I groan around his tongue, which is already in my mouth again.

“If you’d just stayed in my bed that first night I came home we could’ve done this a whole lot sooner.”

“I slept in there every night you were gone.”

He holds on to my hair and disengages from my mouth. “You what?”

Oh shit. Maybe I shouldn’t be admitting this. “I um . . . I slept in your bed.” It comes out as more of a question than a statement.

“What else did you do in my bed, besides sleeping?” His lips hover just above mine. I can’t get to them though, because he’s still gripping my hair. Not hard, just firmly.

“I played hide and seek with Franny,” I whisper, because it’s true.

“Anything else?”

“Like what?” I bite my lip.

His nose brushes my cheek, his lips at my ear. “Did you get off in my bed?”

“Yes,” I moan.

“Fuck.” He bites my earlobe and I gasp. His hand drifts down my side. “How?”

I suck in a breath when his fingers graze the edge of my panties and he follows the fabric to the inside of my thigh.

“I want you to tell me how,” he murmurs.

“How I got off?” I ask for clarification because I’m a little distracted by his fingers right now.

“Did you finger-fuck yourself while you thought about me?” His tongue sweeps along the side of my neck.

I make a groaning sound, it’s supposed to be yes, but I don’t think it comes out as a word.

He cups me through my panties. “Did you?”

I nod as much as I can since he’s still fisting my hair with his free hand.

“How often?”

“Every night,” I admit.

He slips his hand down the front of my panties. His fingers glide over my clit and then he slides a single finger inside. “Like this?”

I nod vigorously and grab onto his shoulders when my knees threaten to give out. “But harder and more.”

“More fingers?” His lips move across my cheek again and he backs up until his eyes are on mine.

This man is combustibly hot. “Yes.”

He adds another finger, pumping slowly. God his fingers are long, and thick. A lot longer and thicker than my own. His lips touch mine as he asks, “How’s this?”

“Faster, please, and harder.”

His smile is absolutely sinister. “Listen to those manners.” But he does what I ask, pumping harder and faster.

I cry out, grabbing onto his shirt to keep upright. “Bane.” The word comes out tortured.

“I can’t wait to hear what that sounds like when you’re coming all over my fingers.”

“Fuck. Shit. Oh my God, I want your cock.” So much for those manners.

Bane chuckles. “There’s that naughty mouth I love so much.”

He kisses me hard and keeps moving his fingers, picking up speed until I’m trembling as the orgasm rolls through me. And then his hands are gone and I find myself pinned to the wall by Bancroft’s hips. He starts grinding and, of course, I do the same.

Yanking his shirt over his head, I run my hands over his chest. It’s an amazing chest. So solid. So defined.

“Like what you see?” he asks.

“So much.”

“Me, too.” He grabs the hem of my dress—if we can even really call it that. Mostly it’s scraps of material sewn together—and pulls it over my head. My bra and panties are white and glittery, as is pretty damn typical in burlesque.

Bancroft drops to his knees, face level with my crotch. He looks up and flicks the little jewel at my navel. “I fucking love this.” Then he skims lower to my hips and drags my glitter panties down my legs. “Fuckin’ yes.”

Apparently Bancroft approves of my grooming techniques. I’m still pulsing from the orgasm I just had.

He lifts his head enough to meet my gaze, his tongue sweeping across his bottom lip. “You know what I’m going to do now?”

The anticipation is exhilarating. I have a feeling I know, but I want to hear him say it so I can find out exactly how impolite he can be. Based on his behavior so far, I’m thinking he can be a dirty boy. I shake my head. I might also bite my lip and arch my back so my pretty parts are closer to his lips.

“No?” Bancroft runs his palms heavily down the outside of my thighs. “You don’t know?”

I give my head another shake. “Why don’t you tell me?”

The grin that curves the right side of his mouth makes me squeeze my legs together. It distracts Bancroft, drawing his gaze down—to the part of my body that will happily take his attention.

He rubs his nose over my pelvis, the softest brush. His eyes lift to mine again. “I’m going to tongue fuck your pretty pussy until you come all over my face.” He pauses for a second. “Would you like that?”

“Yes, please.”

“So fucking polite.” He hooks a thumb behind the back of my leg and lifts it, resting it over his shoulder. And then he starts licking. There is nothing soft and sweet about the way Bancroft eats me. Each stroke is fast and aggressive, and—oh God—is he growling? Oh, yeah, that’s definitely a growl. If this is what foreplay is like with him, I can’t wait to get to the sex part.

I grab onto his hair, because it seems like a good place to hold. Even with the way he has me spread open for him and pinned against the wall, I need a solid anchor. My dancer background gives me better balance than most, but it’s a lot to ask for me to stay upright like this while he tongue fucks an orgasm out of me, especially since my knees are already watery from the first one.

They start to buckle, which isn’t much of a surprise with the way he’s hoovering my clit. I make a bunch of random noises with his name thrown in there on a groan. And then I’m coming. Again. It’s a knock-me-out, steal-my-soul kind of orgasm.

When the white lights of heaven fade out and I can breathe and see again, I realize I’m on the floor, staring up at the hall light—which is blinding me.

And Bancroft is still going. He’s a pussy-licking machine. It sends me into overdrive. I can’t stop the sensations from overriding every logical thought. Not that there were many left anyway. I think I’m in love with this man’s tongue. If he’s as talented with his cock as he is with this part of his body, I may actually start a new religion. The Church of Bane Cock.