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It’s a struggle to pull away, to make myself draw back from her, but before I can get anywhere, Willow reaches up and wraps her arms around me.
“Wait. Don’t go,” she whispers. “I want more. Please.”
Her words set off a war inside me.
I told myself when I started this that I was just doing it to help her get off. It was never supposed to be more than that. I wanted to give her the orgasm I knew she needed, but I’m still not sure she’s ready for more.
As if she can sense the internal battle raging beneath my skin, Willow slides her fingers through the hair at the nape of my neck, digging her fingernails into my scalp. I hiss out a breath, the beast that I’ve kept locked in its cage rattling at the bars.
I need her.
Dammit, I need her so much.
And my Solnyshka needs me too.
“Fuck it,” I mutter under my breath.
Then I’m kissing her again, climbing up onto the couch with her.
22
WILLOW
I’m floatingon a high of orgasmic bliss, my entire body looser and more relaxed than it’s been in a long time.
And all I want is to keep chasing this high.
All I want is exactly what I asked Malice for.More.
My hands roam over his back, feeling the muscles flex under his clothes and under his skin. I’ve gotten glimpses of him—and all the guys, really—without their shirts in the time since we moved into the penthouse, but not like this. I haven’t touched them or kissed them the way I’ve wanted to.
Malice’s hands skate up my sides, making me shiver. His calloused palms feel good everywhere, and when they come up to cover my breasts, I arch against him, pressing myself harder into his hands.
“Fuck,” he grates out against my mouth. “Solnyshka, you—”
He breaks off suddenly, letting go of my breasts and leaning back so that he can take me in. His eyes drink in the sight of me, and I can feel myself blushing. Even now, there’s something about the way he looks at me that always makes me feel just a little shy.
But in a good way.
In a way that makes me desperate for him to keep going.
“You really want more?” he asks, narrowing his eyes a little.
“Yes.” I nod emphatically.
Without taking his gaze off me, he reaches over to retrieve the book from where he dropped it. He holds it out to me, his inked forearms rippling as he presses it into my hands.
“Your turn then,” he says. “You read this time. Pick any scene you like. But if you stop, I stop.”
I’m about to ask him what he means, but before I can, he drops his head and presses a light kiss to my nipple. I hiss out a breath, almost dropping the book, and he immediately draws back a couple inches, going still.
Fuck, that’s what he means. He means he won’t touch me unless I’m reading.
My hands tremble as I skim the pages quickly, searching for another good scene to read. I find one where the hero takes the heroine out onto a private balcony, then bends her over the railing high above the city and fucks her. Starting from the beginning of the scene, I read out loud in a shaky voice.
It’s harder than I thought it would be. I have no idea how Malice managed to read coherently when he was doing this. I keep losing my place as he presses his lips to my skin again, working his way down in a winding path. He hesitates when he gets to the spot where my pants hang open, and the sound of him dragging in a long breath through his nose makes goosebumps pop out on my skin.
I know he said he loves the way I smell when I’m turned on, and there’s something filthy in the best way about the way he’s inhaling me.
