Page 18

I slide the lace up and out of the way, exposing her breasts to the cool air and my burning gaze.

She gasps, a sharp, breathy sound, but her eyes never leave mine.

She doesn’t flinch or cover herself. She just breathes, heavy and fast, lips parted, cheeks flushed, her body caught between defiance and desire.

And God, she looks absolutely filthy.

She’s beautiful in the kind of way that makes men ruin their lives. Her skin is flushed, her nipples pink and already hard, tight with anticipation, and begging to be touched, but I don’t. Not yet.

I just look.

Because right now, the way she’s staring back at me, bare, breathless, and unashamed, is almost more than I can take.

“These breasts of yours,” I whisper, hovering my finger over her hard nipples, “I’m not touching them. Until you beg.”

She lets out a sharp breath. “I’m not begging.”

Without warning, I grind forward, my cock straining against my pants and pressing hard and unrelenting through her thin shorts. The friction is instant, electric. She gasps, loud and unguarded, her head tipping back against the window with a dull thud.

“Oh, you’ll beg,” I growl in her ear.

And then I start to move. Slowly. Torturously slow. My hips rolling into her with a rhythm just shy of relief. Enough to drive her wild. Not enough to let her fall.

She clutches the window railing tighter above her head, her knuckles going white again.

Her body arches instinctively, grinding against me with a need she won’t say out loud.

But I feel it. I feel every pulse of heat between her legs.

I also feel the dampness growing in her shorts, seeping through the fabric, and soaking into mine.

I stay fully clothed, every movement designed to frustrate, to tempt . Her breasts are still bare, beautiful, and flushed from the cool air and the heat building inside her. She’s breathless now, her chest rising and falling, her nipples tight and aching.

Unable to bear it any longer, I break my own rule. I lean down and take one nipple into my mouth.

She gasps again, louder this time, her body jolting as my tongue flicks across the sensitive peak, slow and deliberate. I suck, deep and possessive, then switch to the other nipple, letting my teeth graze her ever so slightly.

She moans, quietly at first, then desperately. Her hips start to move in rhythm with mine, grinding against the pressure and chasing the edge I’m keeping just out of reach.

She’s soaked now. I can feel her through the fabric, every roll of her hips sending sparks through both of us.

I thrust harder, still clothed, still controlled, but relentless. My hand grips her thigh, keeping her open for me. My other hand finally moves to cup one of her breasts, my thumb brushing over her slick, needy skin.

“You feel that?” I whisper against her chest. “That heat between us? You’re going to come just like this… still in those pretty little shorts.”

She bites her lower lip, hard, like she’s trying to hold something in but is losing the fight. Her body tenses, grinding into me with purpose now. Every roll of her hips is practiced, precise, and sinful.

And it’s working.

I can feel her legs tightening around my waist, her thighs quivering, her breath going ragged. Her mouth falls open, and I know, I know , she’s right there on the edge of coming. One more thrust, one more stroke, and she’ll be gone.

So naturally… I stop.

Just like that, I pull back and step away, letting her body fall still and twitching in my arms, unfinished and feral.

Because this girl… this gorgeous, reckless hurricane of a woman? She needs to be punished. And not in the way she wants. What better way to drive her mad than denying her the one thing she’s seconds from falling apart for?

It kills me, don’t get me wrong. Every part of me wants to bury itself inside her and watch her fall apart just for me. To hear those moans spill out with my name tangled in them. But I’ve got an ego, and she just challenged it with fire in her eyes and her hands all over my control panel.

Her gaze snaps up to mine, wild and seething. Her chest is heaving, her hands gripping the rail behind her like she might throttle me with it.

“What the fuck , Creed?” she groans, her voice raspy with frustration.

And God, it’s beautiful. The disbelief in her eyes and the way her lips part like she can’t decide whether to scream or demand more.

She didn’t see this coming. I set her down on her feet, and she wobbles a little before gaining balance. She lets go of the railing and pushes down her tank top. She didn’t expect me to walk away. And that, right there, is the best part.

I smirk, slow, unapologetic, and a little wicked.

“That’s your punishment for challenging me, Lyra,” I say, my voice low and smug.

She glares at me like she’s two seconds away from murder.

I only grin wider, taking a few slow steps back and savoring the fire in her eyes. She’s furious and gorgeous with it.

“I fucking hate you,” she growls, her voice low and venom-laced.

I chuckle, because honestly? I probably deserve that. I feel like a complete asshole… but I can’t bring myself to regret it.

“Sweet dreams, Lyra,” I say with a mock salute and a cocky smirk.

Then I turn, leave, and shut the door behind me, letting it click softly into place and leaving her there, seething, aching, and unfinished.

Just the way I planned.