His reasoning.
It doesn’t make me want him any less.
He must see that want blazing in my expression, because he shakes his head as if trying to convince himself not to give in to it.
“And yet, I can’t seem to make myself be cruel to you,” he murmurs. “Never to you.”
“Your verytouchis cruel,” I inform him in between uneven attempts at breathing.
“I doubt you’ll think so once I’ve finished with you.”
“Finished?”
“Mm.”
“But you said?—”
“That I don’t trust myself. So, we’ll have to focus only on you.”
Before I can utter even a syllable of a reply, he’srearranged us both, sitting up and leaning against the headboard with my back against his chest.
His hand brackets my throat once more, tilting my ear closer to his mouth as he whispers, “Spread your legs for me.”
The words leave me too stunned to move at first.
“Do as you’re told,” he says. “Just this once.” He punctuates the command with a sharp nip on my earlobe, and my reaction is automatic—my thighs parting, every inch of me opening, suddenly willing to let him in.
“That’s my girl,” he praises. “Now, relax.”
Relaxis not the first word that comes to mind as his other hand slides between my legs.
How can I relaxwhen his touch is so thrilling, so perfect, so completely unlike anything I ever expected from him?
I didn’t expect him to take his time tracing every inch of sensitive skin he can, to be so completely captivated by my body and what he’s doing to it. It’s impossible to settle myself under the obvious, undeniable obsession he has with me in this moment.
I still close my eyes and try my best.
I don’t relax, but before long, I do manage to melt against him, to trust his hand to orchestrate a building symphony of pleasure, focusing only on his touch as it slips underneath the thin undergarment I wear—the last barrier between his fingertips and the full, obvious state of my arousal.
The more intimate touch takes my breath away. The hand around my throat moves to my jaw, angling my face so he can press his mouth to mine, as if to replenish that breath with his own. As he deepens the kiss, his other hand continues to grow bolder, cupping the pulsing need betweenmy legs, the coolness of his large palm a divine contrast to my heat.
He drags his mouth away from mine, kissing a slow, savoring trail back to my ear. “So fucking wet…itwouldbe cruel to leave you this way, wouldn’t it?”
My reply is swallowed up by a gasp as his fingers begin to move against me again.
“Luckily for you, even I have limits to the amount of torture I’m willing to inflict.”
“I’m not sure I believe you.”
He laughs. The breath it sends whispering over my skin—combined with the way one of his fingers is now slipping inside of me, bit by teasing bit—makes me more desperate than ever for release.
I roll my hips, tempting him deeper; it doesn’t take much encouragement before he slides his finger fully in, curling it with devilish, deliberate precision before following it with a second finger. His thumb works against my clit while his other hand finds its way underneath my borrowed shirt, caressing and squeezing my breasts.
He presses his mouth to the side of my neck, stifling a groan before it fully escapes him. The pressing soon turns to kissing and sucking. I feel something sharp graze my skin, and my mind flashes back to the first night we met—to a glimpse of fangs in the night.
It was never a true secret, this beastly side he’s so determined to control. To conceal. I suspected darkness from the beginning, and maybe I should have fled when I first saw it. Maybe it should frighten me even more now that I know what lies at the root of this darkness, and how dangerous it could truly become.
But I’m not afraid.
