Page 102 of Captive Audience

I wet my lips. “Stroke yourself,” I said, the words slipping out before I could overthink them.

He didn’t even pause. One large hand curled around his cock, and he started to move. Firm, measured strokes, each designed to torment me more than him. His eyes never left mine, daring me to look away, to pretend I wasn’t watching this like it was the hottest thing I’d ever seen.

My insides clenched when Rook’s other hand braced beside me, carved muscles flexing. Thick veins stood out along his tattooed forearms. His jaw was tight, the edge of his control bleeding through. He was holding himself back, completely under my command, and I sensed that every part of him was waiting on my next instruction.

I could barely breathe. “Stop.”

He stilled instantly, as though obeying me were his life’s purpose.

And holy hell, the sight of him, hard and motionless just because I said so, lit something inside me I didn’t recognize. A flicker of dark power. Of curiosity. Of need.

It shocked me how much I enjoyed it.

His hand dropped from his cock, but the tension in his body didn’t ease. If anything, it coiled tighter.

“Touch me.” I barely recognized the sound of my voice.

His brows lifted slightly. “Where, Wildfire?”

The pet name melted through me like warm honey, making my stomach flip. “My breasts.”

Rook moved slowly, deliberately. His hands came to rest on the curve of my ribs, and I felt the heat of them through the thin fabric of my cami. He didn’t rush. He slid his palms up, molding them over my breasts, learning their shape all over again.

My nipples hardened beneath the cotton. My breath hitched.

He made a low sound, full of longing. “Fuck, I missed having my hands on you.”

Dammit, I’d missed this, too.

Rook’s thumbs swept over the peaks of my nipples, pressing just enough to make me gasp. I arched into his touch, needing more.

“Take my top off,” I whispered. “I want your mouth on me.”

Rook growled his appreciation, as though my words had granted an unspoken wish. He curled his fingers into the hem of my cami, and the brush of his knuckles across my skin sent sparks skating up my spine.

He peeled the top over my head and tossed it aside. His gaze landed on my bare chest, and for a moment, he just looked.

“Christ, woman.” His voice came out hoarse. “I don’t deserve this, but I’m fucking taking it.”

Then he ducked his head. The first swipe of his tongue over my nipple stole the air from my lungs. He sucked it deep into his mouth, groaning against my skin. His stubble scraped deliciously along the swell of my breast. One hand cradled my back to keep me steady; the other kneaded gently as he moved from side to side, lavishing me with his tongue, his lips, his teeth.

I hissed when he sucked one nipple hard and pinched the other with equal pressure. Pleasure lanced through me, and I clutched his hair, anchoring him close. I whimpered, the sound feral and real and so far from the control I’d thought I was clinging to.

And the worst part? I didn’t care.

I didn’t want to stop. I didn’t want to think.

I just wanted more.

I tipped his face up toward mine. “Take off the rest of my clothes.”

He dropped to one knee without a word and unzipped my boots with care. When both clunked to the floor, his hands found the waistband of my leggings.

I lifted my ass so he could peel them down slowly, with his knuckles grazing my thighs on the way. Then came my panties, dragged off with just as much unhurried focus.

When that last piece slipped away, Rook knelt back to admire his work. His palms rested on my calves, and I could feel every callus, every warm touchof skin.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he said, voice rough and deep, his gaze sweeping over me as if memorizing the sight of every inch he’d uncovered.