Page 122 of Lethal Torture

That name again.

His eyes narrow when I gasp softly. “Ha,” he says. “You like it when I call you that, don’t you?”

“No.”

“Yes, you do.” He grins. “Your fingers give you away every time. Speaking of fingers.” His grin turns dirty again. “I want to see yours do the walking.”

I inhale sharply. “You can’t be serious.”

He just tilts his head in answer.

“Luke!” I protest, coloring. “It’s the middle of the city—”

“And nobody can see a damned thing through these windows.” He raises his eyebrows at me again. “You know you can’t wait. You’re so close to coming I can taste you on my mouth.”

“Oh,” I gasp as he pulls up at a set of lights.

“Show me.” He stares at me in the mirror, daring me to disobey him. “Show me exactly what you want right now.”

“I want you.”

“Uh-huh.” He laughs softly, without humor. “Driving, princess. Even I can’t fuck and drive at the same time. So show me.”

Darkness swirls between us, sudden and potent.

“Fucking show me.” He says it in a low, hard voice that makes my head go back and my legs fall apart.

My hands slide slowly up my thighs. My eyes on his in the mirror, I slowly spread myself apart.

Luke inhales sharply. “Fuck, you’re swollen.” He drives with tight precision, his eyes flicking from the mirror to the road.

Emboldened by the alcohol and some dark impulse, I slide one finger over my clit, my eyes on his in the mirror. “I want your mouth on me.”

I see the sudden flare of hard lust in his eyes. “If I stop this car,” he says roughly, “I won’t be able to stop at all.”

“You asked for this.” Imagining his cock straining against his trousers makes me even wetter, and I dip the finger inside me, gasping softly.

“Fuck,” Luke mutters.

I’m so hot and wet I know I can’t wait, the weight of Luke’s eyes driving me to the brink faster than any vibrator could. I draw the wetness from inside me up to my pulsing clit, gaspingas Luke’s eyes narrow and darken in the mirror. We pull up to a set of traffic lights, and his eyes fix on the place between my legs.

The dark edge he always rouses in me finds a voice. “Tell me how hard you are.”

“You know how fucking hard I am.” His voice is low and rough.

“Oh,” I moan, my head going back against the seat as my fingers slip inside again. “I want you to tell me.”

“I know what you want.” My eyes snap open to find him watching me with the fierce, hard control of that first night back in the Quartier, the iron edge of discipline that just fucking undoes me. Only his low voice betrays the savage growling for release. “You want my tongue,” he says slowly, and just watching his mouth form the word makes me moan weakly, my legs spreading impossibly wide. “You want me to lick you slowly, until you’re so swollen you’re desperate for more.”

“Fuck,” I gasp, my fingers increasing their pace.

“You want me to cover you with my mouth.” His voice is low and relentless, slipping into every part of my body like a spell, until I’m writhing on the seat. “And just hold it there, my tongue flat against your clit, until you’re arching against me.”

“Oh,” I moan, my head falling back against the seat. “Oh, God, Luke.”

“That’s what you always say.” His words drive me inexorably onward, toward the edge. “That’s how I know you need me inside you. Look at me, Zin.”

I open my eyes, barely able to raise my head, and find him staring at me in the mirror. I’m so close I just need him to say one more thing, and I’ll crash over the edge.