Page 113 of 10 Rings I Hate About You
The whole time she’d let me lead, and I’d been glad to. But this—hearing her ask for something—mattered to me in a way I wasn’t fully able to vocalize. I wanted her to know it was safe to ask. That whatever she said wouldn’t be too much or too little or wrong. It wouldn’t be judged or used against her.
I wanted her to trust me enough to be greedy.
“Touch them,” she said finally, her voice rough. “Please.”
There it was.
I cupped her breasts in both hands, felt their weight. “Perfect,” I murmured. “Made for me to touch, to cherish, to worship.”
I lowered my head and pressed a kiss to one peak, then the other, then blew a soft breath across both, drawing a shiver from her. Then I went to work—licking, grazing my teeth, and alternating suction with the lightest scrape of my teeth—watching her face to read what landed.
The answer, apparently, was all of it.
But what she loved most—what made her hands tighten in my hair and her back arch—was when I scraped my teeth across a nipple and then immediately flicked it with my tongue, the sharp sensation soothed with warmth. I did it again. Her hips rolled.
“One of these days,” I said against her skin. “I’d like to fuck these.”
She made a sound that was part moan and part laughter. “I would be extremely open to that discussion.”
Her hand slid down between us, reaching for her clit. I caught her wrist.
“Marc,” she turned my name into a complaint. “Seriously?”
“What do you want?” I held her gaze and held her wrist while I waited.
I’d keep asking that question until she grew sick of me saying it. Until she began to tell me without me having to ask.
The debate moved across her face in real time—she was absolutely weighing whether defiance was worth it, and what form it might take, and if the consequences could possibly be interesting enough.
She bit her lip and let her head drop back. “Please.” The word ragged and intense, the last of her defiance going with it. “I want you circling my clit, please.” The secondpleasewas softer, breathy, needy.
“Are you going to be dirty for me now, Hart?”
“Yes. Make me come, Marc.”
A deep, low chuckle left my throat. “Don’t you worry, you’re going to come, and I can’t wait to hear you scream. It makes me even harder for you, Delaney.”
Something shifted within me, a possessive little thing that desired to be the only one she made demands to in bed. And it wasn’t just the words or the sound of them. I knew that giving up control wasn’t easy for her.
I suspected she’d been handling her own pleasure for a long time. Making do. Adjusting expectations downward until asking for things stopped feeling worth the effort.
She didn’t have to do that here.
I pulled her hand down and kissed her knuckles before releasing it. “That’s all you ever have to do. Just tell me.”
She let out a shuddered breath. Nodded.
I slid my fingers through her slit—she was soaked, still swollen from the last two orgasms—and I pinched her clit lightly before circling it. She jerked, oversensitive, and I eased up, letting her adjust, then shifted my palm so the heel pressed against her while I worked two fingers inside.
She clenched immediately. Hard.
I went back to her breasts with my mouth while my hand continued to slide in and out of her—fingers curling, finding that spot over and over, feeling her hips start to stutter. It didn’t take long.
Her legs trembled, her stomach seized, and she came in a long, low, rolling wave that left her shaking.
Three.
I gave her about fifteen seconds to recover.
