Page 86 of Lovely Venom

So, again, I nod.

His answering groan provides me the confirmation I need. It’s a mutual decision—a silent acknowledgment that we both understand what we’re doing as two consenting adults.

“I want you for the entire night.” His voice thickens.

That was already established, but I know why he’s reiterating the point. He doesn’t want me to run again. So I whisper my agreement.

“And ten minutes of contact when we’re done,” he adds.

“What kind of contact?”

“Touch.”

I hesitate for a moment, remembering how freaked out I got last time, which is exactly why I ran. Touching before sex serves a purpose. After sex, or on its own, it’s just…intimacy.

“I’m not going to take it from you,” he says. “I want you to give it freely.”

“How will I know when the ten minutes are up?”

“When you say it’s up.”

His assurance calms my nerves, so again, I agree to his terms.

He resumes the soft, drugging kisses along my throat as his fingers unravel the sash of my robe. The last of my tension dissolves as the fabric falls open, and the heat of his hands penetrates my skin.

His palm grazes my bare breast, and I arch into him as his thumb scrapes over my nipple, sending tiny shocks through me.

“Are you wet for me, dea?”

“Yes,” I answer breathlessly.

When he dips his hand between my thighs to see for himself, my body betrays the evidence. He’s barely even touched me, and already, I’m hurting for it.

He lets out a ragged breath as his fingers slip through my arousal, reawakening something long dormant in me.

“Do you want to come?”

The low rasp of his voice fans the flames of my desire, and a soft plea falls from my lips.

“Yes.”

He skims along the edges of the robe, guiding it over my shoulders. In one fluid motion, it flutters to the floor, leaving me naked and on display for him.

Banding an arm around my waist, he pulls me onto his lap as he eases himself into the chair. I relax against him, legs draped between his as the rigid length of his erection throbs beneath me.

His hands coast over my body, exploring every curve and valley as if to reacquaint himself. As I drown in his warmth, I realize how touch-starved I’ve been in his absence.

I could let this go on forever.

My head lolls against his chest as he traces the arc of my hip, then inevitably, down between my thighs as they fall apart for him.

The first stroke of his fingers draws a quiet moan from my lips as he sets a torturous pace. It’s a slow, maddening spiral that drip-feeds my hunger and sends sparks of pleasure through every nerve ending.

I’m aching for it, chasing the high as I roll my hips, desperate to increase the friction.

“Sit still.” He grabs me by the hip, his low, gravelly voice brushing against my ear. “I’ll tell you when you can have it.”

I bite back a protest as his admonishment heats my blood. There’s something so primal about him when he uses that tone and reminds me who’s in control.