The Devil kept kissing her, though it was never on her mouth, no matter how she tried to angle herself. She wanted to taste him, wanted to memorize his mouth beneath her own, wanted to become one with him. Every time he kissed her, every time he touched her, heat sparked between them and spread like molten gold. Her heart swelled with the longing to stay in his arms forever.
Their surroundings had bled so wholly away that when Aspen and Lace returned to the table, Loren felt like she was being pulled out of a dream. The most beautiful, delicious, and filthy dream she’d ever had. And when she glanced up at Darien, their faces barely an inch apart, he looked as intoxicated by her as she was by him. He was so close to her that she could see every dark eyelash, every tone of blue in his eyes.
“Pardon me, lovebirds,” Aspen said in a singsong voice as she stepped up to the bench, her heels clunking, “but I need to get through.” She began to push by, wedging herself between Darien’s knees and the edge of the table.
Darien lifted his knees up a little to give Aspen more room, the motion causing the hand he had resting between Loren’s thighs to slip up—right into the space that would betray exactly how aroused she was by this whole situation.
Loren froze, every muscle in her body going stiff.
Darien’s hand stilled at what he found there, though only briefly. And Loren’s heart was pounding hard and fast as Darien dragged his rough fingers, ever so slowly and lightly, up the hot and wet centre of her.
The sensation had her trembling against him, had her hips rocking into his touch. She didn’t want him to stop, wanted him to touch her harder, faster.
“Fuck, Loren,” he bit out.
She peeked up at him from under her eyelashes. “Guess I’m enjoying this whole pretending thing a little too much.”
“Is that right?” He shifted her in his lap, centering her just enough for her to feel his erection pressing against her backside. Her heart stopped dead in her chest at the feel of him. She didn’t have to be experienced to know that he had a lot to use and likely knew precisely how to use it.
“You’re not the only one enjoying yourself,” Darien said. He brushed a strand of her hair aside and leaned in close to whisper in her ear, “And you’re not wearing any panties.” Desire dripped hotly down her spine.
He slid his fingers up and down again, like he wanted to memorize the feel of her. He kept his gaze on her the whole time—watching the way her features changed as he touched her, she realized. Having his hands on her, with nothing in the way of her skin and his, made her grind her ass into his cock as if there weren’t hundreds of people watching.
“I love those faces you make,” Darien said. “I’ve never seen anyone so fucking beautiful.” His thumb slipped a little higher, where it circled that sweet, sensitive spot, exploring her with expertise that had her moaning softly in a way she was certain should make her feel embarrassed. But she was too lost in him to care, and she was soon fisting his hair, pulling him closer to her.
“Don’t stop.” Her voice was breathless and nearly as rough as his. “Please.” If he were to stop, she might cry. Cry and beg.
He gave a low, appreciative groan that she felt deep in her stomach. But he didn’t stop—no. He kept going, working her harder, and it was bliss. Pure bliss.
The way he was touching her made her hips twitch, made her rock into his touch, moving in sync with him. The club and the people and the music melted away, leaving behind nothing but them—the two of them, lost in each other.
“Fuck, baby,” Darien mumbled against the side of her neck, his breath sending a chill across her skin. “What are you doing to me?”
“I could ask you the same thing.” Every word was strained and breathless as he coaxed her closer to that peak of pleasure.
“You’re wrecking me is what you’re doing. You’re wrecking me for anyone else.”
“I think you wrecked me the same way a long time ago.” Her legs twitched as he played with her, her toes curling tightly in her heels. “Ever since that day at Rook and Redding’s.”
At Rook and Redding’s, she’d asked him, ‘What’s in it for you?’ Neither of them had known it back then, but at that precise moment, as they looked at each other beneath the blue strobe lights of the Devil’s Advocate, lost in a world of their own making, she thought they had both realized what the answer was.
She shifted her hips, rocking into his touch, urging him to go harder, faster.
Darien obliged her, rubbing and pressing in all the right places, and with just the right amount of pressure. Every time she neared climax, he pulled her back from that shimmering edge again, driving her mad with desire. He knew precisely what he was doing, and he seemed to take extreme pleasure in how her breath hitched in her chest with every stroke, how her thighs tightened around his hand when her pleasure soared.
“You’re a greedy little thing,” Darien breathed, “aren’t you?”
Gods. The strength of what was building was staggering. She was worried she might pass out from the sensations coursing through her. It was never supposed to get this far, not even tonight, never supposed to progress to this stage, and although she had no regrets, she worried she would in the morning. Not because she didn’t want this, but because she was baring her heart and soul to him, placing them in his hands. Where this went from here depended entirely on him; it made her feel powerless, yet wildly free.
“You asked me what I want,” she said, every word breathless and strained. She was starting to see stars. “Why don’t you tell me whatyouwant?” When Darien didn’t say anything, his hand slowing a little, she looked up at him and studied his face—the uncertainty there. The flickering lights of the club softened the sharp line of his jaw and reflected in his night-dark hair. “You’re worried I can’t handle it,” she accused, “aren’t you?” Her eyes narrowed, and she lifted her chin, her hand tightening into a fist in his hair. “I’ve been handling you for quite some time now.”
He still wouldn’t say anything, though he seemed to want to.
“Why don’t you try me?” she urged.
Leaning forward slightly, she caught his lower lip between her teeth—before he could pull away; before he could realize what she was doing—and sucked on it. The taste of him—of that mouth she hadn’t been able to look away from since that fateful day in Rook and Redding’s—was enough to nearly undo her. She let go, pulling back just far enough to assess him.
He looked like he wanted to eat her alive.
