Scars of Yesterday (Sons of Templar MC #8) - Anne Malcom Page 0,86

I turned to face him. His face was cold, brutal.

He nodded to the shirt. “Take. It. Off.”

My shaking fingers moved to do his bidding with an embarrassing amount of speed. I didn’t have it in me to be embarrassed right now. No, I was too desperate. I was near feral with my need for release. For him.

He was punishing me at the same time he was giving me the most erotic gift I’d ever had.

Kace watched with a concentrated intensity as I moved to pull it over my head.

“Skirt,” he rasped.

My breathing was rapid as I did as he asked.

He grinned as it hit the floor. “Yeah, I’m the only one who gets to see what that looks like on you and on the floor.” Then he moved his eyes back to me, where I was standing in drenched lace panties, spiked heels and nothing else.

Kace nodded toward my hips, his eyes hungry. “Panties.”

I kept watching him as I pulled them from my hips then stepped out of them.

“Shoes are staying on,” Kace informed me.

I swallowed roughly, nodding. All I wanted in the world was to go to him, to take charge and take what I wanted, but I stayed in my spot.

He was making it clear that he was in charge, and that’s what made this so incredibly hot.

“Move to the bed. Hands on it. Feet splayed. Ass up for me.”

I moved to do as he said, putting myself in a position that should’ve felt demeaning or vulnerable. Though it was neither. Not with him. It was powerful. Erotic.

There was silence for a long time. Too long. My body was crying out with need in a dull roar, yet Kace hadn’t moved. He was watching me. I knew that. Feasting on my body with a reverence I trusted him to have.

First it was a palm on my ass. Gentle. Barely there. A stark juxtaposition to every other way he’d touched me tonight.

It moved slowly, caressing my skin, moving down to my thighs and then forward, toward the drenched area he’d abandoned earlier. But he didn’t go in. He wasn’t going to make it that easy.

Next it was his lips on my skin. Moving along my cheeks slowly, torturously. His actions left me feeling vulnerable, to say the least. But somehow empowering too.

Then his lips moved to the middle. He spread me open and ate me... there. In that place that felt so forbidden. So private. I should’ve been uncomfortable. But I fucking loved it. I fisted the sheets as I cried out, Kace moving his tongue like the expert he was.

“I’m gonna take your ass one day,” he warned, moving his finger to tease at my entrance, not going inside. “Not tonight, though.”

He moved away, standing to unbuckle his pants but keeping everything on. He didn’t need to prime me, I was ready the second I’d laid eyes on him in the kitchen.

“Am I the only one who gets to fuck you like this?” he asked, hands tight on my hips, poised at my entrance.

“Yes,” I ground out, my need for him making me near feral.

His grip tightened to the point of pain. The perfect kind of pain. “Am I the only one who gets to eat your ass?”

My stomach dipped. “Yes,” I whispered.

“Fuckin’ right,” he growled.

Then he thrust inside me.

And fucked me all night long. Reminding me that my body may have belonged to me in the daylight when he wasn’t around, but it was all his when the sun went down.

If you’d asked me Edmond’s name that night, I wouldn’t have been able to utter it. I hadn’t been able to think about anything but Kace.

Edmond had called just like he’d said he would.

I watched his name light up on my phone screen the very next morning. Early, but not too early. Right after I’d gotten the kids to school and was settled on my laptop with a coffee, brainstorming jobs I could maybe get with a decade-long hole in my resume that would feed, clothe and house me and my children.

So far, I had stripper, cam girl and jewelry thief. The list was definitely depressing and unrealistic, so I would’ve grasped on to almost any reason to abandon it, eager to be distracted by anything, except talking to Edmond on the phone.

He’d be polite, ask questions. Thoughtful ones. Then he’d try to make a plan for our next date. He’d be insistent, not pushy, but in a way I’d feel uncomfortable rejecting him, forced to come