The Architect (Nashville Neighborhood 3)

And perhaps to prove it, he picked me up in his arms, and put one knee, then the other up on the padded top, climbing onto the table. My legs went around his waist, and he lowered me onto my back on the leather, dropping me so quickly I landed with a thud and my head bounced.

He was perched over me on his hands and knees, and because I was under him, there was nowhere else to look but at his victorious smile. Oh, he liked having my full attention. My bound hands were in front of me, so he grabbed them and flung them up over my head, out of his way. I had to turn my head to the side so the rope connecting them to my throat wasn’t stretched across my face.

The table wasn’t all that wide, but it was long, and E had more than enough room to maneuver. He kissed and bit a line down my body, pausing over my breasts before moving on, working lower. The table beneath us didn’t shake or make a sound as he shifted on his knees and backed down off it. Then he hooked a finger under the lace trim, pulled my panties to the side, and set his mouth on me.

It punched a moan of satisfaction from my center, and my back arched off the tabletop. His mouth—oh, my God—it made me quiver. It poured fire over my body, injected it into my bloodstream, heating me like an inferno.

Nearby, my phone sat on the table, its camera catching it all for Clay to enjoy. He watched how I writhed and bucked, heard how I gasped and whimpered. He saw E straighten, grasp the sides of my underwear, and jerk my panties off. I had to put my legs together and lift them straight into the air, but as soon as the fabric was free, E slapped my ankles apart and lunged down between my spread thighs.

It was feral, the way he attacked me with his tongue. Aggressive and rough, as if having to remove my underwear was an interruption he couldn’t afford to have. An unfair obstacle thrown in his way.

Clay had told me he hoped I wasn’t fragile, and since I had proved to them both that I wasn’t, E didn’t treat me that way either. He nuzzled into me, his head moving side to side as his tongue lashed and flicked and fucked.

I had to heave air in and out of my lungs.

Sweat coated my skin. I could feel it on the back of my neck, trapped beneath the rope. I could barely make us out in the small box in the corner of the screen, but I saw what I wanted to. Me naked except for the black rope. E’s head between my legs—although one of them blocked his face. He had his arms under my thighs and his hands on my stomach, his fingers laced together.

It was fucking erotic.

Live-streaming porn for Clay, and he gazed at us with so much lust, it filled every pixel of the screen.

He didn’t speak, though. There were no questions for me or directions for E. Clay was an observer now, not an active participant, and the thought materialized in my head. This was why E had looked so confident when he’d brought me to the table.

What he was doing right now? This wasn’t scripted. It was his time.

And he was efficient with it. As he fucked me with his skilled tongue, he started to work on undressing himself. He toed off his shoes, then jerked off his socks, one after the other. When that was done, his hands went to his waist and worked to undo his jeans.

He moved with urgency. It wasn’t like he was under a time limit—at least, I didn’t think—his hurried hands seemed to be propelled simply with need. Did he feel like I had earlier? Was he gripped with the same irrational thought that there was a bomb ticking inside him, and if he didn’t get what he wanted, he’d die?

Dark gray underwear was all that was left to be removed, but he didn’t take it off. Instead, he went to his bag and retrieved something from one of the pockets before walking over to the end of the table where my hands rested.

The condom was dropped to the leather beside me, left within reach for when he’d need it. But right now, he was focused on turning me so I was on my stomach. As I rolled over, he urged me backward on the table, forcing me up onto my hands and knees. It was so there was space for him to climb up on the padded tabletop and join me.

E was on his spread knees, but upright, and there was nothing submissive about his posture. If I had any doubts about what he wanted, he cleared those up by pushing his underwear down until it stretched across his thighs, set his impressive erection free, and canted his hips toward my face.