21

He chuckled darkly against my lips, clearly pleased with my reaction. “Still tender, baby girl?” he murmured, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction.

I pulled back just enough to glare at him, my chest heaving. “You’re an ass.”

His smirk widened, and he squeezed me again, sending a fresh jolt of sensation through me. “And yet you keep coming back for more. What does that say about you?”

I wanted to snap back, to fire off some witty retort, but the truth lodged itself in my throat. He wasn’t wrong. Every time I thought I’d had enough, he pulled me right back in, leaving me craving more of the intensity only he could provide.

“You’re infuriating,” I muttered, shoving at his chest in a feeble attempt to create some distance.

He didn’t budge. Instead, he tightened his grip on me, his green eyes gleaming with amusement. “And you love it.”

I hated how right he was, but I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of admitting it. So instead, I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms over my chest. “Not everything is about you, Vincent .”

He tilted his head, studying me with that maddeningly knowing look. “Is that so? Then why do you keep letting me kiss you? Why do you melt every time I touch you?”

I opened my mouth to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. He was right again, damn him. And the worst part? He knew it.

“Shut up,” I said instead, my cheeks burning as I turned my head away.

He chuckled, the sound low and full of mischief. “Admit it, Jennifer . You like the way I make you feel. The way I push you.”

“I don’t—” I started, but he cut me off with another searing kiss, his hands roaming over my body with a confidence that left me breathless.

This time, I couldn’t fight it. I didn’t want to. I gave in, letting him dominate me in a way that both terrified and thrilled me.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, and I was left gasping for air. His voice was soft but firm as he said, “You don’t have to fight me, baby girl. Let me take care of you.”

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding in my chest. His words hit me harder than I expected, chipping away at the walls I’d carefully built around myself. I hated how much I wanted to believe him, to let go of the fear and let him in. But it wasn’t that simple.

“I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” I whispered, my voice shaking.

His thumb brushed over my bottom lip, his gaze intense. “I think you do. And I think you need someone who’s not afraid to challenge you, to push you past your limits.”

I shook my head, trying to clear the fog of his presence. “You don’t know me, Vincent .”

“Oh, I know you better than you think,” he replied confidently. “You’re strong, stubborn, and so damn independent it’s almost to a fault. But even the strongest people need someone to lean on. Someone to catch them when they fall.”

I looked away, unable to hold his gaze any longer. His words struck a chord deep inside me, one I wasn’t ready to face. He was right—I hated that he was right—but admitting it felt like giving up a piece of myself.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” I admitted quietly, my voice barely audible.

His hand cupped my cheek, gently turning my face back toward him. “You can. And you don’t have to do it alone. I’m here, Jennifer . For as long as you’ll let me be.”

The sincerity in his eyes nearly broke me. It was too much, too overwhelming. I pulled away from his touch, needing space to breathe, to think.

“I need some time,” I said, my voice trembling.

He nodded, his expression softening. “Take all the time you need. But don’t forget, baby girl—I’m not going anywhere.”

His words lingered in the air as he stepped back, giving me the space I desperately needed. But even as he left the room, I could still feel the weight of his presence, like an invisible tether keeping me tied to him.

I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to make sense of the storm raging inside me. He was pushing me in ways no one ever had before, forcing me to confront parts of myself I wasn’t ready to face.

But the scariest part?

I wasn’t sure I wanted him to stop.

He continued his slow, deliberate teasing, his hand gliding over the curve of my ass before delivering another light smack. It wasn’t just the sting that had my pulse racing; it was the deliberate rhythm, the control he wielded over me like a maestro conducting a symphony.

“You like this, don’t you, baby girl?” His voice was low and gravelly, each word dripping with authority and amusement.

I whimpered, unsure if I could admit the truth aloud. My pride was at war with the growing need surging through my veins. But he didn’t need my words to know. My body betrayed me with every shiver, every soft moan that slipped past my lips.

“Still so stubborn,” he murmured, almost to himself. His hand smoothed over my heated skin, and then, without warning, he swatted the same spot again. I gasped, the sensation somehow sparking both pain and pleasure, and he chuckled darkly. “But I’ll break that stubbornness eventually.”

“You’re infuriating,” I hissed, twisting my head to glare at him, though my voice lacked any real bite.

“And yet here you are, draped over my lap, soaking wet for me,” he retorted, his smirk evident even though I couldn’t see his face.

He shifted slightly, and I felt the hardness of his arousal press against my stomach. The knowledge that he was just as affected as I was sent another wave of heat coursing through me. He ran his fingers along the crease where my thighs met my bottom, the teasing touch making my legs tremble.

“Vincent …” I whispered, his name falling from my lips like a prayer and a plea all at once.

“Say it again,” he ordered, his voice taking on a commanding edge.

“Vincent ,” I repeated, barely able to get the word out as his fingers brushed against the slickness between my thighs.

“Good girl,” he praised, and the warmth of those two simple words wrapped around me like a blanket. His fingers dipped into my folds, gliding through the evidence of my arousal with ease. He hummed in approval, the sound vibrating straight through me. “So wet. All for me.”

“Yes,” I breathed, unable to deny it anymore. I was his in that moment, completely and utterly his.

He slid a single finger inside me, the intrusion slow and deliberate. I gasped, my fingers curling into fists as I tried to ground myself against the overwhelming sensations. He didn’t move right away, letting me adjust to the feel of him before adding another finger. The stretch was exquisite, and I let out a soft moan, arching my back to give him better access.

“That’s it, baby girl,” he murmured, his tone dripping with approval. “Take me. Just like that.”

He began moving his fingers, curling them just right, hitting that spot inside me that had me seeing stars. My hips bucked involuntarily, and he used his other hand to press me down firmly against his lap, keeping me in place.

“You’re such a good girl for me,” he praised again, his voice softer now but no less commanding. “So eager. So perfect.”

His words, combined with the relentless rhythm of his fingers, had me teetering on the edge. I was so close, the tension coiling tighter and tighter in my core, ready to snap at any moment.

But just as I was about to fall over the edge, he pulled his fingers away, leaving me aching and empty. I let out a frustrated whimper, twisting my head to look at him with wide, pleading eyes.

“Why—”

He cut me off with a smirk, his green eyes gleaming with mischief. “Patience, baby girl. I’m not done with you yet.”

And the way he said it, low and full of promise, told me I was in for far more than I’d bargained for.