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Fiery, intense pleasure rushed through her system with furious intent, tearing through her, drowning any fear that might have been growing inside her.
There was no fear now. There was pleasure. Exquisite, heated, drugging pleasure she couldn’t have resisted even if she wanted to.
He pursed his lips as he kissed the hard bud of her clit, drawing a rapturous flare of sensation from the tender flesh as her hips jerked against his lips.
“Graham. Oh god, Graham.”
His tongue licked over, around the swollen bundle of nerves. Pleasure whipped and built through Lyrica as he tasted her, kissed the saturated flesh, then with a greedy tongue delved into the swollen folds to find the aching center of her body.
His tongue flicked over the narrow entrance, spreading heated, electric ecstasy with the quick, hungry licks and shallow penetrations that never seemed enough. With each touch, each taste he took, she needed more. Ached and begged for more.
“Damn you,” he groaned, spreading the folds apart with the fingers of one hand to deliver another hungry kiss to her clit.
But this one lingered.
His tongue flicked over her and sensation slashed through her as she drew her hips up to meet his kiss once again.
Each touch, each lick pushed steadily increasing waves of pleasure through her system. She was lost in a blinding sea of sensation and desperate to sink deeper. Desperate for more as she felt the pad of his thumb slide against her entrance, pressing into it, spreading her flesh open as the waves began to tighten, to build.
She was so close.
Clenched, aching, her hips lifted to him, trembling, shuddering with each driving surge of sensation as she gave herself to the storm pounding at her senses.
“Graham, where the hell are you!” Strident and filled with ire, the feminine voice of Graham’s current conquest filtered through the living room doors as Lyrica froze, her eyes flashing open to stare at Graham as betrayal tore through her.
Graham’s head jerked up, shock and guilt reflecting in his eyes as Lyrica began struggling beneath him, desperate now to be free of him.
“Stay!” he hissed, pushing her back to the couch, leaning over her, one hand over her lips as the door opened.
The couch hid them. The fire had burned down, the weakened flames and glowing embers casting an intimate glow over the room.
“Graham, are you in here?” the irate woman called out again.
Lyrica was dying inside. She could feel the pain tearing through her, the knowledge that he had just left his lover’s bed and had dared to touch her. Dared to show her everything she couldn’t have—
Her heart was ripping in two. The pain was blinding, agonizing as her eyes remained locked with his.
Let him see. Let him see how it hurt, let him see that he had just destroyed something she now knew that he ached for just as much as she did. Because she would make damned sure he never had a chance to touch her again.
Because another chance would end the same way. With the knowledge that she was no more than a stolen, forbidden moment. Something he could throw away whenever his latest lover came calling his name again.
“Dammit, I’m getting tired of this,” the other woman muttered angrily, fury vibrating in each word.
A second later, the door snapped shut again.
Lyrica didn’t take her eyes off his. Pain washed through her in waves, making her breathing choppy, the fight to hold back her tears iffy.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his thumb lifting to brush back an escaping tear. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
His hand lifted from her lips.
“Get off me!” She kept her voice low, quiet, despite the need to scream, to rage.
She struggled against him again, pushing at his shoulders, ragged gasps tearing from her throat as she fought to be free of him.
“Lyrica, wait,” he growled.
“Get off me before I start screaming,” she demanded, her voice rough, low.
