He dropped to his knees.
My breath hitched. “Xavier...”
He ignored me. His large, warm palms settled on my hips, fingers digging in slightly, claiming the skin there. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the scar on my knee, the one from the ice yesterday.
Then he moved up.
Slowly. Agonizingly slowly.
His mouth trailed over my thigh, hot and wet. He wasn’t rushing toward the destination. He was worshipping the journey. He kissed a bruise on my hip. He turned his face into the soft skin of my stomach, inhaling deeply, stubble scratching a delicious friction against me.
“Xavier,” I gasped, tangling my fingers in his dark blond hair. “Please. I need you to... I need distraction, damn it.”
He paused, meeting my gaze from his knees. A ghost of a smirk touched his lips.
“No.”
He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of my panties and dragged them down.
I stepped out of them, shivering, completely exposed in the dim light of the room. I reached for him, trying to pull him up, trying to get him to the bed where we could finish this.
He resisted. Instead, he tightened his grip on my hips and urged my legs apart.
“Wait.”
Then his tongue swirled against my clit.
My knees buckled. If he hadn’t been holding me, I would have hit the floor.
It was too slow. It was plenty intense, but the pace was torture. I wanted to sprint; he was forcing me to walk. He licked a long, broad stripe from my entrance up to my hood, savoring the taste of me like a starving man finding a feast, but refusing to gorge himself.
He teased. He nipped. He sucked gently, then pulled away just as the pressure started to build toward something release-worthy.
“Xavier!” I cried out, head falling back. “Stop teasing. Please.”
I felt the vibration of his hum against my inner thigh. He didn’t speed up. He slowed down further.
He used his nose to nudge my folds apart, breathing hot air against the most sensitive nerves in my body. Then his tongue returned, focused, relentless, and maddeningly precise. He found the rhythm that made my breath turn into sobbing gasps, the specific pressure that made my hips jerk forward to meet him.
He was cataloging me. Learning the exact map of my pleasure.
I gripped his shoulders, nails digging in. I watched this lethal, broken man on his knees for me. The scars on his back, the ones Dresner gave him, the ones from the alley, stood out in the shadows. He looked like a weapon. He touched like a prayer.
“Please,” I whimpered, the desperation shifting from fear to pure, unadulterated need. “Xavier, I can’t... I need to come.”
He pulled back. Just an inch. Just enough to leave me cold and whining.
He stood up, body unfolding with that terrifying, fluid grace that betrayed his training. He scooped me up into his arms before I could protest.
I wrapped my legs around his waist, burying my face in the crook of his neck. He smelled like soap and male sweat and the metallic tang of ozone that always seemed to cling to him.
He carried me to the bed and laid me down on the mattress. The springs creaked under our weight as he settled between my legs.
He didn’t enter me immediately. Of course he didn’t.
He braced himself on his forearms, framing my head, and studied me. Heaving with the effort of restraint. Pupils blown wide, swallowing the green, leaving only thin rings of color.
“Clare.”
