Page 81 of The Tower

But the thought of another man touching her, seeing her like this—flushed and wanting—made something primal and possessive roar to life inside him. She was his now. His to claim. His to mark. His to ruin for anyone else who might come after.

Besides, Sasha had already agreed to every perverse, wicked, sensual desire. And if he had one hard-and-fast code, it was that a deal was a deal was a deal.

More than that, he wanted her with an intensity that scared even him. Wanted to possess her completely. To own every gasp, every cry, every surrender.

And he always took what he wanted.

Twenty-Five

Surrender

“Tell me exactly what you want, Princess,” he demands, his voice rough with desire as he hovers over me. “Every filthy detail.”

Not long ago, I would have blushed and looked away. But I'm not that sheltered girl anymore. “I want your cock inside me,” I tell him without hesitation, my voice husky with need. “I want you to fuck me until I can't remember my own name.”

Heat pulses between my legs, an insistent throb that makes me press my thighs together, desperate for friction, for pressure, for him. My skin feels electric, hypersensitive, every inch of me yearning for his touch.

For a moment he simply looks down at me. Then something breaks in his expression, that careful control he wears like armor shattering as he captures my mouth with his. The kiss is bruising, demanding, claiming, and I open for him instantly, desperate for more. My hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as his weight shifts, pressing me deeper into the mattress.

My body burns everywhere his skin touches mine, a delicious fire spreading through me. I arch against him, my breasts crushed against the hard plane of his chest, the sensation making my pussy clench, as if begging to join this party.

"So fucking sexy," he murmurs against my throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin hard enough to mark me.

"Please," I gasp as his hand slides inside my robe, my skin tingling in the wake of his touch. My back arches of its own accord, my body offering itself to him, begging for more contact.

"Please what?" His voice drops an octave, rough with desire.

"Touch me," I demand, beyond caring about pride or power games. "Fuck me. I told you already. I need your hands on me. Your cock inside me.”

“Greedy little princess, aren’t you?”

“God, yes.”

With one smooth motion, he pushes my robe open, exposing me completely. I feel my skin flush with heat as his eyes devour me, his expression hungry in a way that makes my core clench even tighter in anticipation.

"So beautiful," he says, his voice reverent despite the darkness in his eyes. "Every fucking time, you take my breath away."

His thumb brushes the underside of my breast in a teasing stroke that makes me squirm beneath him. Then his mouth is there, hot and wet, drawing my nipple deep as his fingers toy with the other. I arch into the contact, electricity shooting from my nipples straight to my core.

I dig my fingers into his shoulders, already desperate for more.

“Liam,” I gasp, his name a plea and a prayer. “Please.”

His hand slides lower, over my stomach, tracing the curve of my hip before finding the heat between my legs.

“Always so wet for me,” he says with satisfaction, his fingers parting my folds to circle my clit with precise pressure. “A guy might think you want something.”

“A guy would be right.” I have to push the words out past the waves of pleasure breaking over me.

“Tell me,” he demands. “You don’t get it if you don’t say it.”

I want to scream that I’ve already said it, over and over. But I don’t. I can’t. All I know right now is need. Want. Greed. And this man whose finger on my clit has already sent me halfway to heaven.

My hips buck against his hand involuntarily, seeking more contact. “Inside,” I beg. “I need you inside me. I need you fucking me.”

“How?”

“Hard,” I say. “Deep.” I gasp, my body arching in a delicious precursor of the main event.