Inflict: A Novel

Chapter Ten

Connor pulled his latex gloves off and stood, leaning over Evelyn as she rolled back to her elbows on the coffee table. He grabbed ahold of both sides of the glass, insuring she would stay like she was, and that he would have some semblance of control over what he was about to do.

"You need to stop moving, and if that means you need to fix your problem so I can sit the feck down and continue, then hurry up and get it done. If you need me to help, then ask. Ask for me to do it for you. That's all you need to do."

Evelyn's eyes widened. "What?"

He ignored her question.

She knew damn well what he was talking about.

"How wet are you right now?"

She swallowed hard. "Very."

"Tender? Empty? Hot? Is that why you keep pushing your legs together, trying to ease that pressure and heat down there? Would you rather have something filling your cunt, instead of just pretending something is there?"

Her pretty, pink lips opened just enough that he had the urge to shove two fingers into her mouth and see how well she sucked.

"I ..."

He decided he liked her a wee bit speechless.

"I bet you sound even better when you're making all that go away with your fingers shoved deep inside your pussy, don't you, lass?"

Evelyn breath came out in a rush. "You're not playing fair."

"It's not about me."

He was going to keep saying that.

Because it was true.

"Show me how those beautiful fingers of yours look when they're soaked with you, lass. Touch yourself. Come. Again and again. As many times as you need to, so that you're satisfied enough to sit feckin' still while I work."

Evelyn's expression was a mixture of shock, churned with lust. "Pretty sure that's not how getting a tattoo is supposed to end."

"You're not normal; it's not a bad thing. Don't you know how to get yourself off? I'm sure you do, now get to it."

She didn't need to be told again, thankfully. Connor was two seconds away from yanking her knickers down her thighs and doing it for her, but he wouldn't need to.

Evelyn's thighs fell open, whatever embarrassment she had been feeling was gone in an instant. Connor moved to the end of the coffee table, still leaning over her body while keeping hold of the table at the same time. Her hands disappeared under her knickers, and Connor's gaze jumped between the flush of relief flooding her features, down to where her fingers moved under black lace.

Sweet, soft sounds crawled from her throat as her legs opened even wider. Her head fell back, lips parting with her cries as he watched her wetness soak through lace with every dip and stroke of her fingers.

The prettiest pink flush started in her cheeks, rushed down the delicate line of her throat, and then colored her chest before it disappeared under her tank top. Every single feckin' piece of Connor demanded he pull her shirt off—damn well cut if off, if he had to—just to see where the flush ended on her skin.

He didn't move his hands.

His fingers ached from the pressure.

It wasn't about him.

This was her.

It was all on her.

His attention was so caught in the way her limbs trembled, the curl of her toes, and the fast stroke of her fingers under her knickers that he almost missed her breathless words when she spoke.