Page 100 of Twisting Beauty

Too aware of how his thick cock stretched my mouth. Too aware of his eyes on me.

Too aware of his breathing turning rough, of the involuntary groans that escaped him, as if his neat control was already starting to slip.

I wanted to hate it. Wanted to hate him for making me do this.

But knowing I was cracking apart his composure did something to me.

A dark thrill rushed down my spine every time his fingers flinched against my scalp. A twisted kind of power sent electricity rushing through my veins every time he hissed or cursed.

I began exploring with my tongue, with my cadence, with the pressure of my mouth and my fist around his length just to steal more reactions out of him.

I became painfully aware of every traitorous answer in my own body, every flush of heat, every stuttering inhale.

Somehow, this had stopped feeling like a debt being paid and started feeling like mutual need.

It wasn’t long before his hips started jerking, his thighs trembling as he hurtled toward the edge.

A dark, savage hunger erupted inside me, burning away the rest of my humiliation.

I could unmake him.

I could shatter his control, could ruin the arrogant boy made of stone.

And God help me, I wanted to watch him come apart beneath my tongue again.

The power made my head swim and my thighs tremble. Something electric sparked from my core to my fingertips.

My free hand moved of its own accord, slipping down my stomach, past the band of my underwear.

I moaned against him as my fingers found slick heat, my hips bucking forward as I circled that sensitive bundle of nerves, my body betraying every lie I’d told myself since I’d first walked into his room.

Lorcan’s eyes widened as he stared down at me and I could only imagine what I looked like to him. Lips spread over his cock, breasts jiggling and damp with sweat, my hand rubbing furiously at my pussy, eyelids heavy with need.

His eyes locked on mine as his body went rigid. A broken sound tore from his throat as he came, hard and fast into my mouth. This time I greedily drank it down without being ordered to.

My own orgasm hit without warning, my movements faltering as pleasure overwhelmed me, my moan muffled around his cock.

For one heartbeat, his gaze held mine with raw intensity.

Then, just as abruptly, his cold mask dropped over his face again.

He stepped back from me, tucking himself back into his sweats as he turned away, shoulders stiff around his ears. He crossed the room and reached for his cigarettes on the nightstand. The only sign that anything had even happened was his breathing, still uneven and ragged.

He lit up with his back to me, the same dismissal as the first night, except now I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t unaffected.

I pulled up my nightgown to cover myself, wishing I had more clothes on, and left. I didn’t trust my face or my voice to behave if I stayed any longer.

I was furious at him and even more furious at myself. But buried under all of that, some stupid part of me was already scared that I’d somehow disappointed him. And that he might not send for me again.

By the third night, I was both dreading and waiting for his summons.

I hurried down the hallway after his message came, my pulse skittering too fast, my thoughts snagging on stupid details the whole way to his room. Would he make me wait again? Would he watch me? Would he touch me tonight?

I was furious at myself for every single one of those thoughts.

Lorcan was standing by the fire when I entered, one hand braced on the mantel, shirtless, in those damned gray sweats. He turned the moment I came through the door as if he’d been listening for my steps in the corridor.

He wasn’t bothering to act bored tonight. He was keyed up, too focused, too intent. I felt at once that the air between us was different.