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Her face was already as flushed as it could get, and hair stuck to her forehead. Supported by the strong hands gripping her waist, she felt her body turn boneless, her limbs trembling as he thrusted into her, every movement rough. She turned her head to watch him, loving the sight of his hands gripping her ass, the muscles in his arms tensing and flexing, the ink on his skin pronounced in the candlelight. He tilted her hips, the angle causing him to grind an ultra sensitive spot deep inside her.

A sigh of pleasure slipped through her lips.

“Oh, I like that one,” he breathed, that husky voice dripping with approval. He fisted her hair, winding it around his right hand, while the other gripped her waist as he pounded into her.

“Like what?” she asked.

“That little squeak.” His strokes came faster, driving the last of the air out of her lungs with another muffled cry. “That one, too.”

“They’re embarrassing,” she managed to say.

“They’re sexy.” His lips brushed her shoulder. “You have no idea what you do to me. How you affect me.” He kissed the top of her head, his ragged breaths warming her hair. “I’m obsessed with you.”

She quivered as that hand left her hair, instead dipping between her legs, exploring the taut area where their bodies were joined. Another of those squeaks was pushed out of her with a hard thrust that hurt in the best possible way, and her eyelids slid shut.

His hand found her hair again, and he turned her head in the sheets so she was looking in the mirror. “Look how beautiful you are.” His eyes met hers in the glass. “I like it when you watch.” He was watching her, too. He didn’t take his eyes off her—not for one second.

Never mind her. He was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, and ever would see. His body was a work of art, the sweat that was running through the grooves of his muscles glistening like paint on a flawless sculpture. Every movement he made felt so good that she found herself pushing her ass against him, fucking him back, eager to meet every blow he dealt her. Maybe she was biased, but the sight of their bodies moving in tandem in the glass was extraordinary. They complimented each other perfectly, like night and day.

The more she pushed back against him, her ass slapping his front, the more ragged his breathing became, the faster and more urgent his movements. He was coming undone, just as she was coming undone. They would go together, just the way she liked it.

He pinned her upper half to the bed with a large hand between her shoulder blades, her breasts flattening against the mattress, her ass in the air as it slapped against him.

“Fuck.” The word he uttered was a deep snarl that made her toes curl in the sheets.

A rush of heat shot deep into her belly, the feeling of his release pushing her over her own finish line, his hand gripping the sheets in a tight fist. A strangled cry slipped out of her, a sound that was soon met with one of Darien’s own as they dissolved together into a shuddering orgasm, his cock throbbing so deep inside her as he came that it was as if their bodies were one and the same.

By the time his movements stilled, the sprinkling of stars in her vision fading away, she was out of breath and trembling. If it weren’t for Darien’s hands gripping her waist, she thought she might’ve collapsed.

And when he pulled out of her, and she began to push herself up into a sitting position, she did collapse.

Even though the mattress would’ve cushioned her fall, Darien caught her before she could hit the bed. He was holding her up, one hand supporting her chest, the other wrapped around her waist. Her knees were shaking, and there was a high-pitched ringing in her ears.

“Are you okay?” Darien’s voice sounded far away. “Lola, sweetheart, can you hear me?”

The question echoed. Lola, sweetheart, can you hear me?

Sweetheart, can you hear me?

Can you hear me?

Hear me?

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she came to. She was lying on the bed, her head cushioned by her pillow. When Darien spoke again, she realized only a few seconds had passed, or several minutes at the most.

“Don’t move for a minute,” he instructed, his words thick with concern. She could hardly see him through her blurry vision, but she gathered enough to realize he was putting his pants on, every movement urgent. “I’m going to open the windows.”

“Darien,” she croaked.

“Don’t move.”

When he came back to the bed, gusts of night-cool air sweeping in through the window screens, he reached for her, taking her left arm into his careful hands. The tattoo of the serpent-entwined rod was glaring red and pulsing, the light gilding his strong jaw. It reflected in his eyelashes and hair, streaking the black strands with crimson.

He let her arm go as quickly as he’d grabbed onto it. Through bleary eyes, she watched him stalk over to the dresser, where he grabbed the first shirt he could find and pulled it on. When he came back to the bed, bare feet slapping the floors, he helped her up to a sitting position and tugged her shorts back up her legs.

She felt ridiculous, not to mention useless. “I can do it.” She waved him away and finished putting them on herself, fixing the rumples in the waistband.

As soon as she was done, his arms were around her, and he was hoisting her up and hooking her legs around his waist as if she weighed no more than a doll.