She ached for it.
She had to get closer.
Twining her arms around his neck, she arched to him, and still it wasn’t enough.
“I can’t touch you like this,” she whimpered, pulling at his shirt as he released her lips for only a second. “I need to touch you more, Stygian.”
So much for not being that kind of girl.
At least she only wanted to be a sex slave for this man.
And oh yes, she could handle sex slave.
For a night or two, anyway.
For a lifetime or two, definitely.
“Oh.” Her eyes flew open as she felt his hand push beneath her shirt, the calloused, roughened flesh stroking up her back. “I like that.”
No, she loved it.
She arched into his touch, her lashes drifting closed as his hand stroked back down, curved around her hip then moved up her midriff, her rib cage—
Opening her eyes, a ragged breath of air tore from her lungs as his palm cupped the swollen mound of her breast.
Why her hand was suddenly gripping his wrist, she wasn’t certain.
She looked down to where her fingers curled over his powerful wrist, her flesh much paler than his, the feel of those invisible hairs beneath softening its toughness.
Breathing hard, barely able to draw in enough oxygen, she lifted her gaze to his once again. Liza pressed his hand more firmly against the curve of her breast. Still watching him, she let her own thumb stroke over the tight, hardened point of her nipple.
Oh, that was good.
Letting her lashes drift closed once more, feeling the caress of his gaze where her hand lay over his, she let her thumb rub against the sensitized peak as he watched.
His breathing grew heavier, the heat against her flesh seemed searing. The hunger rising inside her was suddenly clamoring to take more sensation, to amplify it and torture them both with a need she was finding impossible to deny.
Drawing her thumb back, a moan drifting past her lips, Liza was prepared to stroke the needy little nubbin again when suddenly, Stygian took control of the caress.
With thumb and forefinger, he gripped the tip and rolled it between them, then let his lips brush against her jaw.
“Get rid of this shirt.”
Staring up at him as he used his free hand to tug at her shirt, Liza loosened her hold on his neck to grip the hem and pull it over her head.
Oh, sweet Heaven.
A brutal, ecstatic heat surrounded her nipple before the shirt fell to the floor.
The pressure of his thumb and forefinger around the tip increased, milking the sensitive flesh and torturing nerve endings that suddenly burned in an ecstatic quest for more.
Oh God, oh God, wasn’t that just like a Breed, taking advantage—
With her body arched back, her br**sts pushed forward and high, Stygian lowered his head and immediately sucked the painfully sensitive tip into his mouth.
The cry that tore from her lips shocked her.
The speed at which her hands buried in his hair, clenched in the strands and tried to pull him closer astounded her.
As his tongue lashed at the pebbled hardness, Liza flinched with pleasure, shuddering in his arms as tremulous cries left her lips.
Her nipple felt brutally hot. Too sensitive. The pleasure flaying the tip with merciless strokes tore through her senses and jerked her into a realm of such pleasure she felt tortured by it.
“Oh yes, Stygian, please. Yes,” she moaned, her head tipping back, her aching pu**y rubbing against the hard muscle of his thigh as her hips tilted to him.
As he lifted her closer, his hard thigh pushed further between hers as he pulled her hips down to it and moved rhythmically against the sensitive, wet flesh. Even through the soft cotton of her pants she could feel the rasp of his jeans, the fiery warmth of his flesh and she wanted more. So very much more.
She felt so empty.
She swore she had never actually felt the inner flesh of her sex and the loneliness it felt. But she felt it now. It clenched and tightened and the slick layer of juices eased from it, creating a teasing friction that only amplified the need for more.
Plumping the firm flesh of her breast with his fingers, Stygian worked the agonizingly tight peak of her nipple with his tongue. Rolling it over the sensitive flesh, flicking the tip of his tongue against it, laving it, rubbing the side of his tongue over the pebbled hardness as it grew increasingly tender. It ached, the hard flesh demanded—
“Please.” Her fingers buried in his hair. “Oh God, what are you doing to me?”
His head lifted.
“Don’t stop.” Eyes flaring open in shock, she stared up at him as she watched him jerk his shirt off.
Tight, hard abs flexed. The muscles of his chest rippled as his hair flowed around his shoulders.
His blue-black gaze was piercing, filled with a demand that her body was responding to with incredible force.
“Do we stop this now, or do we finish it, Liza?” His voice sounded tormented.
“Stop?” Shock filled her. “Do I act like I want to stop, Stygian?”
What the hell was wrong with him?
What happened to a man taking what was offered and just running off the next morning rather than asking questions before he ever managed to get a woman into his bed?
“I don’t want your regrets in the morning,” he stated, his tone rough.
She had to curl her hands into fists to keep from touching him.
All that tough-looking, prime, muscular male flesh did nothing but tempt her fingers and her lips to explore, to kiss.
A sharp shake of her head was a mistake. Allowing him to pause, to speak, to be the man he was, was definitely a mistake.
Because now, all she could think was, what the hell was she doing?
She could taste him on her tongue, even now, as the feel of his kiss should have been easing from her lips. Yet it wasn’t. It was still there, the sensitive curves still swollen and aching for more.
“Don’t,” she whispered, suddenly overwhelmed by an emotion she didn’t recognize or understand. “Don’t do that, Stygian. Don’t make me choose like this.”
“Our tomorrows mean too much to me, Liza.”
“Bullshit!” Anger shot through her as she jerked out of his arms, confronting him furiously. “Do you think I don’t know a play for control when I see one? God, just take it and stop talking.”
She could barely breathe now for the emotions surging through her, for the hunger and the aching need for the return of his touch.
Oh, she wasn’t having this.