“You’re shaking,” he rasps, one hand grabbing my hair to pull my head back so his teeth can scrape my throat. “Trembling like you can’t wait to feel me inside you.”
A broken sound slips from me before I can stop it. My nails claw at his back now, surely leaving red trails over all that muscle. “I don’t want this,” I moan through clenched teeth, even as my body arches for more.
“Liar,” he growls, biting harder at my throat. “Your body’s telling me everything you won’t say.”
His free hand seizes the front of my nightdress and yanks. The seams groan in protest before the fabric rips, falling off my shoulders and baring me to the air. I gasp, clutching at his arms, but he doesn’t let me hide. His gaze drops, hungry, possessive, devouring the rise and fall of my chest.
“Fuck…” he mutters, running his palm roughly over one breast, squeezing until my breath stutters. His large hand engulfs me completely as his lips curl into a dark smirk. “These were made for me.” He squeezes, groaning low in his chest. “Perfect fit.”
The words punch through me, straight into the insecurity I’ve carried for years. My body has always felt like a curse. I’ve hated the way people stare at my breasts, hated how clothes never quite hide them. Too big. Too much. But in his hands—his huge, possessive hands—they feel different. Like they belong there. Like maybe they aren’t too much at all.
The thought terrifies me as much as it thrills me, because he shouldn’t have the power to make me feel anything but hate. And yet, my body reacts to him—arching, shuddering, begging for more.
A whimper tears from me, shame and need colliding. His mouth replaces his hand, lips closing over my nipple, sucking hard enough to send a lightning bolt of pleasure straight between my thighs.
“Every sound you make,” he says against my skin, teeth scraping before his tongue soothes, “proves me right.”
Then he moves over, his mouth trailing across my chest before latching onto the other breast. His tongue swirls around the hardened peak, and he groans deep in his throat. “Bet that little lover of yours never touched you like this,” he mutters, his voice taunting. “Never sucked you until you screamedfor more.”
Anger flares through the haze of heat. “He did plenty,” I snap, even though we both know it’s not true.
My back arches, and Seth growls, the sound vibrating against my skin before his teeth sink down around my nipple in a quick bite. I cry out, the sting sparking through me only to melt instantly into more heat.
“Don’t lie to me,” he snarls, sucking harder, dragging his tongue roughly over the abused peak. “I can’t smell the bastard on you.”
The words hit harder than his bite. Shame claws up my throat, burning hotter than the fire in my chest. He’s right—Zane never crossed the line with me, not really. Aside from a few chaste kisses, there was nothing. No heat, no hands on my body, no fire that could compare to this. Still, the part of me that wants to fight snarls at Seth, my wounded pride refusing to give him the victory.
But my body betrays me. My hips roll against the mattress, seeking friction that isn’t there, desperate to ease the throbbing heat between my thighs. I can feel the wetness spreading, sticky and hot, my ruined panties clinging to me, proof of how badly I want him, no matter what my mouth may say.
A strangled sound tears out of me—half moan, half denial—as his teeth tug at my nipple again, sending another flood of slick heat pulsing down between my legs.
His lips release me with a wet pop, and his mouth trails lower until his breath ghosts hot across my stomach. Every muscle in my body pulls taut, anticipation winding up tightly inside me. His hand slides down the curve of my waist, fingers dragging deliberately over my hip until they find the drenched lace between my thighs.
“Fuck,” he breathes, pressing his palm against me, feeling the soaked fabric. “You’re dripping. Can you hear that, Selene? Can you feel how wet you are for me?”
I shudder, my legs spreading despite my will, desperate for more friction. The heat pooling there is unbearable, throbbing and insistent, and when his fingers push my panties aside and slide through my slick folds, an obscene squelch fills the air.
A choked cry rips from me, my pelvis jerking against his hand.
“That’s it,” he mutters, voice thick with satisfaction as his fingers circle my entrance, coating themselves in my wetness. “So fucking ready. All I did was play with your breasts, and you’re soaked through for me.”
Two fingers push into me, slow but unrelenting, stretching me until I’m gasping, clutching at the sheets. The sound is filthy—wet and messy, every thrust of his hand echoing in the quiet. My walls grip around him, fluttering, and he smiles as he watches me squirm.
“You feel that?” he taunts softly, pumping deeper, curling his fingers just enough to make my vision spark. “That tight little cunt clutching me like it doesn’t want to let go?”
“Stop—” I gasp, but the protest dies in a moan when he thrusts harder, the wet slap of his palm against me making the heat coil even tighter.
“You don’t want me to stop,” he says, his breath rough, eyes locked on mine. His thumb comes up to circle my clit with devastating precision. “You want more. You’ve always wanted this.”
The truth of it shreds me. My thighs tremble, every nerve ending alive, every sound that falls from me proof of how deeply he has undone me. The air is thick with the lewd noises of his fingers plunging into me, sliding in and out with wet insistence, and my body answers each thrust with another desperate clench.
“Listen to that,” he groans, curling his fingers deeper, hitting the spot that makes me cry out loud. “Hear how your pussy begs for me? You can’t fake that, Selene.”
The pressure builds fast, too fast, like a wave threatening to swallow me whole. My nails claw at the sheets, hips bucking wildly against his hand as the slick sounds grow louder, dirtier. My vision blurs, my cries breaking apart into ragged sobs of pleasure.
And then, he stops.
His fingers stay buried inside me, but now they are still, motionless, leaving me writhing around them, desperate for the friction that has just been stolen.
