I nod.
“Then what if I’m asking?” The words settle in my chest like fire and thunder. I reach for her slowly, giving her time to change her mind, but she doesn’t move. She leans into me. Her mouth just barely grazing mine. Her whisper like smoke. “Make me forget all this, Damian.”
And just like that, I’m gone. My hands are on her face, cupping her jaw, and I’m rising up on my knees to loom over her,close enough to feel her breath catch between us. “You need to say the words, Angel,” I murmur, voice low, thick. “Tell me.”
Her lips part. “Touch me.”
I shake my head, my mouth brushing her cheek as I whisper, “Those aren't the words I want.”
Her brows pinch, confused, flustered. I let go of her face and sit back, folding my arms across my chest like I’ve got all the time in the goddamn world. I don’t—but I want to see what she does next.
And fuck, she delivers.
That fire lights behind her eyes. Not confusion. Not hesitation. Pure attitude. She calls my bluff with a little huff, grabs the hem of her shirt, and yanks it over her head like she’s ripping off a bandage. Her breasts spill free—perfect, perky tear-shaped tits with soft, pink nipples that pebble the second the cool air hits them. My throat works. My cock twitches. But I don’t dare touch her. “Still not touching you, Lo,” I say through my teeth, jaw locked so tight it hurts. “Not until you tell me.”
Her eyes narrow. She’s not used to me playing this game. I see it—the flicker of challenge, the flush creeping up her chest, the way her legs shift just enough to make me insane. Then she rises up on her knees, hips rolling as she slips her fingers under the waistband of those sheer black panties. Inch by slow inch, she peels them down her hips, over those thighs I dream about, until they’re caught around her ankles. She lifts both legs in the air like a goddamn goddess, slides them off, and tosses the delicate scrap of lace at me.
It hits my chest and falls to my lap.
She smirks. “How about now?”
My control almost snaps. “The words, Lo,” I say again, voice like gravel, heavy with restraint. “Give me the words I want to hear.”
She leans back on her hands, chin tilted, that wicked gleam flickering bright in her eyes. Bold. Brazen. My troublemaker in every sense of the word. Then she spreads her legs for me. My breath turns sharp in my chest.
She’s slick, pink, bare—soaked and aching, on full display. Her fingers drift lower, teasing me. I watch, jaw clenched, every muscle in my body pulled tight like trip wire. When she touches herself, I nearly lose it. She moans softly, circling her clit, then slipping two fingers inside. “And now?” she whispers, voice all smoke and sin. Her fingers move, her body arching, and I swear I feel it like it’s happening inside me.
“You play dirty, Angel,” I grit out, eyes locked on hers. “But you still haven’t said the right words.”
She knows exactly what she’s doing. My cock’s already hard—painfully so—and I reach inside my waistband, wrapping my fingers around the base just to keep from losing my goddamn mind. I don’t stroke it though. I just hold myself, heart hammering, as I wait her out. Because I need to hear it. I need her to give in with words, not just her body. That’s the deal. And I’m not letting her out of it.
Her fingers move faster now, and the sound of her breath turns ragged, matching the rhythm of her hand. “You’re going to make me come by myself then,” she whispers, challenge curling through every word.
I pull my cock out and grip it tighter, start stroking myself slowly, as I watch her fingers move. “Oh, Angel,” I murmur, voice low and rough, “I could come just like this. Watching you play with yourself for me. But I still won’t touch you. Not until you tell me what I want to hear.”
She freezes. The sound of her breath catches in the stillness. Then her fingers slide out of her slick heat, and she crawls across the bed toward me, naked, beautiful, wild. She doesn’t stop until she’s between my legs, her hands on my thighs, her lips justinches from where I’m barely holding on. She looks up at me through dark lashes, a smirk playing on her mouth like she’s got all the power in the world.
Her voice is pure temptation when she asks, “What exactly do you need to hear? Refresh my memory.” Then her tongue is on me, circling its wet heat around the tip of my cock.
I lean in, fist still tight around the base of my shaft, heart pounding so loud it drowns out everything else. I cup her jaw, thumb brushing her cheek.
“I need to hear you say what you are to me,” I say, slow and deadly serious. “I need you to know you’re my everything.”
Her expression shifts. And for one sharp second, I think she might back away.
“Say it, Lo. Say what you are to me,” I breathe. “Because you’re not just mine—you’re the reason I breathe. You’re the only damn thing keeping me human.”
“You love me,” she whispers, her breath warm against my skin.
“Say you’re my everything.”
“I’m your everything.” Her voice barely leaves her lips, but it punches through my chest like a fist.
Something inside me breaks open. I move. Fast. Grabbing her by the waist and hauling her into my lap. Her thighs straddle mine, soft and strong, and her body melts into me like she was built to fit there. My hands grip her ass, my mouth crashing into hers, desperate, starved. I kiss her like she’s oxygen, like I’ve been holding my breath for years. Like this might be the last time.
She moans into my mouth and rocks her hips, and I feel it—her need, her want, her matching fire. Every inch of her is saying yes. Saying mine.
“I love you,” I growl against her skin. “Say it again.”
