Lachlan prowls up behind me, the top of my head barely cresting the bulge of one powerful shoulder. He’s solid heat at my back, hands tucked under his armpits. As if he’s waging an internal battle, his desire to look overriding his need to touch.
I know which side I’m backing. I think I can tip him over the edge.
I grab the hem of my shirt, and?—
“No.”
The command is short and sharp. When I catch his gaze in the mirror, the man staring back is different than the friend I’ve come to know. Harder. Rougher. Primal.
“When I want you undressed, I’ll do it myself.”
Callused fingertips caress my sides as he lifts the shirt over my head.
He’s seen me naked before—in that split second before I covered myself in the bathing chamber. That time, he averted his eyes, chivalrous to a fault.
This time, there’s no chivalry in his ravenous attention as it roves over my exposed breasts, my softly curved stomach. Heat rises everywhere he looks, and I curl fists at my sides, a breath away from begging him to put his hands on me.
“You’re a masterpiece,” he rumbles before he palms my stomach and pulls me against his chest, trailing his other hand gently across my collarbone. As if I am some fragile, precious thing.
It is not what I want.
Before I can express it, he cups the weight of my breast in his hand, then pinches my nipple so hard that I arch back into him. A shudder wracks my body, and my mouth pops open, but nosound comes out. I’ve never been particularly loud, even in the throes of passion.
“I love the way your breathing changes when you’re aroused,” he whispers into my ear. “You don’t make much noise. Aside from those tiny whimpers—which I love. No, I’ve got to pay very close attention to figure you out.”
He could slip into my mind to do it. So easily. But I think he likes the challenge of reading me naturally.
He’s cupping both my breasts now, tweaking my puffy nipples in a relentless wave of pinches, flicks, and pulls that has me writhing against him in exquisite agony. Better than any other time a man has touched me. And each time I jerk my hips, he grows harder against my lower back.
His lips graze my bare shoulder. “Your breasts are so sensitive. I could make you come with just a few more touches. Should I?”
I moan a lowplease, tipping the crown of my head against his rock-hard pectoral. The metal of his piercing presses into my scalp as I push my chest deeper into his hands.
There’s a low grunt of approval before he pinches my right nipple, then stretches it out so far, I cry, hovering on the razor-thin edge between pleasure and pain. He’s gently circling the left, gossamer light, and the contrast between the two sensations pulses heat between my thighs. My breathing goes shallow and, oh my god, he’s right, I think I’m about to?—
He stops. Laughs. “You think you’ve earned it yet?”
I whine pitifully, then angle my pelvis back against him, chasing any friction I can get.
“I said no.” He smacks my clit, a sharp tap that’s not nearly as hard as he’s capable of, but still stings. He’s talking to me like I’m a pet. A thing to be used. His to control. Itshouldbe degrading.
And I am unfathomably wet.
A splayed palm against my upper back bends me over until my forearms are propped on the vanity. Lachlan’s fingertips trail down my spine as I watch him in the mirror.
There’s a touch of reverence in his commanding expression as he caresses my ribs, my hips. He tucks his fingers into my waistband and rips my pants down—but doesn’t let me step out of them. The fabric pools around my ankles, restricting my movements.
He steps back for a moment, his deep blue eyes traveling over my ass and up my spine before meeting mine in the mirror. His stare holds me in place as he unlaces his trousers. They fall to the floor, briefly catching on his cock. Of course, it’s enormous. Beautiful. Rock-hard and curved slightly upward. I want to put my mouth on it. I want him to force me to.
He grips the base of his shaft, then runs his hand along the length, milking a glistening drop from the tip. I shudder out a whimper, and he smiles, then grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls me backward. The silky heat of him slides against my lower back, along with the brush of his knuckles as he continues to stroke himself.
“Is this what you wanted the other night?”
The noise that slips out of me couldn’t possibly be classified as words in any language. Not only is it hard to answer with my head tipped back, but the throbbing ache coursing through my body has halted all higher-level brain function. I am a being of pure need, pure want.
“You wanted me to fuck you in your tight little cunt? How many times did you make yourself come this week imagining it?”
He cups my sex from behind, coating his hand with my arousal before wrapping it around himself again, stroking faster. “I’ll bet I can guess, based on how wet you are. Was it more than five? More than ten?” A hard, glorious smack on my ass. “Use your fucking words, Charlotte.”
