The thought made her vow to live in this moment, no matter how many eyes were watching from the dancefloor and the red-lit alcoves lining the club. Made her sink into him, nuzzling against his chest.
She had denied this for so long, deniedhimfor so long, and she couldn’t do it anymore. She wanted him, wanted to feel his body against hers, wanted him to touch her. She wanted tofeel,and she was tired of fighting it. Consequences be damned, even if she got hurt. But when she looked at him, there was a promise there, a promise in his eyes that seemed to say,I will not hurt you, Lola.
“I’m going to touch you now,” Darien said. She felt her breasts turn heavy, her nipples peaking from the statement—from how rough and deep his voice was. “If I do anything you don’t like, don’t be afraid to tell me, okay?” There was a pause, and a tone Loren couldn’t quite place colored his next words. “I don’t ever want you to be afraid of me.” His steel eyes bore into hers. “Promise me.” The intensity in his voice, and the need for reassurance, made her heart ache.
Loren was shaking her head. “There’s no way you could do anything I won’t like.”
“Promise me, Loren. Please.”
She studied him for a long while; time seemed to cease as they looked at each other. Perhaps it was just Loren’s world that had stopped, but it felt more significant than that. She gave a slight nod, but because he seemed to need to hear the words leave her mouth, she whispered, “I promise.”
“We’ll start slow,” Darien said, his words only loud enough for her to hear. His knuckles brushed back and forth along her ribcage, the feel of his hand on her bare skin igniting a heat that spread deep into her core. He was watching her intently, gauging her response, the look in his eyes asking a silent question that had her nodding in answer, desperate to erase that uncertainty from his gaze—the question of whether she actually wanted him to touch her.
“Slow is good,” she breathed. Was it though? Suddenly, she wasn’t sure. And the more times he moved that hand across her ribs, the more eager she became to feel that hand on other parts of her body. Her breasts ached at the thought, and she was all too aware of how her nipples had pebbled under the sheer fabric of her top. Her whole body had sensitized from the anticipation, and she became overly alert to the way her clothes felt on her skin, overly aware of every muscle in Darien’s body pressing against her.
Darien seemed to pick up on the effect he was having on her, for the hand that was between her thighs tightened while his other snaked along the seam of her top, right near the edge of her breast. A chill that had nothing to do with the temperature of the nightclub skittered down her spine, and she found her mouth parting of its own accord.
Darien focused on that mouth of hers, and Loren stopped breathing as he took her left arm into his hand, raised it to his sculptured mouth…
And pressed his lips against the tattoo on the inside of her forearm. The ink was barely visible tonight, for Darien had made sure she hadn’t left the house on an empty stomach. He traced his mouth along the tattoo, kissing every scar she’d sustained from crashing through the window of that skyscraper—every wound he’d so meticulously dressed for her.
Loren found her body bowing at the sight of his mouth moving against her skin, and when he was finished with her scars, he parted her hair to one shoulder and began doing the same to the side of her neck, to the area below her ear, to the skin just below her jaw.
The others at the table had begun conversations—to help give them some privacy, she thought. To make her more comfortable, instead of feeling like even their closest friends had their full attention on her tonight.
Loren forced her body to relax as Darien’s mouth brushed across the length of her jaw, forced herself to breathe in and breathe out, forced herself to partially listen to the conversations the others were having, if only to distract herself from her own jumbled thoughts. Darien participated in those conversations here and there, likely also to distract her, to make her feel like his focus wasn’t entirely on her.
She knew better than to believe that. She couldfeelhis attention on her like it was a tangible thing, and every time she shifted a little in his lap, he adjusted with her, as if they were dancers attuned with the way each other’s bodies worked. She wished she could know every thought that lay buried beneath his mysterious front, could know why he was looking at her like that—like she was more than just Loren. Like he’d hit the jackpot on the lottery. It reminded her of howsheprobably looked when she was staring at him.
Loren wasn’t certain if Darien knew the reason why she was fidgeting, why her back was curving with every new kiss he pressed to her body. Wasn’t sure if he was aware of just how much he affected her. The hand he had resting between her thighs was indeed gripping her in a way that felt very possessive—a symbol of claim she knew the immortal males in this place would catch onto soon, if they hadn’t already. A claim Baylor had likely already noticed—and would take as a challenge.
That hand between her legs tightened a little, his rough thumb sweeping along the curve of her thigh the way his other was sweeping along her ribs, edging beneath the fabric of her top. She wondered if he was too distracted to realize how close the hand between her thighs was to the most sensitive area on her body.
“Baylor’s watching us like we’re his favorite television show,” Darien whispered in her ear, amusement lightening his words.
Loren shivered at the feeling of his breath against her neck. Darien gripped her tighter, his fingers inching toward the apex of her thighs, and she arched her back into him. Desperate to have Darien not notice just how much his touch was affecting her, she joked, “Or his favorite porno.” He gave a low laugh that had heat pooling below her navel. His breath sent tendrils of golden hair fluttering across her cheek.
Before she could check herself, she leaned into the hand that was teasing the curve of her breast and said, “Don’t stop.” The words were a breathy gasp, and she angled herself in a way that invited him to explore every curve of her body, placing his claim on it like his own personal map, leaving no part of her untouched.
He took the invitation, and when his thumb brushed over her breast—over her nipple that peaked under his touch—his focus on her became predatory, and his hand stilled.
“Loren.” The way he said her name—the gravel in his voice—made the inside of her thighs damp with her desire.
“Darien,” she answered, his name as tense as when hers had floated off his mouth.
His thumb brushed across her nipple again, hard enough to send a wave of pleasure rippling down her spine. She swallowed the moan that rose in her throat. “You’re driving me crazy,” he breathed. Her skin flushed at the declaration. “You’re making me want to take you into the back rooms myself and forget about this whole thing.”
“Why don’t you?” she challenged. She tipped back her head to look at him. “Are you going to make me beg?”
“That’s tempting,” Darien murmured. “Why don’t you start by telling me what you want?”
She dragged a hand up his thigh, feeling the hard muscle beneath her palm. “You. I want you.” If she hadn’t been drowning in her own lust, she might’ve felt embarrassed by how desperate she came across, how breathy her voice sounded.
Darien gave another of those low laughs that had the desire that was curling in her stomach becoming more intense—a force she couldn’t ignore. “You want me?” His voice could pass for a purr.
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Mmm.” As he leaned in to press a kiss below her ear—in the spot where her own symbol of the Seven Devils would’ve been, if she’d had one—the hand gripping her thigh tightened to the point of bruising, but the feeling only turned her on more, made her wet and aching for him.
