To something. To someone.
“I don’t really know what you would do, do I, Stygian?” Her breathing was suddenly rough, heavy.
The need to know if Isabelle had been right about a Breed’s kiss being addictive was suddenly overwhelming. If not addictive, then what about the aphrodisiac it was supposed to contain?
She licked her lips, suddenly desperate for the answer.
“No male Breed pawed through your clothing, your silk, or your gowns,” he snarled down at her. “Ashley chose each piece and she alone packed it before the Breed who drove her back to the house returned her to the hotel. Never, ever, Liza”—his lips were so close to hers now that she swore she could almost feel them against hers—“would I allow another man to touch what you would wear so intimately against your flesh.”
Breathing was a chore. Her chest was so tight with the need to hold back the moan rising inside it that she felt light-headed from the battle. Every second that she felt the heat of his chest sinking past their clothing to the sensitive, peaked hardness of her nipples, she could feel the flesh between her thighs growing wetter.
She wanted him.
She had never wanted a man in her life. She had thought that part of herself must have surely died in the wreck when she was fifteen. Before then, there had been very little interest in the opposite sex. Afterward, there had been none.
Until Stygian.
“I hate this,” she suddenly whispered as her fingers curled against the powerful muscles of his chest, desperate to keep herself from ripping at his body.
“Hate what?” His free hand cupped her face, his thumb brushing against the plump curve of her lower lip then.
Oh, he knew what. She could see it in the sudden intensity of his gaze, feel it whipping through the air between them and torturing them both with the hungry need for it.
As her tongue swiped over the painful dryness of her lips, it licked over the tip of his thumb. The sudden, explosive taste of salty male flesh rushed through her senses, overtaking them for one destructive second.
“I’ve never wanted—” Her breathing hitched painfully. “I never wanted this, Stygian. I didn’t want to be torn apart like this. To be destroyed by something I couldn’t control or teased by a man who’s far too aware of my weaknesses.”
She couldn’t bear it. To be played with. To ache and to want, to hunger for something and have no name to give to what she hungered for.
To her, it was the worst possible tease.
“Tease you?” His voice was suddenly rougher, grating as he wrapped one arm around her back and pulled her closer. “I’d never tease you, Liza. I promise, I’m entirely, wholeheartedly serious about this. About you.”
His head lowered and his lips touched hers.
She was shaking. Like a leaf in the storm and any other cliché that slipped through her suddenly too-alert brain.
Shudders of reaction began tearing through her as her lips parted and his settled more firmly against them, opening them, owning them.
His tongue swiped over her lips, flicked past them and licked over her tongue.
Suddenly, she knew what Isabelle had meant. His kiss was like a summer rainstorm, lightning and thunder chaos clamoring through her system as the taste of summer heat rushed through her senses.
His lips slanted over hers, his hands pulling her closer as the feel of his erection pressing against her stomach had her tilting her hips and arching to meet him.
Blood thundered through her veins, the fiery need spreading through her body, clamoring for more, burning away any objections she could have made.
Desire burned through her in ways she couldn’t have anticipated. It sizzled across her flesh, sensitizing it, creating a receptive base for each touch he should deign to stroke across it.
And she wanted each touch.
His tongue flicked across her lips, teasing and heating them. She licked against it, loving that wild, stormy taste. Then it sank between her lips once again, giving her only seconds to close her lips over it, to contain the taste filling her system before it retreated once again.
Oh God, the pleasure was exquisite.
Her nipples hardened furiously. The pressure of her bra against the sensitive tips was almost agony, so she took it off.
It wasn’t the fabric she wanted touching her. It was his hands, his fingers. She wanted the feel of his flesh against hers creating that roughened, electric pulse of sensations that raced across her skin.
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 breasts 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.