A quiet beep sounded, a flash of red beneath his shirt from that awful metal circle.
He groaned as if he’d been given another dose of fire. His skin blazed hotter than I expected, fever-warm, his thick ink-black hair going instantly damp with perspiration.
The cords in his neck stood out as he gritted hard, staying perfectly still.
I kneaded small, gentle circles on his temples, trying to ignore my galloping pulse.
He growled—it sounded suspiciously like a groan while trying to hide that it felt good.
The tendons along his throat softened a fraction. His lashes fluttered against his cheeks.
Awkwardly, I tried to feather my fingers through his hair, but the angle was all wrong. Sitting beside him wouldn’t work. “Sorry,” I whispered, pulling my hands back. “Let me just—”
Before he could move, I darted behind the couch.
Whisper padded toward me, nudging my hip in curiosity.
Giving the panther a distracted smile, I leaned over the backrest and placed my fingers on his temples again.
Lucien jolted.
Touching him did things to me. Terrible, wonderful,wickedlyhot things.
Doing my best to breathe, I raked my fingertips through his hair, along his scalp, to the base of his skull.
A guttural grunt escaped him as he shuddered. His head lolled back against the couch, surrendering entirely to my hands. His reaction was so swift, so starved from pleasure, my heart flung itself up my throat.
He shuddered again as I massaged his nape. His fists unclenched, splaying open as if I’d successfully destroyed all his resistance.
“Good?” I asked softly.
He didn’t answer. He just let me keep going, his shoulders sinking deeper, his jaw unclenching with every stroke of my fingers. I worked my way down his neck, across the tight knots in his shoulders.
Another shuddery, raspy exhale escaped him.
My stomach squeezed, amazed he was going along with this and actually seeming to enjoy it.
“God, you’re like stone,” I murmured, kneading along his shoulder. My fingers drifted lower, pressing along the dip where his chest met his collarbones. His body jerked, a tremor running through him.
My fingers ached as I tried to deliver perfect pressure. I lost myself to the rhythmic stroking, working my way along his pectorals, avoiding the silver metal implanted over his heart.
I didn’t notice that with every pass of my hands, I tipped closer. Didn’t pay attention that as my touch went lower—hunting out all the spots that made him shiver and groan—my body folded deeper over his to reach.
I just kept touching him, trying to ease whatever misery he felt.
My hands drifted from his torso to his biceps, feathering down again to knead his forearms, cursing the glint of silver around his wrists.
Each time I connected the blood bags to drain him, I couldn’t find a way to undo those awful cuffs. Which betraying board member had locked them on him? Forever leaving access to his veins with no way for him to stop it?
Anger flowed through me. I massaged harder, working his tight arms, utterly consumed with chasing out the fire beneath his skin.
My cheek pressed to his as I folded—
His arm shot from beneath my hand and snapped up. His fingers locked around my nape, jerking me down.
“W-Wait!”
His eyes snapped open as his head turned to face me. Our noses brushed. Our breath mingled. He looked like a man wrenched out of a dream and dumped straight into a nightmare.
