My Sinful Valentine (A Beautiful Sinners Collection) Elena Reyes (good story books to read .TXT) 📖

bind tighten, then loosen as the smooth texture doesn’t contain the hold she was trying to achieve.

“Seven minutes and thirteen seconds,” I hiss out as the heat of her mouth envelops me. She’s playing dirty. Moaning above me while those thick hips gyrate, bringing her pussy closer and then pulling back out of my reach.

“I love the way you feel on my tongue.” Licking the underside, Mariah takes me halfway down and then holds me there, right on her tongue and just shy of kissing the back of her throat. Her cheeks hollow and I give a hard tug to my binds, the fabric digging in but stretching to its limits. The first tear doesn’t catch her attention, however it’s enough for me to be able to grip the end of the pretty bow there and undo it. The next two aren’t hard to remove either. “Tan rico, mi Papi.”

“How delicious?” Not that she answers. My girl loves to suck my cock, and she loses focus, enough so that I have the next scarf off, and my hands are gripping her hips. “Answer me.”

And she does with a cry of pleasure when I force her pussy back on my tongue, tasting her without mercy. I’m not gentle when I bite her inner thigh or when my hand lands on her right asscheek, earning a whimper and a harsh swallow around my girth.

“Oh, my fuck.” It’s garbled, her throat muscles working my length. My hips pump into her throat as my mouth devours her pussy with rough strokes of my tongue, and when I dip the tip into her tiny hole, Mariah’s opening tightens, trying to pull me in deeper. Bad little doll.

Another loud smack, then another. Her flesh heats beneath my fingertips, hips moving over my mouth in a sensuous dance as pleasure spreads, but I won’t let her come.

No. Not like this.

Before my wife can protest, I have her fall forward with that ass up high. She tries to move, but my grip on her hips won’t let her. She whimpers, but I give no fucks and grip her hair in one hand, well, as much as I can from my position.

“Unlock me.”

“No.”

“Do it.”

“I said…oh, God!” The hard pinch to her clit makes her react—scrambling to undo the metal cuffs with the key still inside one of them. Moreover, before she can take in a breath, I rise to my knees behind her with one of the scarves in my hand.

“You’ve been bad.”

“And you don’t follow the rules,” she counters, yelping at the end as I land a hard smack to the area where ass and thigh meet. “There’s still three minutes...Oh, shit!”

“Time’s up.” I sink inside in one fluid motion, bottoming out and holding her still. Her thighs tremble and her eyes close. She’s milking my cock with pulsing walls, so lost in the feel of me—how I stretch her—that she doesn’t see my intent.

I grab her arms and pull them back, tying the soft fabric around her wrist tight. Mariah looks at me from over her shoulder, eyes hooded and sharp rebuttal on her tongue, but doesn’t get to utter a single syllable as I ride her like a beast.

She’s my prisoner.

Unable to do more than try to breathe while my cock punches in and out, fucking her roughly with fast slams of my hips. There’s no pause, and I use the leverage of her arms in one of my hands to push her further down into the mattress.

And fuck me, is she beautiful when she groans at the change in angle, biting the sheets with her eyes closed. I see it all on the mirror across from the bed...

The pleasure in her face. The goose bumps on her sweat-slick skin. The pretty way her lips say my name.

“Javier, I’m so close. Jesus, it’s almost too much.”

Leaning over her, I embed my teeth in the back of her neck. “It’s never enough.”

Her walls squeeze me as I fuck her through every pulse, every throb of pleasure as she lays flat under me with no strength left. In the house, all you can hear is the slam, slam, slam of skin and the moans that slip from parted lips.

There’s sweat on our bodies. There’s the scent—our scent—surrounding us, and I’m blind to the world because nothing exists outside of our bubble.

“Come for me, Muñeca. Motherfucking come,” I hiss through clenched teeth, my orgasm licking at every nerve ending and when she gasps, I bury myself deep and let go. Each spurt of my ejaculation mixes with hers and drips out onto the sheets when I pull out slowly and slide back in.

We’re a mess, her breathing and mine labored, but I don’t stop loving her. I can’t.

Instead, I cover her sated body with mine and prolong our pleasure. We ride it out one lazy thrust at a time with no rush or words needed.

This is the perfect way to start our Valentine’s Day.

4

THE LAST AFTERSHOCK of bliss flowed through my body about fifteen minutes ago, but I’m still in sensory nirvana. My thighs are slick, and where Javi’s fingertips are currently running up and down my bare back, I have goose bumps accompanied by the occasional shiver.

The house is quiet. We speak with soft caresses and the occasional kiss on whatever inch of skin our lips can reach.

But in this moment, I feel closer to heaven than earth. I’m at peace and feel like nothing in this world could ruin our moment.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Mrs. Lucas. I love you.” It leaves him in a low timbre. Those words are his truth, and I cherish them because in a world full of death and pain—hate and bloody prints left behind—our relationship is the one constant glow of purity we follow without hesitation.