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“Charlee.” He drew in her tongue. She curled it with his, their lips sliding together. The kiss grew so aggressive, so fast, they were both fighting for air.

He broke away and lowered his mouth to chase her nipple, catching it between his lips, flicking it with his tongue. His excitement grew in demanding tremors. All he could think about was stripping her pants and shoving himself deep inside her.

She dropped her head against the mirror and moaned. The sound resonated in his dick. He slid his palm over the curve of her waist to the rise of her ass and slipped his fingers beneath the waistband. His erection pulsed painfully in its cage.

He grabbed her nape and pulled her lips back to his mouth. “Charlee, take me out.”

Her tongue traced his bottom lip, lapping and teasing, and she pulled back to look at him. “Has anyone ever touched you there?”

A cruel voice screamed from the recesses of his mind. He extinguished it with thoughts of Charlee, of what she was offering him. “Not in a long time.”

Her gaze narrowed and softened just as quick. Fuck, he loved her eyes. They were so expressive. Authentic. Direct. Much like the hand sliding down his stomach and tugging on the button of his pants. He sucked in a breath.

The button popped free. She ensnared him with a devilish smile and lowered the zipper.

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The warm leather of Jay’s pants peeled back as Charlee eased down the zipper one metal tooth at a time. Uncovering him was as thrilling as it was terrifying. He’d said he wouldn’t fuck her in a bathroom, but she teetered on the confusing edge of begging.

Would he tie her up? The idea produced a delicious quiver deep in her core, but it morphed into queasiness when she pictured the women spread out on the piano. She didn’t want him to see her like that, nor did she want her intimacy with him reduced to a written contract like her Dom sessions. Problem was, she needed that brand of sexual healing.

She nudged him backward two paces and his back hit the door. She hopped off the counter and her fingers followed the strip of hair from his naval to the close-trimmed patch below the spread of his fly. The anticipation fanning in her womb exploded into a fire. “Commando.” She swallowed. “Smart. No panty lines.”

He groaned something thick and indistinct.

She placed a kiss on the arch of his pecs and leaned back. “I want to see you in superhero briefs.”

A smile flitted across his mouth and he shook his head. Eyes locked on her hands, his thumb strolled up and down on her neck.

As tantalizing as his pants were, she wanted them off. She hadn’t willingly explored a man in three years and the thought of tasting him produced a rush of wet heat between her legs.

She pulled at his waistband and yanked it down the hard lines of his thighs. Her squat forced his hands to her head as his erection sprang free. Swollen and uncut, it curved up, waiting. She licked her lips.

His legs shook beneath her hands, but he didn’t drive her head forward. Rather he tried to pull her back. “Charlee, don’t do this.” His deep voice reverberated from her nipples to thighs.

Heat throbbed between her legs. Never had she experienced such a demanding desire as the one pulsating between them. Could he take her to the place she sought through punishing pain, where bygones and dead endings didn’t exist? Could he stretch her body and bruise her flesh until it was safe to let go?

A dark sea of thoughts stormed inside her as she curled her hand around the tip of his shaft. The Doms had coached her to focus on relinquishing control rather than making it about pain. She wanted both. She wanted to lash out with her safe word and use the pain to drown the sexual memories that always came when she released.

His erection jerked in her hand and her sick desires fissured, oiling her arousal and swelling her clit. What made it real made it shameful, and the overwhelming hunger for things she shouldn’t want rose, and rose, until a fever broke out through her body.

She looked up into his heavy-lidded eyes, gripped the soft uncircumcised skin and slid it downward, slowly releasing the folds as she reached the bed of wiry hair.

Could she do painless sex? She’d experienced it with one man, but Noah’s sweet nature came at a time in her life when she almost felt…healed. She would never appreciate that level of gentleness again. After his death and her second imprisonment, she was quite possibly more fucked up than the man trembling above her.

Startled out of her thoughts, she realized she was stroking him frantically, wringing her grip along his length, her other hand digging into the hard brick of his ass. His chin fell to his chest and his jaw stretched through his panting, spurring her to continue the pace.

The indentions of his muscles bunched over his torso, and veins bulged in his rigid arms. What a stunning sight. She wanted to crawl up his body and drive them both beyond their mental and tactile boundaries. Maybe she was already doing that. Shewastouching him. Was he cured? Or would he need a distraction every time she initiated touch in the future?

She laced her fingers together and hugged her palms around him. Squeezing up to collect pre-cum—slicking down, up, down—she lured ragged noises from the back of his throat. Maybe she could stroke him past the point of restraint until he wrenched her head back, bent her over the sink, and took whatever he pleased. God help her, she trembled to please him.

His chest heaved with his grunts and his hands tangled in her hair as he watched. “Charlee.” A plea. “It’s unreal…your hands…on me. I can’t believe how good it feels.”

Nuzzling the crown with her lips and nose, she inhaled the arousing blend of suede, musk, and man. “If the touch gives more than it takes, isn’t it always good?”

He stared at her like he was on top of a new world, looking over the edge. “Yeah, Charlee. You’re showing me that.” He tugged the lock of hair wrapped around his finger and jerked her head back. “My turn to give.”

The twinge from his tug simmered the ache between her legs. Oh, the pain he could give, it would free her. Itwould. “Harder.”