He begins to move slowly backward without seeming to be aware he’s doing it. The backs of his knees hit the side of the mattress, and he sits down heavily. The tablet slips out of his fingers and bounces against the floorboards with a clattering sound that neither of us acknowledges.
He stares at me. The distance between us closes. My thigh slides between his. His hands come up to my hips. He grips me there, and I let him hold me…for about three seconds.
Then, my fingers grasp his wrists, and I lift his hands off me. I set them down on the bed at his sides, and I step back.
“I should probably go and get somebody else’s opinion, since you think I just look ‘pretty.’”
I turn around. Two strides toward the bedroom door are all I get before his hand closes around my arm. Not gently, either.
“Where,” Lucas breathes from just behind my shoulder, “do you think you are going dressed like that?”
I don’t turn around. “Violet’s room.” His grip on my arm tightens. “I want her opinion.”
“Darius is in there.”
I tilt my head innocently. “And?”
The bond between us spikes so violently, it steals the air from my lungs. A low, dangerous growl rumbles in Lucas’s chest, the sound vibrating straight through me.
Before I can take another breath, he yanks my arm and turns me around. My body collides hard against his chest. The impact knocks a soft gasp out of me, but it’s swallowed instantly as his other arm locks like steel around my lower back, crushing me to him.
His mouth crashes down on mine.
There is nothing tender about this kiss. It’s raw, starving, almost punishing. His tongue pushes past my lips, claiming my mouth with deep, demanding strokes that make my knees weak. I taste frustration, hunger, and almost two weeks of tightly leashed control finally snapping.
He lifts me clean off the floor without breaking the kiss. My legs instinctively wrap around his waist as he carries me the few steps to the bed. The moment my back hits the mattress, Lucas follows me down, his heavy body pressing me into the sheets. The hard length of his cock strains against his pants, grinding deliberately between my thighs.
I moan into his mouth.
He tears his lips away only to trail them down my jaw, teeth scraping over my pulse point before he sucks hard enough to leave a mark.
“You think you can tease me like that,” he growls against my throat, voice wild and dark, “and then walk away?”
His hand slides down my body possessively, fingers tracing the thin satin strap of the wine-colored bra before he hooks one finger underneath it and tugs slowly down my shoulder, exposing one breast to the cool air. His palm immediatelycovers it, squeezing, thumb brushing roughly over my already hardened nipple.
I arch into his touch, a shaky breath escaping me.
Lucas pulls back just enough to look down at me. His eyes are nearly black, pupils blown wide with lust. His gaze drags over the delicate satin barely clinging to my body, the little bows at my hips, the way the fabric has already shifted from our movements.
“Fuck, Sienna…” he breathes hoarsely. “You wore this for me?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer.
He pulls the ribbon at my left hip, and the bow comes undone with a soft whisper. Then the right side. He tugs the panties down just enough to bunch them at the top of my thighs, leaving me exposed but still half dressed in the expensive lingerie.
“Leave it like this,” he orders, voice low. “I like seeing my mate in satin I’m about to ruin.”
His hand moves between my legs without warning. Two thick fingers slide through my folds, and the moment he feels how soaked I already am, a deep, filthy groan leaves him.
“Fuck,” he mutters, almost to himself. “You’re dripping for me.”
His fingers circle my clit slowly, deliberately, spreading my wetness before dipping lower to push one finger inside me. Then another. He curls them expertly, stroking that sensitive spot with every slow thrust while his thumb keeps steady pressure on my clit.
I whimper, hips rolling up to meet his hand.
Lucas watches my face the entire time, eyes hooded and intense. “That’s it,” he murmurs. “Ride my fingers like a good girl.”
He keeps the pace torturously slow, building me higher and higher but never letting me tip over. Every time my breathingturns desperate and my walls start fluttering around him, he slows down or pulls back slightly, drawing a frustrated whine from my throat.
