“You know I do,” he murmured.
“Let me make you feel good,” she whispered, gracefully sinking to her knees in front of him. She held his gaze and pressed a kiss to the scar on his thigh. Then she reached for the waistband of his shorts.
Rush swallowed hard.
She tugged his shorts down, her knuckles brushing his belly. Her breasts were level with his thighs, the soft weight of them brushing against him, taunting him, every time she leaned closer to tug them off.
Rush gripped the arms of the chair, fighting the urge to take back control, to pick her up and bend her over the dresser and fuck her hard, the way he knew they both liked. He concentrated on his breathing instead.
What the fuck did she say when she wanted to focus?I am a still lake?
It didn’t work.
She moved closer then closer still, her lips curved as if she liked what she saw on his face. Her lips grazed his collarbone, pressing soft kisses there and then slowly, so damn slowly, down his chest, teasing his nipples with gentle strokes. “You deserve that,” she said huskily, “to feel good.”
Her red hair trailed over his thighs, her mouth skimmed his stomach, and his whole body went taut. He was hard as a steel pike now, aching, every nerve stretched thin. Gently, she fondled his balls, tracing the seam there, and rolling them lightly between her long fingers before leaning down to nuzzle them. He spread his legs farther apart and gripped the sides of thebench, fighting the instinct to drag her up on his lap and take back control.
She didn’t give him a chance. In one fluid motion, she rose, stepping between his thighs, and his cock jerked painfully at the sight of her naked body, her pussy flushed and glistening with arousal. Her clit was a hard nub, peeking out and begging for him to touch, to taste and lose himself in her sweetness. He leaned forward, intent on doing just that.
“No,” she said, backing away. Her fingers trailed down, circling her clit in slow, lazy strokes as his breath caught and held. “You took care of me so well,” she whispered. “Now it’s my turn.”
“Lily,” he ground out. “Come here and let me lick that pretty pussy.”
Her face went slack with desire, but then she doubled down, shaking her head. “Later,” she promised. “Now I want to ride you. Make you feel so good.”
His cock jerked hard, leaking and desperate for relief. She took mercy on him and climbed onto his lap, but when he took her hips in hand, ready to drive her down, she caught his wrists and pinned them to the edge of the bench.
“Let me,” she whispered, and fuck if he could deny her anything when she looked at him like that.
She gripped his cock and guided him to her slick entrance. Then, with a slow, deliberate roll of her hips, she sank down onto him, inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt. Her body stretched to take him, their gazes locked. The sight of her red curls against the stark black of his pubic hair was so erotic his vision went white around the edges. Every muscle strained, trembling from the effort of holding still, of not ripping his wrists free of her grip and driving into her like his body screamed for.
She seemed to sense that he was at his limit and set a pacethat was firm and maddening in its control. Slow. Deep. Relentless. He tried to thrust up into her, to set the rhythm faster, but she shook her head and pressed his wrists down tighter.
“Oh, fuck,” he choked, his voice coming embarrassingly close to breaking. “Fuck me harder, Lily.” He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to find some shred of control.
“Look at me,” she whispered again, letting go of his wrist to cup his jaw, tilting his face until his gaze locked with hers. “I’ve got you.”
He did… and it was too much. Every roll of her hips stripped him bare, leaving him helpless under her as she rode him, forcing him to feel every second of it.
Her green eyes were soft, unflinching. There was no hiding here, even if he tried. She saw him—all of him—and she didn’t flinch.
Rush’s chest ached, his control splintering with every slow roll of her hips. “Lily… what are you doing to me?” His voice cracked, a rasp dragged from deep in his chest.
She leaned down, her forehead brushing his, her lips grazing his ear as she whispered, fierce and gentle all at once, “I want you exactly the way you are.”
God. She undid him. He came with a guttural groan, shuddering hard, spilling into her slick heat as she held him, her eyes never leaving his as she ground herself against him.
She followed seconds later, clinging to him, trembling around him as she came apart in his arms.
Rush closed his eyes and tried to catch his breath. He wrapped his arms tight around Lily as she curled against his chest and buried his face in her hair, inhaling her clean, sweet scent.
His hand wandered, slower now, reverent instead of greedy. He traced the outline of her ribs, felt the fragile rise and fall of her breathing, automatically checking for wheezing. Down, overthe soft skin of her stomach. Flat now, but his palm lingered there, and an image of Lily, round and full with his baby, took shape.
The vision gutted him. Primitive desire roared through him, so strong his arms tightened around her. His woman. His baby. A family he could almost see if he let himself.
Fear chased the thought almost immediately. He wasn’t built for that. Not after what he’d failed to save. The hunger twisted into terror until his hands shook, and he moved them back to her ribs.
Control had always been his anchor. In boot camp, he’d learned early that discomfort—physical or mental—wasn’t something you felt; it was something you shut down. Pain, fear, exhaustion—none of it mattered if you could lock it in a box. He took orders, held the line, and ruthlessly blocked out anything that got in the way.
