Page 62

The candles flickered around us like witnesses to what was about to happen. Rose petals crushed under our weight, releasing their perfume into air already thick with promise. AndLena—my perfect, chaotic, patient girl—arched under me with a sound that said she'd been waiting for this as desperately as I had.

Time to deliver on my promises.

I yanked my shirt over my head, not bothering with the remaining buttons. Her eyes tracked every movement, pupils blown wide with want as she took in the scars, the ink, the evidence of a life lived in violence. But it was the hunger in my expression that made her breath catch.

I crashed into her, mouth claiming hers with bruising force. No more careful exploration, no more tentative touches. I kissed her like I wanted to consume her, tongue invading her mouth, teeth nipping at her lips when she moaned. My hands tangled in that purple chaos of hair, angling her head so I could take more, taste deeper.

She gave as good as she got, nails raking down my back hard enough to leave marks. When I growled into her mouth, she did it again, harder. Testing me. Pushing to see how far I'd go.

I'd show her exactly how far.

I caught her wrists in one hand, pinning them above her head against the dark sheets. The position arched her back, pressing those perfect breasts up like an offering. She tugged against my grip, not really trying to escape, just needing to know she couldn't.

"That what you want?" My free hand traced the edge of black lace, fingertips barely grazing skin. "To be held down? Controlled?"

"Yes," she gasped, hips lifting, seeking contact I wouldn't give yet. "God, yes."

I transferred her wrists to my other hand, using the first to explore. Not gentle touches now—firm, possessive, claiming. I palmed her breast through the lace, squeezing just hard enoughto make her arch. When my thumb found her nipple through the fabric, already hard and begging, I pinched lightly.

The sound she made shot straight to my cock.

"Sensitive," I noted, filing the information away even as my control frayed. I did it again, harder this time, watching her face contort with pleasure. "What else, Lena? What else makes you lose that attitude?"

My hand traveled lower, over ribs that expanded with her ragged breathing, across the soft plane of her stomach. The lingerie had these strategic cutouts that revealed tantalizing glimpses of skin—her hip bone, the curve where waist became hip, the shadow between her thighs.

"Everything," she admitted, breathless. "Everything you do—fuck!"

I'd slipped my hand between her legs, finding her already soaked through the thin lace. The evidence of how much she wanted this, wanted me, nearly broke what was left of my control. I pressed the heel of my palm against her clit through the fabric, a firm pressure that made her whole body tense.

"So wet already," I growled against her throat, tasting the salt of her skin. "Been thinking about this while you waited? Touching yourself?"

"No," she gasped as I increased the pressure. "Wanted—wanted to wait for you. Wanted to be desperate."

Mission fucking accomplished. She writhed under me, trying to increase the friction, but I controlled the pace. Slow, firm circles that built pressure without relief. My tactical brain catalogued every response—the hitch in her breathing when I pressed harder, the way her thighs trembled when I lightened my touch, how her wrists flexed in my grip when pleasure spiked.

"Please," she whimpered, dignity abandoned. "Tyson, please, I need—"

"I know what you need." I released her wrists to hook my fingers in the lingerie. "Lift up."

She obeyed instantly, raising her hips so I could strip the lace away. It tore slightly in my haste, but neither of us cared. I tossed it somewhere into the candlelit darkness, focused only on her spread before me like a feast.

"Fucking perfect," I breathed, taking in smooth skin marked by ink, soft curves that begged for my hands. I traced the cherry blossoms on her shoulder, followed the vine that wrapped her ribs, discovered a small constellation of stars on her hip I'd never seen before.

"Stop cataloguing and start wrecking," she demanded, but her voice broke when I parted her thighs wider.

"Patience." But in truth, I was done with patience too. Done with careful control and measured responses. I needed to be inside her like I needed air.

My pants hit the floor with my boxer briefs, and her eyes went wide at the sight of my cock, fully hard and already leaking. The raw want in her expression nearly undid me.

"That's what you do to me," I told her, positioning myself between her spread thighs. "Every fucking day. Walking around looking like sin, challenging me, making me crazy—"

I notched myself at her entrance, feeling how wet and ready she was. But I paused, meeting her eyes.

"If you don't fuck me right now, I swear to God—"

I thrust home in one smooth stroke, burying myself to the hilt. Her scream of pleasure probably woke the neighbors, but I couldn't bring myself to care. Not when she felt like molten silk around me, so tight and perfect I had to lock every muscle to keep from coming immediately.

"Fuck," I gritted out, forehead pressed to hers. "You feel—"