“Oh yes, Stygian, please. Yes,” she moaned, her head tipping back, her aching pussy 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.
She wanted him. She wanted him until it was all she could do not to throw herself back into his arms. But as he stood there staring at her, his expression dominant, full of arrogance, she just wanted to kick him instead.
Jerking her shirt from the bed, she pulled it over her head furiously.
“‘Our tomorrows mean too much to me,’” she mocked him, her hands moving to her hips as she cocked one hip and faced him with such a surge of antagonism that she could barely breathe for it. “For God’s sake, Stygian, if tomorrow meant so damned much to you, then you would have kept your mouth shut and just fucked me while you had the chance.”
“Like any other man would have done?” His arms crossed over his chest, and for just a second, she hated him for the fact that he wasn’t holding her. That he was blocking the heat she swore she was going to freeze without.
“Well, yeah, pretty much,” she snapped back at him. “What do you want from me? Do I have to make you a few promises first? I thought that was your job? Come, Stygian, give me the empty promises, get me off, then leave me the hell alone.”
Her father had always warned her that her smart mouth was going to end up costing her something she didn’t want to lose.
It was her temper, she’d reminded him. A temper she’d gotten from him, so he really couldn’t blame her.
But at the moment, she had a feeling it was going to end up costing her the night she’d really wanted to spend in this Breed’s bed. Just one night to go crazy in his arms, maybe sleep there for a bit, go crazy with him again, then face the reality she wanted only to hide from tonight.
“Do you believe that’s all this means to me?” he asked, his expression savage as he watched her, his gaze beginning to glitter with anger. “A one-night stand with a woman that means nothing? Is that all it is to you, Liza? A few hours you can forget when reality returns and a man that will be content to just disappear from your life?”
“Can I get that lucky?” God no, that wasn’t what she wanted, but still, the words burst from her lips before she could control them.
“After that kiss?” The hard, triumphant smile that curled his lips had her heart stopping in her chest.
It was a reminder. She’d wanted the truth of mating before he kissed her, right? So what had she been doing accosting him?
Breathing rough, the need for oxygen suddenly slamming inside her, Liza stared up at him, the temper that had always been her downfall exploding at the satisfaction she glimpsed in his eyes.
“After that kiss?” she exclaimed furiously. “Sorry, Breed, but maybe it’s not as damned powerful as you were hoping it was. I guess I have my answer. Those tabloids are full of shit.”
Swinging around, she made for the bathroom with the intent of locking herself in and taking the coldest shower possible.
She had taken maybe two steps—counting them wasn’t high on her list of priorities—when in the next breath, she was back flat against the wall and staring up at him as the first tear slid slowly from the corner of one eye.
Oh God, she hated crying. She never cried in front of anyone, and crying in front of him was just humiliating.
He was so strong, so dominant and determined. She wanted to be strong in his eyes as well.
Tears were not a sign of strength, thank you very much.
“Just let me go.” Rough, those damnable tears rasping at her throat, Liza tried to look away and hold back that pain.
Meeting his gaze was the hardest thing she had done in recent memory, but she forced herself to anyway. She met his gaze and swore if she saw pity there, she was going to slam her knee straight into his balls.
His lips quirked. “The scent of your sweet pussy weeping for me only just slightly overshadows your hunger to do me harm, Liza.”
Forcing the sneer to curl her lip and fight back her tears took everything she had. “Why not just call me ‘mate.’ That’s what Malachi calls Isabelle. And we both know that’s why my mouth is watering for your kiss almost as bad as my pussy is creaming for your dick.”
Vulgar, meant to be insulting. It might have been just that if it weren’t for the husky, phone-sex tone of her voice. And she might have felt just a smidgen of shame if his eyes hadn’t suddenly dilated in pure, undiluted lust as a primitive, animalistic growl rumbled in his chest.
If they had been close before, a second later it wouldn’t be possible for a breath of air to slide between their hips as his hands clamped on her rear, lifted her, and in one smooth move had her thighs spread, her knees clamping on his hips as he ground his erection, hard, into the vee of her thighs.