Chapter 15

15

Zara

I ’ve never been as wet as I am at this moment, and Creed is asking if he can go down on me?

He claims it’s just for me tonight, but I find that hard to believe.

I don’t deserve any pleasure , that’s what he said. And I’m not entirely sure what he means.

“You don’t want me to…do anything for you? Even afterward?” It’s not that I’m opposed to taking Creed in my hand or mouth. I just want to prepare myself.

“All you have to do is lie back and let me worship you.”

It’s impossible to refuse such an offer when I’m still feeling all nice and tingly from coming on his fingers. I’m a little nervous but curious to see what his tongue will feel like. “I guess we can try it. I don’t know if I’ll like it or not.”

His fingertips on my inner thigh freeze, and his handsome face looks incredulous as he arches a single dark eyebrow. “You don’t know if you’ll like having your pussy licked?”

And now I feel embarrassed.

“I mean, I’ve had a man’s tongue down there before, but only like a few swipes if I wasn’t wet enough for him. I’ve never been close to…finishing that way.”

“Wait. Iz…he fucked you, even though you weren’t wet for him?” he asks, his voice getting louder. I don’t fail to notice that he didn’t finish saying his name.

“He wasn’t the only one.”

“He wasn’t?” Creed repeats. “These… stronzo s couldn’t take the hint that you weren’t wet because you didn’t want them?”

“They didn’t care.”

“They hurt you?” When I don’t give him an answer either way, he asks, “What are their fucking names, Zara?”

Shaking my head, I tuck a damp strand of hair behind my ear and try to explain without going into details. “It’s not as bad as it sounds. It was consensual.” I never technically refused. If I had, I’m not sure it would have made a difference, though. It was easier if I took something to help relax me right before, pills they both gladly provided, which is why I failed the most important drug test of my life.

“Consensual but not…enjoyable?” Creed asks for clarification.

I nod, even if it’s a lie. The older I get, the more I realize that what happened was wrong even if I didn’t try to stop it. Sometimes I wish I had at least tried, although I doubt it would have mattered.

“One day, you’re going to tell me who else hurt you, and I’m going to kill them,” Creed promises.

“You already killed one,” I reply with a small smile.

“Piece of Shit.”

I nod and he tosses the covers off me so he can move his big body between my legs. Lying down on his stomach, his large, tattooed hands curl around my thighs, pulling me down the bed toward him until I’m lying flat on my back with my legs draped over his broad shoulders.

“Between the manipulation and selfishness, no wonder you weren’t sad to see him go,” he says. And seeing this larger than life, intimidating mobster’s face between my legs makes me feel cherished for the first time in my life.

“I’ll go slow.” Creed gazes up at me, the sides of his hair tickling my thighs. “If you don’t like it, just tell me to stop. If you give me a chance, though, I promise I’ll have you forgetting all about those other assholes.” His lips gently press against my inner thigh, stealing my breath. “Twenty-seven-years-old and you’ve never come on a tongue?”

“No. Never.”

“Then we’ve got some catching up to do.”

The first long swipe of his warm, wet tongue is all it takes to erase the last of my inhibitions. Each kiss and lick after that makes me melt a little deeper into the mattress. I cradle Creed’s head to my body, my fingers buried in his hair, urging him to keep going, to never stop.

“Creed!” I scream when the tip of his tongue flicks rapidly over my clit. Nothing has ever felt so good.

I’m right on the edge for this mobster, this cold-blooded killer, my new husband and... “Oh god! Creed!” The pleasure bursts free and my body trembles through the wonderful spasms.

I think I temporarily lose consciousness.

There’s no time to even recover. He just keeps licking me like his sole purpose in life is to make me come.

So, he does, again and again.

Creed said he wanted to worship me.

I didn’t know he meant it so literally .

There’s no other way to describe what he’s doing to me as I ride out the waves of pleasure, my hips bucking against his face for what is the third or fourth time.

I’m a hot, sweaty mess, barely able to open my eyes.

God, what is this man doing to me?

Anything he wants is the answer because it all feels so good.

His lips, his tongue, his fingers begin pumping inside of me, sending me over the edge again.

After that, my clit is so sensitive the air hurts.

It takes a great deal of effort to make my fingers tug on Creed’s hair hard enough to lift his face from between my legs.

When he does, his blue eyes look feral. For a moment, I think he’s angry at me until he removes his fingers from inside me and shoves them into his mouth, licking them clean.

Seeing this powerful, mostly naked man sprawled between my thighs would be a turn on all on its own any day of the week. But Creed Ferraro watching me while licking up my arousal is almost too much to handle. My pussy spasms around the emptiness, wishing there was something filling me again.

While I thought I couldn’t handle any more orgasms, I’m wondering if I could take one more if it was Creed’s long, hard inches stretching me.

With a cocky smirk, he sits back on his heels and swipes his forearm over his damp chin and lips. If I had the strength, I’d sit up and run my nails over his tattooed, muscular chest and down his carved abs.

I’m not sure if I’ll ever really believe that this man is my husband.

“From the way you gushed all over my tongue multiple times and screamed my name until you went hoarse, is it safe to assume you enjoyed me eating you out?”

“That was…fucking A. ”

Chuckling, he asks, “Is that a positive review?”

“God, yes.”

“Well, I would be happy to make it a daily ritual. Twice a day until you come at least twenty-two more times.”

“Twenty-two?” I ask in confusion.

“You deserve to receive at least twenty-seven orgasms, at least one for every year of your life before I get to come. I counted five tonight.”

“Oh,” I say in surprise. “Do you really want to…do that so many times without, you know…”

“Getting anything in return?” he finishes. “Trust me. I get plenty of things out of this deal. I get to taste you, to make you scream and squirm for me, to watch your back arch in that sexy fucking way when you’re riding the pleasure the hardest. Those memories are all I need to finish when I’m fisting myself in the shower.” Leaning back, he presses his palm over the giant bulge straining the soft fabric of his black boxer briefs.

I’m transfixed at the sight and wonder what he would feel like inside of me, so it takes me a moment to catch back up to our conversation.

Creed doesn’t think he deserves any pleasure from me, the woman partially responsible for his brother’s death, which hurts.

But watching him touch himself is so freaking hot.

“Can I watch?” I blurt out, wanting to see him come even if he won’t let me touch him.

“Hell yes. That’s what the glass walls in the shower are for, micetta mia ,” Creed says before he drags the pad of his thumb through my damp slit, making me squirm. Then he puts his thumb in his mouth to suck it clean.

“I still don’t know what la mia meeseeta or whatever means, since I don’t have access to a phone or a laptop…” I remind him. Instead of responding, he suddenly pumps not one, not two, but th ree fingers deep inside of me several times in a row, making me whimper.

Creed withdraws his fingers from me. “You probably won’t like it, so I think I’ll keep it to myself for now.” He shoves his hand down the front of his briefs and pulls his erection free, distracting me from what we were talking about.

God, he’s big. Like scary but please let me try to take it all big. And he’s stroking himself with his fingers slick from being inside me.

“I deserve to ache, but I can’t hold off any longer. You make me so damn hard, I can’t help myself.”

I glance up at his face. His blue eyes are still wild as they stare down at me, at my face, my breasts in his thin tee, lower to where my legs are still spread wide. That’s where he stares the longest with what I think is longing on his face.

Rather than climb on top of me to slam inside, he groans as if in agony while milking himself until his thick release runs down his tattooed knuckles. Apparently, he’s left-handed, since it drips over his wedding band.

When I swipe my tongue over my dry lips to wet them, Creed swears to the ceiling and squeezes his shaft tighter. “If you keep licking those pretty pink lips like that, I’m going to paint them white.”

I make sure he’s watching me when I do it again, then bite down on my bottom lip.

“Fuck,” he shouts before releasing himself. Grabbing my chin in his right hand, he presses his knuckles to my mouth, smearing his release across my lips, so the next time I lick them, I taste his salty flavor on my tongue.

“Missed a spot,” I tell him when I grab his hand. I hold it close enough that I can swipe my tongue over the platinum band, up his fingers and stick his entire thumb in my mouth. I like seeing the proof that he’s mine on his finger more than I should .

I feel Creed’s growl rumble through my entire body. “I knew you were fucking dangerous.”

I’m not dangerous, but I’m playing a dangerous game — one with a vicious don.

While I’m still trying to tempt and tease my new husband, he’s already figured out how to make me scream.