Page 57 of Roped

“So we shouldn’t be doing this,” I say. “We shouldn’t… What happened before, at the cliff, it was a mistake, and I don’t think we should r-repeat that.”

Exactly. What happened between us was a giant mistake. I’m already too invested in him, too involved. He already makes my heart beat a certain way, and I don’t think getting more tangled up in him is a good idea. Especially when I won’t be seeing him after tonight.

He stares at me for a moment before asking, “What else?”

“So you agree?” I ask, my eyes going back and forth between his. “It was a mistake, right? We shouldn’t have done that. We’re… There’s too much between us, too much b-bad blood, and it just felt so good that I didn’t…”

“Want me to stop,” he says, picking up my thread.

And despite all better judgment, I shake my head. No, I do not want him to stop, and he doesn’t.

For the next several seconds, all we do is stare into each other’s eyes as he moves his hand down below. His fingers slide up and up, rasping against my soft skin, and the silence is so thick, I think I can hear them move. Somehow I can hear my thighs tremble, too, or maybe that’s just my breaths. And then he reaches the seam of my panties and I go up on my tiptoes, my trapped dress pulling against my body, my nails digging even farther into his hot skin.

I’m drenched. There’s no two ways about it.

And he likes that. Of that there’s no doubt because as he rubs his thumb up and down the crotch of my soaked panties, his nostrils flare and his chest moves with a large breath. It’s satisfaction, I know it. Even though on him, it looks savage and violent. So utterly breathtaking. I open my mouth to say something, to break this tense, thick, charged silence between us, but I can’t think of any words. I also want to look away from him because this is too intimate. Staring into each other’s eyes, letting him watch and read every single emotion on my face as he explores me down there, under my dress, is too intense. But I don’t know how to look away either.

A second later, I’m not thinking anything because his fingers are right there. On my pussy. On my bare pussy.

He’s moved my panties aside to get to my soaked core, and all I can do is blink. And feel. I gasp at the first touch of his scraped fingers against me and he growls. I pull at the sleeves of his vest, my eyes wide, and he runs his thick digits up and down, slowly, deliberately, as if trying to feel something exotic. Something he’s never felt before.

“Knew it,” he whispers thickly.

“Wh-what?”

“That the girl with the voice of an angel’s got a soft as fuck pussy.”

I blink again and swallow wordlessly as he keeps running his fingers down there.

“I pegged you right the very first time, didn’t I? You are a real princess.” He goes on, watching me, my eyes, “My Princess.”

“I’m not.”

“Sweet as fuck,” he continues, ignoring me, now brushing his calloused knuckles against my core, making me gasp again. “Hot as fuck.” Then, pausing to lick his lips, “Wet as fuck too.” His eyes narrow, possessiveness stark in the depths of them. “All for me.”

“Radisson, please, I—”

“Ain’t it?” he prods.

“I—”

His knuckles brush my clit then, making me flinch as he commands, “Say it. Say you’re my Princess.”

“I can’t be.” I shake my head. “My dad—”

“Fuck your daddy,” he growls.

“But—”

“Fuck him,” he growls again, flicking my clit. “And fuck everyone else. Fuck this whole fuckin’ world. Tell me you’re mine.”

Swallowing, I obey. “I’m y-yours.”

“My Princess,” he goes on.

“Yours.”

“My pussy.”