Page 48 of Bang (Club Deep #3)

“Nobody has ever touched you like this, have they, Pamona?” I murmur, nuzzling against her neck.

Her breath hitches. “What do you care?” she says, but it’s weak. Unconvincing.

“It’s your first time. I want to make sure that you’re enjoying yourself. That you realize, if you let go of control, how much more pleasurable this can be.” I trail my fingers over her thighs, trace the place where she’s squeezing them together. Run my fingers all the way up, almost to her pussy. Just before I reach it, I spread my fingers, so they graze either side of her mound, barely touching.

She gasps again, and jerks against the couch. Trying to avoid doing what she wants. Which is to thrust against me. Lean into my touch.

I smirk and kiss her neck again, slower this time. My tongue traces the edge of her neck, the sharp line of her carotid artery, the muscles that remain tense beneath my mouth. I kiss and tongue my way to the crook of her neck, then graze my teeth across her skin. She groans this time, a long, drawn-out gasp through clenched teeth. Against her will, I know, she’s starting to enjoy this.

I kiss her collarbone, her clavicle, the little hollow at the base of her neck. I flick my tongue into that hollow, taste the salty sweet flavor of her sweat, the scent and taste that’s all her. At the same time, I flatten my palm across her stomach, cupping her navel under my palm, memorizing her body slowly, methodically.


Her belly trembles beneath my hand, clenching and unclenching, heaving with deep breaths as she struggles to control herself. But she can’t. Because her body belongs to me now. Her pleasure is mine, her desire is mine, and she is not going to escape my needs this easily.

I will make this innocent little virgin my personal slut in no time.

I am hard as a rock, feeling her growing desire with her bare body pressed against mine. I lie down across her, flat, so she can feel every inch of me. She inhales sharply when my hard cock presses against her upper thigh, the layers of fabric between us suddenly frustrating.

I lick and suck my way lower, along her chest, and when I reach her breasts, I feel her lift her hands and bury them in my hair. At first I think she’s going to try and pull me away, but instead, she tugs me against her, closer, and I part my lips to suck her nipple into my mouth, the blade of my tongue curling along her hard nipple. She moans, and her body arches, her hips thrusting up into me. I steal a glance at her face, enjoying the expression, torn between pleasure and frustration, anger at herself for feeling this way, hatred of me for putting her in this position.

But she thrusts against me anyway, grinds her pussy against my leg, her hip rubbing against my swollen, aching cock, and she fists her hands in my hair, glaring at me even as she gives in to the want.

I can feel her wet pussy against me, smell her hot desire, and I swear, my cock is so rock hard it might break through my jeans. I inhale sharply, pin her to the couch suddenly, red-hot lust flaring behind my eyes.

I need her. Now.

But before I can reach down and undo my jeans, I force myself to shove off the couch, back to my feet.

Pamona is gasping, legs spread, eyes glistening with unfulfilled lust. Her face is bright red, her chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath. Her hands fly to cover her face. Between her legs, I catch a glimpse of the couch, soaked beneath her, and I have to turn around, hands balled into fists, nails digging into my palms to drag myself back to my senses.

Christ.

I almost fucked her right here and now.

This is not the way it’s supposed to work. I am supposed to be the one driving her wild, not the other way around.

I can hear her behind me, sitting up, still panting with want, and I can’t even turn around to enjoy the naked desire on her face, or savor the way she must feel right now, conflicted and furious with lust and anger. I can’t enjoy it because I have to tame my own fucking lust.

This is insane.

You are Farrow Lochlan, I tell myself. She is Calvin Badiary’s daughter. You are in control here.

I planned this for so long. Worked through every detail. I am in control.

So why does she make me so wild with want? Why do I want to turn around right now and pin her to that couch again, finish what we started?

“Farrow,” she says, her voice trembling, though whether it’s with anger or something else, I can’t tell.

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