My heart was racing when he leaned down and kissed me. It was slow, deep, and full of everything we couldn’t say out loud.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine. “No regrets,” he murmured.
I closed my eyes. “No regrets.”
Even if this was the most taboo thing I’d ever wanted.
Chapter Eight
Lila
Every creak of the old floorboards sounded louder than it should have. It was the kind of quiet that amplified every small sound. I could hear the tick of the hallway clock, the hum of the fan, and the soft rush of my own breathing.
I lay wide awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, body still humming from earlier that evening. Sucking my former stepfather’s cock still played through my head.
He’d fucked my throat until he spilled down it, growled my name like a curse, then sent me upstairs aching and denied.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
I slipped out of bed barefoot, wearing nothing but the oversized T-shirt I’d stolen from his drawer days ago. It smelled like him, like sawdust, soap, and that dark masculine musk that made my core clench every time I breathed it in.
The hallway was dark as I padded silently past the stairs, heart hammering so loud I was sure it would wake the entire neighborhood.
His bedroom door was cracked open, just enough for moonlight to spill across the floorboards. I pushed it wider and stepped inside.
He lay on his back in the middle of the bed, one arm behind his head, sheets pooled at his waist. The faint silver of moonlight carved shadows across his bare chest, highlighting the hard planes of muscle and the dark trail of hair disappearing beneath the sheet.
And he was awake, his eyes open and locked right on me.
He didn’t speak, so I closed the door behind me with a soft click.
“Lila,” he said, voice low and rough from sleep or maybe restraint.
I didn’t respond as I stepped closer. “I can’t stay away.”
He sat up slowly, sheets sliding lower, revealing the thick ridge of his erection straining against his black boxer briefs. My mouth watered at the sight.
“You shouldn’t be in here,” he growled, but he was already reaching for me.
I climbed onto the bed, straddling his waist. His hands immediately gripped my hips, rough palms sliding under the hem of the T-shirt to find bare skin. He yanked the shirt over my head in one swift motion, tossing it aside.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathed, eyes raking over my naked body. “Look at you.”
He pulled me down hard, our mouths crashing together. The kiss was filthy… teeth and tongue and desperation. His hands roamed everywhere, starting at my breasts, moving down to my waist and ass, claiming every inch like he’d been starving for it.
He broke away long enough to growl against my throat, “This is so wrong, but I can’t stop wanting you.”
Then he reached for the nightstand, pulling his leather belt from the loop of jeans he’d left there. My pulse spiked.
“Hands,” he ordered.
I obeyed instantly, offering my wrists. He looped the belt around them, cinched it tight but not enough to hurt. It was just enough to remind me I was his. And at his mercy.
He secured the other end to the headboard, stretching my arms above my head, leaving me exposed and helpless beneath him.
“Perfect,” he murmured, voice dark with hunger.
He kissed down my body, teeth grazing my collarbone, tongue flicking over each nipple until they were hard peaks. When he reached my stomach, he spread my thighs wide with his shoulders, hooked my legs over them, and buried his face between my legs.
