Page 21 of Branded By Bishop

"So fucking wet for me, baby," he groans, his tone full of wicked satisfaction. "You need this, don't you?"

"Yes!" I sob, unable to deny it when the proof is all over his fingers. "I need you so bad, Bishop."He grunts wordlessly, his eyes locked on mine. He doesn't look away, no t when he runs his thumb around my clit. Not when I cry out. Not even when my head falls back, my neck unable to hold it up any longer. He just watches me like he's trying to memorize every flicker of emotion across my face as his fingers roll over my clit, setting my body on fire.

"I dreamed about you like this," he says, pressing one finger against my opening. "You, trembling and desperate for me." He slowly sinks it into me, making me writhe. "You, begging for me." He curls it up, stroking that spot deep inside that makes me sob his name and rock against him. "You, beautifully desperate." Another finger joins the first, stretching me. "You, losing your mind for me. God, songbird, this is even better than my dreams."

"Bishop," I moan, stripped to nothing but sensation and need now, not just by what he's doing to me, but by what he's saying to me. By the way he looks at me like I'm the only thing that exists in the world. Like I'm the only thing he's ever wanted this badly.

I always thought being on stage was the best I'd ever feel. I was wrong. It's this. It's right now. It's Bishop staring at me like I'm something special while he fucks me with his fingers on my front porch.

"Can you take one more for me?"

"I…" I can't formulate a response so I just nod instead, willing to take anything he gives me.

He grins like he's proud of me. And then I feel another finger pressing against my entrance, fighting to join the other two. "Christ, songbird," he grunts. "You're going to make me work for it, aren't you?"

I just sob in response because, yeah, apparently, I am. But it's not because I'm not wet enough. I'm soaked. It's because his fingers are so damn thick. He's splitting me apart with them, turning me inside out.

"That's it," he croons when he finally slips it inside. "Just like that, baby." His forehead rests against mine, his voice a rough pant. "Christ, Callie. I'm going to split you in half tonight."

I choke on a whimper, pretty sure he's already doing that. I feel him everywhere, burning through my synapses like a fever. It's the best kind of pleasure.

"Please, please."

He groans softly, his lips brushing mine. "Ride my fingers, songbird. Take what you need from me."

I'm not even sure I can move. I think I might vibrate apart if I do. But I don't tell him no, either. I don't think I'm capable of telling this man no. Instead, I clamp my thighs around his hips and use his shoulders for leverage, rocking against his hand. He moves his fingers, plunging them deeper, twisting, pushing…curling them up until I'm nothing but want, need, and the dizzying rush of blood through my veins.

I come all at once, the orgasm detonating through my entire body in a wave of pleasure. My mouth falls open on a strangled cry, my nails digging into his shoulders. I think I gasp his name, but I don't hear it. All I hear is the way he croons my name, telling me how beautiful I look. All I see are his eyes and the stars behind him.

Before I even come down, we're moving. The whole world dips and spins wildly before we're inside the house, the door closed behind us. He doesn't ask for directions. He doesn't ask for anything. He just storms down the hall like a man on the edge, not stopping until we're in my room, and I'm bouncing on the bed.

He looms over me, all wild eyes and desperation. "If you don't want me inside you, stop me now, Callie baby," he growls, his hands already on the hem of his flannel.

"Don't stop," I mouth.

He practically shreds the shirt, pulling it off over his head.

All I can do is stare. With a shirt on, he's beautiful. Without it, he's something else altogether. The tattoos on his arms aren't the only ones. Ink spills across his torso, bold and soft lines, little letters, and intricate designs all painted together. He's stunning, in a way someone that damn big has no right to be.

His jeans and boots go next, both kicked free like they don't even matter. His dick springs free, smacking against his stomach.

Jesus.

Dicks aren't supposed to be beautiful, but his saps the moisture from my mouth. He's a monster, so long and thick, my legs clamp together as if I can already feel him between them. His balls hang heavy between his legs, and I want to touch them, taste them, see how wild he gets when I run my lips over them before taking him in my mouth.

He doesn't give me a chance.

As soon as he's naked, he's on top of me, flattening me to the bed with his body on top of mine. His hands tremble as he strips me in seconds, leaving me shaking beneath him.

Feeling him skin-to-skin is a whole new experience. He's hot everywhere, burning like there's a furnace under his skin. I think maybe I'm burning, too. He started a fire inside me, and I'm not sure it'll ever burn out now.

His lips close around my nipple, and my back arches off the bed. He groans, dragging it through his teeth before doing the same exact thing to the other one. His hand slides down my belly before slipping between my legs.

I gasp, rocking into his touch.

"I need to taste you," he groans, almost apologetically. "Can't stop thinking about it, songbird." He's already moving down my body, leaving a trail of little bites in his wake. "Christ, you taste so fucking sweet already. I can't get enough of you."

"Bishop," I whimper, like his name is the only word I know. I think, right now, it might be. It's the only one I have left. The rest have fled.