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His hand slides down my stomach, settling between my legs. My leggings are still on, but awkwardly so, rolled and bunched low on my hips. He strokes me, slowly, deliberately, concentrating on the spots that illicit a moan or a sigh, circling my clit through the thin fabric.

It’s just not quite enough. I squirm, frustration threatening again.

“Tell me what you need.” Teague’s breath is hot as he leans impossibly close to my pussy. He slides his hands beneath my ass and buries his face between my thighs, inhaling deeply. “Fucking hell, I want to taste you.”

Once again, his gaze flicks to mine for assent before he continues narrating all the things he wants to do, his finger tracing the path, marking each spot. “I want to slide my tongue the length of you, lick your cunt from bottom to top, suck on your sweet clit until you shudder and shake. I want to fuck you with my tongue and drink you up when you come all over it. I want to give you an earth-shattering orgasm that takes your breath away, leaves you pliant and satisfied.”

I push my fingers through his dark auburn waves and say the word that manages not to fail me in this critical fucking moment, because I can’t not come again. Not tonight, not with the filthy, beautiful words still hanging heavy in the air.

“Yes,” I whisper. Barely a word, it’s more of a sigh.

Teague stares up the length of my body, his eyes locked on mine.

I nod, and he curls his fingers around the waistband of my leggings and pulls them free. As my scars are revealed, he presses his lips to kiss and worship them.

A shiver rolls through me as he sucks a particular messy cross hatch into his mouth. He releases me with a pop and his mouth is right there. Right there.

He flattens his tongue and drags it along the seam of my pussy. My back arches at the intimate contact, and I moan, the sound so foreign to my ears, I clap a hand over my mouth.

He reaches up and wraps his hand around my wrist, tugging that hand free of my mouth. “Please don’t keep your sounds from me. I want to hear you. Every sigh, every moan. Please, hummingbird, I want them all.”

He places my hand low on my belly and holds it there beneath his own.

“Can I?”

Whatever the specifics, it does not matter to me in the slightest. I give him another yes and another and another and another as he licks me and kisses me and sucks on my clit, just like he said, coiling me tighter and coaxing me higher until the wild sensations are just too much.

And on a moan that would be so unbelievably embarrassing if I could find a fuck to give in this moment, I come undone.

Chapter 11

Balls

TEAGUE

My balls are officially disgusted with me, and I’m over my cousin showing his face around here.

Desmond has come to the house one too many times for my liking, unannounced. Sniffing around, looking for information I’m not about to give him, asking pointed questions about who’s currently in the house, how many guests we have in for Alain’s funeral, and if any of them are a young woman with pale, white-blonde curls.

None of which he really needs to know. Heads are going to roll for the simple fact that he even suspects she’s here. And how could he?

The cameras at Alain’s were thoroughly wiped the night he stole Christophe’s woman and found himself stiff and cold, including those covering the exterior. Though the asshole who failed to make that happen until after he was reminded, is no longer doing that job. Or much of anything… But what’s one more body for Lapin to take care of?

If only my cousin was as easy to delete.

I check our security feed to confirm that Desmond is off the property and at least pointed back toward town. We need to add more cameras on the lane, maybe tap into more of the ones in town so I can keep a better eye on that asshole. I don’t need him surprising us again.

As I make my way back to my suite, I run into Winnie strolling along like she doesn’t have a care in the world. It wasn’t that long ago that she was locked in a guest suite as part of Christophe’s scheme to take back control of his father’s empire, only allowed in the hallways if she was properly escorted. Other than the time she tried to steal her best friend out from under my nose and escape. Not that I would have ever let that happen.

Now Winnie’s traipsing through the mansion unaccompanied.

Eh, not really. She’s got a guard on her at all times, but now it’s more to protect her than to keep her caged. And when he’s not trailing her, he or Christophe are watching closely as she moves from one CCTV camera to the next.

“She’s doing well today,” she tells me as we pass. “She ate almost a whole bowl of soup.”

A fucking bowl of soup.

It’s something, but not enough.