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I bit my lip, feigning innocence. “Why, whatever do you mean?”
Another sound, low and rumbling, punched from him. It was full of leashed intent, like a predator baiting its prey—until he whipped his hands up again, meshing fingers into mine. Palm-to-palm, he forced my arms all the way up, over my head.
“You know what I mean, tupulai.” He grated the hot syllables into my temple, my cheek, my jaw. “You know I mean…exactly this.”
I sighed heavily. Being pinned beneath him like this…dear God, yes…
His mouth traced over the same path, leaving a wake of fire through my whole body, until igniting the throbbing tissues between my legs. By the time he rose back up, aligning our faces once more, I was a panting mess of arousal.
“Yes,” I finally rasped. “I do know.”
He curled a knowing grin. “You want to be locked like this, for me. Trapped like this, by me.”
“Yes.” I could barely choke it now, but his approving growl was all the reinforcement I needed. And oh yeah, there was the effect it had on his cock, swelling and hardening against my cleft. And the musk of his desire. And the spice of sweat along his neck… “Yes. Damn!”
He answered with a fervent kiss to my neck. “Now tell it to me again, as you would a man who dared to capture you. And master you.”
Fucking. God.
The man didn’t just have a window to my soul.
He had a direct-access pass to my most illicit fantasies.
“Yes…Sir.” I hardly recognized my own voice, and reveled in that. Getting pulled outside myself, commanded to become someone else, was like pulling shackles off my naughtiest desire. As soon as the words were free, my breasts ached, my sex tautened, my clit throbbed—and dammit if Shiraz didn’t know all of that by simply raking that hot cobalt stare across my face.
“Perfect.” He twisted our hands tighter. His heartbeat thundered in through the pulse in his wrists. As his thrusts intensified, he swept up and over me, taking my mouth in a consuming kiss. Relentlessly, he spread my jaw until it ached. “So damn perfect,” he grated when we parted.
“Yes!” I prayed he’d order me to say more. The words took me away. Made me reach beyond myself. Helped me fly.
“Yes…what?” he prompted. Thank fuck.
“Yes, Sir.”
He snarled softly. “Is that all?”
Screw the direct line to my psyche. He’d just rewired himself to my pussy.
“I…I meant, yes, Sir. It’s damn perfect.”
His gaze dragged open. He looked down on me, his bronze god features afire and his broad sculpted shoulders coiled, and I understood why sacrificial virgins were paralyzed when offered to the immortals. He could have pulled my heart from my chest and eaten it front of me, and I would have died an ecstatic woman.
Ecstatic.
Damn good word, especially right now.
“Perfect,” Shiraz echoed, lunging in so hard, my soaked panties were stretched tight against my intimate center. “Tell me, sweet surprise. Describe it.”
I attempted a steadying breath. Riiigght. Not happening any time in the next century. “My…my blood is like fire. My skin…feels so tight. And…and my pussy…”
“I feel it.” He ground in with more passion, his face defined by harsh lines. He was a work of art, like a lush watercolor and a granite statue mixed into the same incredible masterpiece. “Throbbing now. So hot now. Your clit wants to come for me, yes?”
“Oh, my God!”
“Not a proper answer.” He enforced the scolding by backing off on his pressure. My body protested at once, bucking to keep him locked against me.
“Shiraz! Dammit…please…”
“Please what?”
