Wild Dirty Secret(74)

Frustration rolled off him in waves. Like a lion caught in a trap, he would pull and gnaw until he’d torn his paw off just to be free—maim himself to escape his demons.

“Of course,” I said. “Of course you should have.”

“I risked my cover. I put you in danger.” He vibrated with guilt.

It would tear him apart—guilt for his sister, for me. “I’m glad you asked about her. At least now you know for sure she was with Henri, right?”

“Yeah. I had suspected as much, but now I know for sure.” He pressed his lips to my temple. “You’re sweet.”

I laughed softly. “All I did was listen.”

“Always undervaluing yourself.”

“I assure you, my price is very high,” I said in a mocking voice. “Don’t assume that because I gave it to you for free that I’m cheap.”

“Hey.”

He turned me in his arms so that I faced him. When I wouldn’t look at him, he raised my chin. Solemn green eyes met mine.

“You honored me.”

My eyes burned; my throat tightened. I was seconds away from embarrassing myself. I kissed him, using my sexuality as a shield like I’d always done. He responded at once, taking the lead with his hand on the back of my neck, holding me open. His grip on me was implacable, inescapable, but his lips were infinitely gentle. He ran his tongue along my lips, soothing, calming, and it felt like gratitude. I hoped he did feel lighter, having shared his burden. I hoped he would slake any remaining tension with my body. All of it food for my ramshackle soul. To be wanted, needed—even adored. Men praised me, they used me, and so I found sustenance.

He deepened the kiss, grew rougher, more demanding.

“Come into the bedroom,” he said, both question and demand.

It didn’t matter. Anything, always. “Yes.”





Chapter Nineteen





We tumbled together, bare skin against abrasive ruffles, naked bodies to streaming sunlight. Playfully, I pulled away. He pounced, trapping me beneath his. I lay my cheek against the bed in surrender.

“Stay,” he said. His weight lifted, but I felt the light pressure of his hand on the small of my back.

I remained bent over the bed, with my feet touching the floor and my face turned into the sheets. Cool air brushed my backside, and I knew he was watching me. I had very few qualms about my body. My waist was slim, and the five pounds I’d gained in the past year went straight to my hips. My skin was waxed and shaved with careful precision, and I had a small blue vein running down my left thigh. I couldn’t shake the nervousness about what he thought. I already knew I turned him on; shouldn’t that be enough? But this was Luke.

Nervously, I shifted on the bed.

He hissed a breath. His hand on me moved lower, over the curve of my ass, down the sensitive stretch on my thigh. Between my thighs, I felt his hot breath. Probing, possessive fingers spread me open, exposed me to his tongue.

I moaned at the touch and ground myself against the bed. My thighs quivered as he spread them farther, reaching deeper.

His exploration was so careful, so slow. Far too slow. Not a manipulation but a lesson, as if he was learning what I liked and where I liked it. It should have felt clinical, but instead my arousal reached a fever pitch. Being desired by a man who knew me inside as well as out, being helpless to a man who would never hurt me. It was foreign—and addictive. I wanted to lie open to his emerald gaze, to his careful fingers, to his sweetly curling tongue until eternity. I wanted to shake and cry out and come against his mouth forever. And then I couldn’t want anymore, couldn’t think at all—just feel. Oh God, the things I felt. There was anguish and ecstasy; there was anger and a sublime sense of connection.

The tear of foil pierced my haze, but I didn’t move, not until he turned me over. I spread my legs, eager and hopeful. He entered me in a smooth, painless thrust. A gasp escaped me at the shock of being filled, at the pure joy of being filled by him. His answering groan sent shivers down my arms.

We moved together in an ancient dance, a universal rhythm—one I had done a hundred times, more, and each one had been a sham. A parody of this act and this intimacy. I hooked my legs around him, pulling him closer, forcing him deeper. His lips found mine with no hesitation this time. He was joined to me at every point—my mouth, my sex, the hard planes of his chest against my breasts, and still it wasn’t enough. I scrabbled at his back, desperate and clawing, like some sort of wild sex animal, and he responded in kind, shoving his hand into my hair, holding down my hip, and growling a low sound of approval into my mouth. I spasmed and clenched around his cock, coming countless times, my orgasms bleeding together to form one long litany of sensual rapture.