blinks up at me, the most beautiful vision I’ve ever seen beneath me, and smiles. “So good. More. Gimme more, Luke.”

  I stroke my hands down her legs and notch her thigh up high, pressing her open for me to fuck her harder.

  Her breath catches in her throat as I fill her up. Deep. Hard. I love the wild-eyed, sex-drunk look that rolls over her as she twists tighter toward an orgasm. “Gonna come for me, baby?”

  She gasps.

  I like that. I like that so fucking much. I’m throbbing, ready to fill her up. “I’m going to come, too,” I growl. “So hard. Wanna come together? Wanna milk it out of me with your clutching pussy? Or do you want me to pull out and spill my seed all over your thighs? I’d like to see that. My come on your skin.”

  She whimpers and whines, her fingers skittering down her body to find her clit.

  I grin at her. Wicked. Hot. “Yeah. Touch yourself. You can’t fucking help it, can you? You need to come. You need this dick, this big, hard—”

  With a strangled shout, she wraps her legs around my waist, jerks her hips up so her clit jams hard against her fingertips, and comes so hard around me I feel it in my balls. Like a bull let loose in a china shop, I fall into her, rutting hard as I chase my own release, as I let the filthiest thoughts take over and the base, raw need to fill her up be finally, blissfully satisfied.

  When my own climax retreats, I find myself wrapped tight around her, my face buried in her sweet-smelling hair.

  And she’s giggling like a schoolgirl. “Wow,” she whispers as I slide out of her, grabbing the condom to get rid of it.

  No fucking shit.

  I take care of business, then wrap myself around her.

  “That was wild,” she murmurs.

  “Very.” I kiss her softly. “I’m sorry about before.”

  “Me too.”

  I close my eyes and sink into the bone-deep satisfaction of having just fucked, and fucked well.

  28

  Taylor

  Monday morning, Luke is up before dawn. “Go back to sleep,” he whispers. “I’m heading out to have coffee with Sarah McBride. I’ll bring breakfast back with me.”

  I wonder if I won’t be able to sleep without him next to me, but I roll over and snuggle into his pillow, and the scent of him quickly drags me back into slumber.

  When I wake up again, he’s back and sitting at the end of the bed, holding a brown paper bag.

  “What’s that?” I ask groggily, rubbing my eyes.

  “Banana split supplies.”

  “For breakfast?”

  “Why not?”

  I can’t think of a single reason. “I’m up.”

  After I pee and brush my teeth, I find him downstairs. It’s a familiar, happy feeling now, skipping down the stairs to find him in the kitchen.

  Downright homey, I hear my mother sneering in my head.

  She wouldn’t know, of course, and she can’t intrude here.

  “Okay, I’m here to help,” I say.

  He turns around, clapping his hands together decisively. “You want a banana split, princess, you get the world’s best.”

  “The world’s best? That’s cocky. I’ve had some amazing desserts. Including the banana split at—”

  He raises an eyebrow as I cut myself off, and an uncomfortable heat crawls up my neck. His eyebrow curves exponentially higher when he realizes I’m embarrassed. “Where?”

  “The White House,” I mutter. And it was a flirtation point between me and the target of my most embarrassing affair. Not my finest hour.

  But Luke doesn’t blink when he gets the dirty truth from me. Maybe that’s why I give it to him. Even if I’m embarrassed about my past, and I am—oh God, I am, more and more each day—he doesn’t judge me for it.

  “But you’ve never had The Luke.” He smirks deliberately. “Now I’m going to need some assistance.”

  “Oh. I see,” I smirk right back. Sparring is a good, safe ground to retreat to. “You need help, but sure, this is going to be the best ever.”

  He hands me the brown paper bag.

  “I’ve got full confidence in you, detective,” I say dryly.

  “If my lovely assistant wouldn’t mind unloading the groceries while I get started,” he says as he opens a cupboard and pulls out a jar of sugar.

  “I guess I wouldn’t mind.” I’m grinning now.

  “I’ll take the pineapple juice first.”

  I blink at him. When he points at the bag I’m still holding, I set it on the counter. Inside I find pineapple juice—proof the man is crazy—as well as ice cream, chocolate sauce, whipped cream, and bananas—getting closer.

  He sets a sauté pan on the stove, and uses the juice and sugar to start a caramel. Once that’s bubbling away, he adds the bananas, sliced lengthwise, cooking them just long enough to give them a sticky caramel coating. Then he deftly scoops them out with an oversized spoon, putting them in two bowls.

  “Stick those in the freezer,” he says as he turns down the heat.

  I do as he instructs, and when I turn back, he’s got all the other supplies ready.

  “Come here,” he murmurs, tugging me close. “We’ve got a minute while those cool. I haven’t gotten my good morning kiss yet.”

  I give it to him, a long slow taste, and then I fetch the bowls from the freezer.

  He serves up a scoop of ice cream, drizzles on chocolate sauce, adds a spoon of warm caramel from the pan, then he slides it across the counter. “Last bit is all up to you, princess. Add your whipped cream and blueberries to make it perfect.”

  He goes to the bag and pulls out a pint of blueberries I missed.

  “Unconventional.” But I still take a nice big handful and scatter them on top of my sundae.

  “They were the first things you ate out of your salad when we went to Washington.”

  “That’s a weird thing to notice.”

  “It was a weird conversation. I latched on to the blueberries like a canary in a coal mine. I figured, if you were still eating them, you were okay to keep talking.”

  I give him a somber smile. “I’m always okay to keep talking.”

  “Sure. I see that. But it hollows you out. I see that, too.”

  “Thank you.” I grab two spoons and hand him one. “Speaking of talking…how was your coffee date?”

  He frowns. “Not a date.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you?”

  “It’s just a phrase. What’s the latest? Can I ask that?”

  “Sure. Eat your breakfast.”

&n
bsp; I laugh and dig in. The caramel sauce is freaking amazing, and totally not what I expected. “This is yummy.”

  “But is it the best?”

  I lick my spoon slowly, grinning. “The best I’ve ever had.”

  “Damn fucking straight.” He winks, eats his own bite, and then launches into a run down of the progress on the case—which isn’t very much, it sounds like. “We’re still in a holding pattern on getting Gerome Lively’s travel details. And this video leak feels like a shot across the bow in some ways, like someone knows that he’s on our radar, and is trying to mess that up.”

  “How would that mess it up?”

  “The higher profile a case, the harder it is to do the investigation properly. Evidence gets tainted, tip lines get flooded. And that’s even before the celebrity trial if it gets that far. He’s dodged the bullet more than once. Now he’s cocky, and that can work to our advantage, but only if we keep the upper hand.”

  “Shit.”

  He drops his gaze to my mouth. “Language.”

  “Really?” I laugh and lick up another mouthful of ice cream. “You don’t want me to swear?”

  He drags his attention back to my eyes. “Maybe I want you to swear and like the idea of punishing you for it.”

  “Interesting. Fucking interesting.”

  His pupils go dark, and I squirm in my seat.

  “Very interesting,” I murmur.

  Then he grins, and the moment slides back into comfortable chatter. He gives me a little more of the update, but then cuts himself off. “I don’t want to talk about work. I’m on vacation.”

  “Sure, vacation for you,” I tease. “But someone still wants to kill me.”

  As far as jokes go, it’s pretty dark. Luke doesn’t think it’s funny. “And very smart people are working on that. I promise I never lose sight of that. But I’m supposed to be distracting you.”

  “Are you? Is that your official task, to wave orgasms and spankings in front of me?”

  He grins. “Spankings? So is that something that you want, princess?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Say it.”

  “I want you to spank me.”

  “Tell me more.”

  “I want you to spank me for saying fuck and shit and damn.”

  “Finish your ice cream, and then we can talk about this more on the couch.”

  He watches me eat, the promise of what is to come clear in his gaze. I watch him, too. Curious about how he turns the heat on and off like that in the middle of this madness. How he can switch it on for pleasure, and off when he needs to be serious or gentle.

  The control there is a huge turn on, I realize. Like that’s the thing that’s been missing in my life.

  Control.

  Real power, not misused and abused power. Power with limits.

  When we finish eating the best breakfast ever, he leads me to the couch. Instead of putting me over his lap, he sits down and tugs me on top of him, my legs spread.

  I’ve quickly figured out this is his favorite position.

  “Before I give you that spanking you so clearly need,” he growls, “we need to have a clear conversation about limits. Hard limits, soft limits, and just as importantly, things on your yes-please list. Have you thought about that? Kinky things you really want?”

  I nod. This has been cycling through my mind already, and I know what I want to say. “I want you to pull my hair. Hold me down. I’ve been thinking about…the hard push of your hand against my back. My neck.”

  “Your neck?”

  My face flames. Does that reveal too much?

  He rubs my legs gently, his gaze glued to mine. “Do you want me to choke you, princess?”

  “Maybe.” It’s a whisper. Like I can hardly believe I’m saying that out loud, and that’s true. It’s such a dangerous thing to admit.

  “There’s no maybe with stuff like that. I need to know what you want.”

  “Yes.” Barely a sound. I nod as well. “I like that idea. And…I want it to feel real.” My voice cracks. “Is that possible? Is that okay?”

  He pulls me in close, his hands running up and down my spine. “Shh,” he says. “Yeah, that’s okay.”

  I know it is. I know it is. But I’m crying anyway. “I just want to be normal,” I whisper.

  “You are. There’s nothing wrong with figuring out what feels good for your body and your brain.”

  “What else do you like?” I ask him. I need to know. I need to not be the only one to say something truly out there.

  He shifts beneath me. He’s turned on. A big, hard erection. I squirm against it.

  “That. I like that. Turning you on.” His fingers skate up my back and settle on the nape of my neck. Warm, firm pressure. “Look at me, Taylor.”

  I lift my face.

  His face is soft. And then, ever so slowly, ever so carefully, his grip is not. He squeezes the back of my neck, and then twists his hand up, tangling his fingers in my hair.

  I gasp at the first tug, and moan at the second.

  His face stays soft, his eyes gentle. “I like being rough if it turns you on. It’s not the only way I like to have sex. But if you like it, I’ll love it. Get that? I’ll be all in.”

  All in. An excited tremor jolts through me. I lick my lips, and his gaze drops to my mouth. “How all in?”

  He blinks, and his gaze is locked onto mine. “You want it real?”

  I gasp again. Hot, wet, angsty need pulses between my legs. “Yes,” I whisper.

  He twists his hand, pulling my hair tight.

  Whimpering, I arch my back, trying to follow his movements. The heat in my pussy spreads, blooming hard and fast in my belly, making my breasts ache with heaviness.

  With his free hand, he traces my jaw, then rubs his fingertips against my lower lip. I want him to shove them into my mouth and make me gag.

  What is wrong with me?

  Nothing.

  It’s a simple and yet terrifying thought. I’ve spent so long knowing that I’m horrid and rotten to the core.

  Luke taps my mouth to get my attention. His lips twitch as I refocus on him. “With me?”

  “Oh, yeah,” I breathe. Just fantasizing.

  “We need a way to make sure it’s not going to far.”

  “A safe word?” I know some things. I just never thought they would apply to me. All kink I’ve been exposed to in the past has been extremely non-consensual, which is hard to think about.

  “More of a safe question. A double-check that you’re in. And yes, a safe word too. So either of us can hit a big, red stop button any time we need to.”

  “Okay.”

  “There’s a basic set of words, common to all in the kink community for the most part. Red, yellow, green. If you’re good to go, then you’re green. If I need to be cautious, then it’s yellow. And if you—or I—want to stop, then it’s red, no questions asked.”

  I nod. “Okay.”

  “But if you want it to feel real, then we need to be a bit more clever. And work up to it, starting with some practice rounds. So I want us both to memorize a question. I’m going to ask you if you want me to stop. And you need to say the magic words that will tell me that we’re all good, you want me to continue—even though you’re saying the exact opposite.”

  A wicked thrill slices through me. “That sounds really hot. Like if you say, I don’t think you want me to stop. I would know that’s a question.”

  “Let’s practice that. I don’t think you want me to stop, do you?” He says it hard, with a nasty edge, and it’s so freaking hot I can’t even handle it.

  My breath puffs out hard and fast, little desperate pants. “You don’t know what I want.”

  He grins hard and feral. “Oh, yes I do, you brat.”

  Squirming against him, I make an embarrassing noise that’s part moan, part whimper, and all sex.

  His attitude drops away, and he cups my face. “Yes?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Let’s do
that again.” His eyes shift, his gaze turning black. Fierce. “I don’t think you want me to stop, you little brat.”

  I whimper. “You don’t know what I want.”

  “Good girl.” He pulls me in for a kiss. “We’ll put that into play soon. We’ll talk about it again. You’re so brave, thank you for sharing that fantasy with me. That gets you a reward. Take off your pants.”

  I get naked, and he perches me on the edge of the couch, my legs spread wide. Then he kneels in front of me, his eyes on my face until the very last second, when he ducks his head, and all I can see is dark hair.

  His tongue slides against my folds, a wet, delicious exploration of my skin, and then I feel a soft suck against my clit. My hips push up off the cushions, and my hands drive into the strands of his hair, holding him in place.

  Yes, God, yes.

  His tongue never stops, but he’s not fast. Nothing desperate about how he goes down on me. He’s taking his sweet time tasting me, coaxing me higher and wilder until I’m grinding against his whole mouth, and it’s perfect.

  So perfect.

  And not kinky at all, but I still don’t have any problem climbing the hill to my orgasm. I’m eager for it, happy to come for him. I want to shatter into a million pieces and have him lick me back together again.

  Because once I’m whole, he’s going to tear me apart, and I’m going to let him.

  Tonight, I’m going to act out my dirtiest, most depraved fantasy. And Luke is going to help me.

  Before we get back to the dirty, dirty things I want my captor to do to me, he makes contact with Cole and tells him that I want to see my sisters. Are they going to be around until the end of the week?

  I like that he pushes it off like that. It gives me some breathing room. I said I wanted to see them, and I do, but the guilt and shame that always burble up whenever I think about my family and what I dragged them through is a lot to deal with.

  Luke nods as he listens to something Cole is saying on the other end of the line. “I agree, there’s a bad actor messing with things behind the scenes. Let’s give it a few days, if you are going to stay in the city.”