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I reached for him, needing to feel his body on mine, his mouth taking from mine in a synchronized dance only we knew, but I paused and shuddered when he fisted himself.
With his free hand, he intertwined the fingers of both of my hands and softly passed his lips across each of my wrists as he slowly pumped up and down his long length—his heated stare on mine the entire time.
My eyes fluttered shut as each stroke from him brushed against my sensitive skin, and my voice came out as nothing more than a breath when I begged, “Please.”
Instead of the immediate, hard response I’d come to expect from him, he took his time leaning his body over mine—my hands still in his—and pressed our joined hands on the bed above my head. “Please what?”
I tried to lift my hips, but he only released himself long enough to push my hips back down onto the bed before resuming what he’d been doing. I forced my eyes open, frustration and need leaking through my next “Please.”
His answering smile was pure sin, and I wanted to scream at the torture he was putting me through.
He bent his head to tease me with a barely there kiss, and when I tilted my head higher, he backed away. His eyes grew darker and darker with every soft whimper that sounded in my throat from each faint brush from him, and then the brushes were gone altogether, and he was leaning back to place kisses down my chest.
When he spoke, his voice sent warm shivers down my spine.
“I like the way you crave that bite of pain to bring you higher and higher and beg for more,” he said as he bit the underside of my breast.
When I gasped, he growled in appreciation, and the hand that had been the cause of my previous torture began teasing where I was aching.
“I like the way you shatter beneath me.” He slid a finger deep inside me and placed a kiss on my stomach as he removed it, then pressed two in.
“Oh God,” I breathed, writhing against the bed.
“I like bringing you to the height of another orgasm even when you think you can’t give me another.” He left a trail of warm, teasing kisses up my body until his face hovered above mine, and the hand holding mine to the bed tightened. “I like the way you fight me,” he said in a dark, seductive tone, and dropped his head to give me another barely there kiss—to bring us back to where we’d begun—and his eyes locked with mine. “And I love the way you look at me like it will never be enough.”
“Luc—oh!” I gasped when he suddenly pinched my clit then slid his fingers back inside me, driving them in harder and harder as he kept his thumb pressed against that sensitive knot.
I ignited, immediately responding to his touch and craving more—just as he’d said. I gripped the hand holding mine down as my stomach warmed and twisted, and my body begged for the release that was so close.
As the tremors began, Lucas backed off. His movements slowed, the pressure lessened, and that wicked smirk grew more and more profound until I was ready to beg him for the bliss he kept just out of my reach.
Just before I could cry out in frustration when he backed off again, he said, “Tell me what you want.”
“Mor—” The word died in my throat, got lost in the nothingness when he pinched down on me again, and I was immediately wrapped up in warmth and darkness as wave after wave of pleasure rocked through my body.
His fingers rode me through my orgasm, tormenting and pleasuring until I no longer felt like I was floating but was trembling as he pushed me toward another.
And it was too much . . .
And everything felt too sensitive . . .
And my body reflexively shied away from his touch while I thrashed against his strong hold. But for the first time, I was also begging him not to stop.
“There you are,” he rumbled, and his mouth fell onto mine.
His tongue moved against mine slowly but surely. The pacing and the sweetness of the kiss was so opposite from what his hands were doing to me, but so perfectly him—so perfectly us.
Light and dark.
I came with a silent moan and cried out against the kiss when he suddenly grabbed my hip and forced his thick length inside me.
His hand tightened against mine as he drove into me, the muscles in his arms strain
ing, his hips rolling with each fluid, forceful movement. He released me suddenly and sat back on his knees, gripping my hips as he moved deeper and deeper, each stroke slower, but no less powerful, than the previous—and my heart clenched watching the man above me.
So beautiful and destructive and dark . . . the look in his eyes so raw I wanted to cry.
Every scar and every haunting memory that made my devil was on full display, every dark part of him so beautiful it hurt. And he was looking at me as if he’d found the only person who could make it all go away . . .
