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And then he could not think. He could not plan. He could only pull her close, crushing her breasts against the wall of his chest. But soon even that delicious pressure was not enough. Could anything be enough?
He shifted, sliding one hand down the enticing line of her spine, the other along the side of her body to trace her perfect, delectable curves—the side of her breast, the indentation of her waist, the fascinating curve of her hip.
When his hands reached the tempting swell of her bottom, he lifted her, shifting her up and toward him so she sat astride him, the heat of her nestled tight against the hardest part of him.
She gasped and pulled back, bracing her small hands against his shoulders, and for a long, fierce moment he gazed at her. Her curls tumbled around them, dark and wild, and her lips were swollen and slick from his. Her color was high and bright, and her eyes glowed like sapphires, dazed with the same dizzying, raging passion that charged through him, burning him alive.
She was the most beautiful creature he had ever beheld, like lightning and quicksilver in his arms, and she was his. She was his. She had always been his. Even when he had wanted her to be something other than she was, he had known that simple truth. Every curve, every sigh, every shiver that wracked her delicate body—all of it, all of her, was his.
Leo wanted to lick every single inch of her until she admitted the truth of it, until she screamed it, until she sobbed out his name like it was a prayer that only he could answer. And he would.
“Tell me you want me,” he commanded her, his voice a stranger’s, no more than a growl as his hands retraced their journey and she squirmed on his lap, rocking her core against him, making them both sigh as the fire licked through them.
“You know I do,” she replied, more groan than words, her hands testing the shape of his shoulders, the corded muscles she found there, the smooth skin that stretched across his biceps.
He found her high breasts with his hands and let them fill his palms, teased the hard nipples through her soft shirt until she rocked against him, her eyes dark with need, her breath coming in quick, shallow pants.
“Say it.” It was a stark demand, a necessity for reasons he could not understand and did not care to examine.
As if she understood that on some primal level, she bent her head down and licked him, her small tongue tracing fire across the sensitive skin where his neck met his shoulder. He felt himself shudder with an elemental need as the storm within him began to howl.
“Bethany …” A warning. A plea.
“You know that I do,” she whispered in his ear. “You have always known it.”
He was lost. He found her mouth with his, hot and wet and perfect, as his hands worked between them. He tested her thighs beneath his palms, pushed her skirt out of the way and felt the scalding heat of her at her core. It inflamed him.
With a muttered curse, and more determination than skill, he released himself, letting his member free, proud and hard between them. Then he lifted her again, pulled her lacy panties to one side with an economy of motion and held himself perfectly still at her entrance for a breathless, shattering moment.
“Leo …” His name was a sob, a curse, a chant.
“Tell me.” His voice was thick, tortured.
He could feel her heat, beckoning and promising, so close. So close. She squirmed against him, her hips wild beneath his hands. Desperate.
“I want to hear the words,” he gritted out. “From your mouth. I want you to say it.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her breasts tighter against him, torturing them both. When she spoke it was as if it had been torn from her, as if she was as helpless in the face of this passion as he was, and he loved it.
How he loved it.
“I want you, Leo,” she whispered, her voice broken, dazed, aching for him. He could feel it resonate in him, his chest, his head, his sex. “God, I want you.”
He plunged into her, sheathing himself to the hilt, the fit tight and hot and as perfect as it had always been—like she was made for him, crafted expressly for this heat, this passion, him.
She shattered around him almost before he had finished that deep, perfect thrust. Her head fell back, her eyes drifted closed, her body rode his through tremor after tremor. He pulled back, shaking slightly with the effort, the control, reveling in the feel of her against him, so soft and wet where he was hard—all of it heaven and all of it his.
It was not enough. It was never enough.
But it was a start.
She could not breathe, she was in a thousand pieces, and yet he was still hot and hard inside of her.
Bethany managed somehow to pry open her eyes and found him watching her, his features tight and sensually intense as he gazed at her. She bit her lip as aftershocks rippled through her, making her nipples harden and her thighs clench.
