Page 62 of Wicked Dreams (Fallen Royals 1)

I press my lips together as his fingers return to the hem of my nightshirt. He raises it slowly, revealing my stomach, my rib cage, my breasts. He massages one breast in his hand, fingers rolling my hard nipple and pinching it. Pain and pleasure shoot through me. My back arches off the bed, and I close my eyes.

My heart skips when his hot mouth touches my other breast, clamping on my nipple. Every nerve is on fire, begging to be touched. But I can’t speak.

His tongue swirls on my skin. It’s the only warning I get before he bites me. Hard.

I yelp, my hands coming down and shoving at his head.

He lifts his head, grinning at me. “I warned you not to move, love.”

He stands, sweeping my sheets off the bed. He grabs the waistband of my shorts and yanks them down, taking my panties with it.

I’m burning with shame and a little too much desire for this situation. He drops my shorts, holding my white lace panties in one hand. With the other, he traps my wrists. And then, using my underwear, he ties my wrists to my headboard.

I watch him with trepidation, but I let it happen. Part of me is excited to see what happens. I have to know what happens next.

He lies back down next to me, staring at my naked body. He trails a finger from the old bite mark on my breast, down my stomach to my core. He swipes through my folds, and I lurch in surprise.

“You’re soaked,” he murmurs. “Because I tied you up? Bit you?”

I can’t answer as he does it again.

“If looks could kill,” he mutters. He thrusts a finger into me without warning. “So fucking tight.”

“I—”

He seals his lips over mine, biting my lip hard enough to draw blood. I just get wetter. One finger inside me becomes two, taking on a rhythm that I try to match with my hips. It’s an alien feeling—and one that I need more of. Right now.

I bite him back, pulling against the restraint. If he weren’t kissing me, stealing my breath, I’d be making ungodly sounds. He’s working me up higher and higher, his thumb playing with my clit as his fingers plunge inside me.

I’m flayed open.

He kisses down my jaw, my throat. “Will you scream? Wake up your foster parents?”

There’s something dirty about him being fully dressed while I’m naked.

There’s something inexplicably aggravating about how helpless I feel.

“No,” I whisper. I stare up at him. “I wouldn’t scream. Not now. And certainly not—”

He pushes a third finger into me, analyzing my reaction. My lips part, words dying in my throat. I widen my eyes at the new stretching feeling.

His other hand goes to my throat, caressing the spot where I’m sure he can feel my pulse leaping out of my skin. His eyes gleam with a challenge.

“You—”

“Don’t ask me to fuck you, love,” he whispers. “Because when I do, you will be screaming my name.” He latches on to my nipple again, sucking hard before his teeth scrape my skin.

I buck, fighting the feeling.

“Give it to me,” he growls. He slams his lips back on mine and flicks my clit, hard enough to feel like a slap.

I jump, groaning into his mouth when the orgasm sweeps through me. My core pulses around his fingers.

He takes everything.

Everything.

And yet, there’s a look in his eyes that says we haven’t even started yet.