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Delicious pleasure pooled in my core, tugging me from my sleep, and I moaned, the sound low and languid.
“I will never,” Lucas’s deep murmur played with my senses, “get tired of hearing you moan when I touch you.”
Opening my eyes, I let out a soft breath and met his gaze. “I’m I dreaming?
Are you really here?”
He lowered his head and brushed his lips over mine. “You tell me.”
I shook my head. “Impossible to tell. I could be dreaming. I could be dreaming you’re here, about to make love to me. About to slowly remove all my clothes and kiss me all over. It’s the perfect dream, after all.”
His throaty chuckle vibrated against my neck as he nibbled a path up to my ear. “It is. Also the perfect reality.”
I rolled my neck, moving on the chair. Every nerve ending in my body was awake now. Straining for him. After everything we’d been through, after the hell of Maureen Ford, here we were, back where we’d started…Lucas waking me up, his body, his hands, his lips on mine…
Letting out a soft whimper of bliss, I snaked my arms up around his neck and pulled him down to me, claiming his mouth in a hungry kiss.
He climbed onto the armchair, straddling me, his strong thighs framing my hips, his hands cupping my face. Our tongues slid against each other, clashed, battled, mated. I moaned, already on fire for him. Craving his skin on mine, his flesh in mine.
I raked my hands down his back, shoved them under the hem of his shirt. His warm, smooth skin branded my palms, a pulse of concentrated need blooming in my pussy.
Breaking the kiss, I pressed my forehead to his. “Lila dealt with the situation? You and Dad being arrested, I mean?”
“She did.” He nibbled at my cheek, my chin, my lips. “I told her we’d name our first child after her.”
A soft laugh escaped me. “Let’s hope we have a girl, th—”
He kissed me silent, his teeth and tongue propelling me towards a place I knew so well. And then his hands weren’t on my face anymore, but on my breasts, under my shirt, cupping and kneading them, pinching and teasing my nipples.
I arched into his touch, scoring his back with my nails.
He growled his approval, his hard cock pressing at my belly, his tongue growing more demanding in my mouth.
Surrendering to the pleasure was easy. I gave myself to him, incapable of checking my moans. When he reeled back, grabbed at my T-shirt and tore it up over my head I gasped, anticipation turning my sex to liquid heat.
“Some cop called Isaac Simpson says hi,” Lucas murmured, his stare fixed on what his hands were doing to my breasts. Cupping, kneading, worshipping.
“Hi,” I breathed, eyes fluttering closed. How the hell did he make me almost come just by playing with my nipples? How did he do that?
“I told him I would beat the shit out of him if he came near you.”
My eyes snapped open. “You what?”
His nostrils flared. “I’m the jealous type, babe.”
I blinked.
He laughed. “I’m kidding. Now…tell me, are you awake or dreaming?”
“Son of a bitch.” I smacked his shoulder. Happiness rushed through me. “I’m awake. I’m awake.”
He caught my wrists and pinned them to the top of the chair behind my head. “Good. Because this is going to be fucking incredible.”
“Wh—”
He crushed my mouth with his and rolled his hips. His hard cock pressed to my belly again, the heavy globes of his scrotum—trapped in his jeans—rubbing against my groin. There was nothing gentle about this kiss. This kiss was domination and surrender and hunger and pleading and perfection all at once.
My head swam and I groaned into his mouth, craving more. Craving his complete control of my body and pleasure.
