Page 67 of Tempting Venom
“Yeah.” An evil grin pulls at the corner of his mouth. “It makes me hard.”
“You really are sick.”
“We can be sick together.”
Slap.
I groan, my eyes drooping closed a little, but I pull my trembling lips into a smile. “Is that all you got?”
“This fucking mouth really knows how to amuse me.”
Slap.
Slap.
Slap.
I didn’t think he could hit any harder, but he proves me wrong.
So damn wrong, because, fuck me, I’ve never had a thunderbolt of strikes rushing through my bloodstream, eating me alive like a hurricane.
He’s the hurricane. Marcus fucking Osborn.
And I’m letting him mess me up because I like it.
Andhelikes it, too.
He’s in a trance similar to mine, his face caught in a cloud of desire. I’ve never witnessed this level of fucked up before, and it’s launching chaos in my head.
A riot in my body.
I groan deep in my throat as he slaps my ass again and again, alternating between cheeks, the whole time forcing me to look at him.
The worst part is when he stops to stroke the red, stinging skin.
I don’t like it.
Any form of touching, stroking, or care bunches my nerves into a mess.
So I do what I do best—provoke him.
“You’re underperforming, Osborn.”
“And you’re lying, Armstrong.” He slaps my ass again, and my dick is so wound up, I feel it leaking onto the panels. “You let me win because of this, no? Because you wanted me to do crude things to you and use you however I fucking please. You just didn’t want to admit it.”
“Fuck…you…” I lose the battle and slide my hand between my legs.
I just need some light friction.
Just a little.
“Friends,” he drawls. “Say that, and I’ll stop.”
“I’m not your fucking friend.”
He slaps me so hard, I reel, and a moan echoes in the air.
Mymoan.
