Even Better (Stripped 2.50)

Even Better

Skye Warren

Thank you for reading the Stripped series! EVEN BETTER is a novella about Blue and Lola, the couple from BETTER WHEN IT HURTS. It’s best read in sequence, but this story can also stand alone. And it includes an extended preview of PRETTY WHEN YOU CRY, the next novel in the Stripped series.

You can join my Facebook group for fans to discuss the series here: Skye Warren’s Dark Room. And you can sign up for my newsletter to find out about new releases at skyewarren.com/newsletter.

Enjoy the story…

Chapter One

Blue traces circles on my skin, leaving goose bumps in his wake. I’m still panting and shaking from the orgasm he gave me, but he looks completely relaxed. This is really the only time he looks relaxed, in the seconds after orgasm. In the brief, breathless moments when he’s just spilled his come inside me.

Now he’s lying next to me, touching me. Always touching me.

Even sated, he doesn’t lose his fascination with my body. He runs blunt fingertips along my collarbone and down my side. I gasp at the ticklish sensation. My arms are still above my head, right where he tied them. I thought he’d let me go when he was done with me.

I guess he’s not done with me.

It feels good, being wanted. Kind of like it felt at the club, but without the steady stream of strangers and humiliation aspect. Well, he still humiliates me—but only in ways we both enjoy.

He cups my breast and runs his thumb over my nipple. I shudder.

“Blue,” I whisper.

“Beautiful,” he says, nice and easy.

“I want… I need…” I can’t even explain what I need. An orgasm? He’s already given me three, and I know we’re not done. I can already feel his cock twitching against my thigh, getting ready for another round.

I’m not sure I’ll survive.

“I know, baby,” he says, almost sympathetic. Almost. Not quite. He knows how hard he works my body, but he doesn’t let up. He takes my nipple between thumb and forefinger—and squeezes. He doesn’t let up even one goddamn inch.

I squirm against the pain, but that only makes it worse. “It’s too much.”

“Is it?” he asks casually, and I know he doesn’t believe that for one second. He draws a wavy path down my body, across my stomach, and down to my pussy, where he slips two fingers inside—sudden and thick.

I’m still wet with his come and my arousal, and that eases his way. He draws out that moisture and taps his forefinger against my clit, the slickness cold. It feels like ice, my own arousal used against me, and I twist, trying to get away. I don’t end up anywhere.

He makes a tsk sound. “This doesn’t feel like too much. It feels like you’re ready for more.”

“No,” I moan, but it’s a lie. My body does want more. Whatever he does to me, I want more of it. It’s sick and depraved—and God help me, I want more of that too.

His lips turn up in a lazy smile. “I like it when you tell me no.”

My breath shudders out of me, and I don’t have to force the fear in my voice. “What are you going to do?”

You might think he’d take it easy on me. It’s just a random Thursday night, and we’ve been going for hours already. If anything, he gets more worked up as we go—as if everything that came before is just a warm-up. As if he’s constantly thinking of new dirty things to do to me.

He looks thoughtful as he examines my body, spread open for his perusal. “I think I’m going to claim you,” he says.

Claim me? I’m already his. Already owned by him, body and soul.

He dips his fingers into my wet channel once more, curling his fingers just enough to make my hips jerk. Then he uses the wetness—his come—to write across my breasts. The letter M. The letter I. Then N and E.

MINE.

My breath hitches. It’s just come, but it feels like he’s branded me. I can feel it drying on my skin, soaking in and becoming part of me. I’m his.