He Divorced Me in Front of Four Hundred People, So I Moved Into His Rival's Glass Penthouse novel · Chapter 16 of 24

Chapter 16: Voice

Leighton arrived at eight fifty-eight, and I made him wait in the doorway until nine.

"Take your shirt off," I said from the bed. "Come here."

He crossed the dark room, and I took his hands and drew them up over his head.

I wound his gray silk tie around both wrists.

I knotted it to the slats of the headboard, tight enough that he could pull and not get free.

He lay back on the pillows with his arms stretched up, bare to the waist, in the light of the city.

"I'll tell you when you're allowed to talk," I said.

He closed his mouth, and a smile pulled at it.

I knelt astride his hips in a black silk slip and nothing under it.

His cock was already hard against my thigh through his trousers.

"Eyes closed," I said.

He closed them.

"Now. Somebody's in the room with you. Who?"

I trailed one fingertip down his chest, light as a feather, and he shivered.

"Margo."

"How do you know?"

"Your breathing. You breathe in through your nose before you touch me. And you smell like orange peel."

"Good."

I leaned down and breathed in over his mouth, and I didn't touch him.

He lifted his head to find my mouth, and I pulled away.

"No."

"Margo."

"Hold still. Say my name."

"Margo."

"Again."

"Margo Ellsworth."

"Good boy."

I lowered my mouth to his throat, and I kissed it, and I scraped my teeth gently down the tendon.

His breath hitched, and he strained up against the tie.

I kissed his collarbone, his chest, the flat disc of his nipple, and I licked it in a slow circle and bit down.

"Fuck."

"Quiet."

"Margo, I can't be quiet."

"Then be good at it."

I rose up on my knees, took my own breast in my hand, and fed him my nipple.

His mouth closed over it at once, hot and hungry, and I gasped.

He sucked hard, his tongue flicking, and my head dropped back.

"Is that what you want?" I said, breathless. "Is that what you've been dreaming about?"

He hummed yes against my skin.

I gave him the other one, and he took that too, worshipful, wet, with a groan that traveled all the way down to my toes.

I drew down the zip of his trousers and eased them off him, and his cock sprang free and slapped against his belly.

He groaned.

I slid the slip up around my waist and lowered myself on top of him.

His cock lay between my thighs, and I did not take him in.

I rocked.

Wet heat slid along the whole length of him, my clit dragging over the underside, and his hips tried to rise into me.

"Fuck," he said. "Fuck, you're so wet."

"Who's doing this to you?"

"Margo."

"Who?"

"You. You. God, you."

I ground against him in slow strokes, up and down, slick and shameless, and the head of him bumped my clit on every pass.

It felt so good that I forgot to be cruel.

I braced my hands on his chest and watched his face tighten.

His arms strained against the tie and the headboard creaked.

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