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Still, I shove the thought away, refuse to think about those other women in any way. Not now, when I have Savvy warm and soft and pliant on my lap.
Not when she’s making those soft noises and rocking her hips against mine.
Not when she seems to want me as much as I w
ant her.
Just the thought has me growing impossibly harder, has need tearing against the edges of my control. One more kiss, I promise myself as I tug on her hair, pulling her head back just a little. Just enough.
And then I take her, plunder her, devour her—taking every single thing she’s willing to give me and pushing for more. Pushing for everything, as I delve so far inside her that I’m not sure I’ll ever find my way free again.
Chapter 14
Savvy
I’ve never felt like this in my life.
Never felt this open. Never felt this taken. Never felt this much, and Kian isn’t even inside me yet.
I want more. Need more. More of Kian and more of the insidious pleasure that’s sizzling through me like lightning.
I don’t know what any of this means, and I’m sure as hell not stupid enough to think I know what I’m doing. Being with Garrett nearly destroyed me five years ago, and now here I am with his brother, setting myself up for the same pain, the same betrayal.
And yet, I don’t want to stop. I can’t stop, not when it feels so good to be held, kissed, loved by Kian. Not when it warms me the way it does to have him smile at me, listen to me, touch me.
I know this isn’t forever, know that he treats women like flavors of the week or even day, depending on his mood. But he’s here with me now, holding me, whispering soft, sweet things in my ear, and what I know doesn’t seem to count. What I fear doesn’t seem to matter. Not when it feels this good—this right—to be in Kian’s arms.
He pulls me closer.
Kisses me deeper.
Whispers my name against my lips and how beautiful I am, how good I feel, how much he wants me.
I’m falling for his words, drowning in his kisses and the soft stroking of his hands along my spine. Normally it would frighten me, this giving of myself over so completely to someone else. But crazy as it seems, Kian makes me feel safe. More, he makes me feel cherished even now as I straddle him in the middle of my couch. As I rock my sex against him and bite my lip to keep from begging for more than I can emotionally take.
He reaches down, cups my ass in his hands and presses me even more firmly against his long, hard cock. And he is hard, so fucking hard that I’m sure he’s suffering for it. So fucking hard that I’m shocked he hasn’t already tried to get inside me.
Instead, he’s taking his time. Skimming his fingers along the nape of my neck, pressing kisses to the hollow of my throat, urging me to take what I want—what I need—from him as I lift and lower myself over him.
I’m not used to men who treat me like this, who put my needs first and work so hard to take care of me. I haven’t been with many men—when things went sour with Garrett it turned me off relationships in a big way—but I know enough to understand that this isn’t normal. To understand that Kian treats me like I’m special.
The thought sends equal jolts of fear and pleasure shooting through me. Because that’s how I get hurt—thinking I’m special. Thinking I matter, when it’s been proven over and over again to me that I don’t. I can’t afford to think like that about Kian, about His Royal Hotness who also happens to be the twin brother of the first man I ever loved.
But knowing and feeling are two totally different things, especially now when the feel of him against my most vulnerable part only makes me want more. Not now, when Kian is turning my insides to molten lava with each skim of his fingers across my back and each stroke of his tongue against my own.
He tastes good, so good. Like dark coffee. Like rich cream. Like wild waves crashing against the seashore. It’s a taste I could spend hours—days—exploring and still never get enough of.
But I don’t have hours, don’t have days. All I have are these few stolen moments and even those are slipping away from me, slipping through my fingers like time in Kian’s tattoo.
He must feel the same way, because he lifts his head with a muffled curse.
For long seconds I can do nothing but drag great gulps of air into my tortured lungs. I’d probably be embarrassed by how long it takes me to catch my breath if he wasn’t doing exactly the same thing with exactly the same intensity.
Once I can breathe again—once I can think again—I work on uncurling my fingers from the death grip they have on his hair. It’s harder than it sounds, especially when I want nothing more than to hold on to him as tightly as I can.
“Fuck,” he mutters, resting his forehead against mine.
“Wow, His Royal Hotness sure can be profound when he wants to be.” I try to sound teasing, but it comes out breathless instead.
