Page 61 of Can't Stop Watching

I immediately slow down, protective instincts kicking in. "Too much?"

"Don't you dare stop," she gasps, tears tracking down her flushed cheeks. "Please, Dane."

My name in her mouth, wrapped in desperation, it's so fucking erotic.

I resume the punishing rhythm, watching in fascination as tears leak from the corners of her eyes while pure pleasure transforms her face. There's something profound happening here—something beyond the mechanics of sex. Those tears aren't sadness or pain. They're overload. Release. Truth.

"That's it," I encourage, voice thick with my own building pleasure. "Take what you need."

Her nails rake down my chest, leaving faint red trails that sting in the best possible way. I wonder what other marks we'll leave on each other—visible and invisible.

Isn't that the fucking irony of existence? We spend our lives collecting scars, physical and emotional, mapped across our bodies and souls by everyone we encounter. Most people leave scratches, shallow marks that fade with time. But some—the rare ones—carve themselves into your bones, permanent alterations to your fundamental structure.

I can already feel Lila's imprint forming, reshaping me from the inside out.

She's close again, her inner walls fluttering around me, her movements becoming erratic. I reach between us, finding her clit with my thumb, circling with just enough pressure.

"Oh god," she chokes out, fresh tears spilling. "I can't—it's too?—"

"You can," I tell her, certain in this if nothing else. "Let go."

Her entire body goes rigid, suspended in that exquisite moment between tension and release. Then she shatters, clenching around me so tightly I have to grit my teeth against my own pleasure. I watch her—all of her—as she comes apart.

Her cry echoes through my sparsely furnished bedroom, bouncing off walls that have never witnessed anything like this before. More tears streak down her face as she convulses, gasping my name between broken moans.

It's beautiful. She's beautiful. Even in this abandoned state—especially in this abandoned state—with her guard completely down.

I've never seen anything more honest in my life.

And that's what tips me over the edge. Not the physical sensation, incredible as it is, but the raw vulnerability she's showing me. Trust I haven't earned and don't deserve.

My release hits like a thunderclap in pitch darkness, sudden and all-consuming. Utterly devastating.

20

LILA

Icollapse against Dane's chest, every muscle in my body turned to liquid. Holy. Shit.

His arms wrap around me, solid and secure, like being enveloped in a warm fortress. I should probably move, clean up, do something responsible—but my body has other ideas, melting deeper into his embrace.

"You okay?" His voice rumbles through his chest and into mine.

"I think you broke me," I murmur, too blissed out to filter my thoughts. "In the good way."

His chuckle vibrates against my cheek as he strokes my hair, his touch unexpectedly gentle after what we just did. The contrast is doing things to my heart I'm not ready to examine.

"That was… only a taste," he says.

Damn! I'm afraid to ask, but more than willing to find out. I ache between my legs in the most delicious way. Like a badge of honor, a reminder that I just had possibly the most intense sex of my life. And with a man who could have snapped me in half butinstead watched my face the entire time, making sure I was right there with him.

Something released inside me when he finally let go—when we both did. That coiled knot of fear that's been living in my chest since New Orleans. Since Mr. Colton. Not gone completely, but looser somehow. Lighter.

"What are you thinking about?" Dane asks, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my back.

"That I don't think I'll be able to walk tomorrow," I deadpan, deflecting with humor like I always do.

He sees right through it. "Lila."