Page 206 of Burn of the Everflame

His cock twitched in my hand. “Diem,” he groaned.

“I want you to fuck me,” I said, my tone harsher.

My thumb swirled around the bead of arousal at his tip, and he wasted no time giving in. He captured my mouth, and my tongue goaded him on in aggressive, prodding strokes. We tore at each other’s clothes, and though I knocked his hand away every time he reached to rip off the top of my leathers, he was easily distracted by the sloppy, ravenous quest to find skin.

My nails dug into the rippling muscles of his back. “Take me hard, Luther. Make me scream.”

Make it loud enough that I can’t hear the thoughts in my head, I wanted to say.

He shoved my pants down to my knees, my thighs squeezing as the chilly air hit my slick, sensitive center. His fingers circled my throbbing clit, pinching just firmly enough to send fire through my blood but soft enough to stay this side of pleasure, not pain.

Tonight, though, pleasure wasn’t my vice of choice.

I bit down hard on his lip, hoping to push him into responding in kind, but his touch turned even more tender. One hand rose to lightly brush a lock of fallen hair from my face, and a small sound of frustration slipped out of me.

Luther broke the kiss. His brows twitched down as he studied my face.

I turned to the tree, dipping my chin. I planted my palms against the trunk and rocked my ass back. “Take me,” I said again.

His hands curled around my hips, but when I tried to grind against him, his grip tightened to hold me in place.

“Luther,” I snapped. “If you want to help me, then fuck me.” I glared at him over my shoulder. “Use me. And don’t hold anything back.”

Something dark passed over his face. Something that should have terrified me. Instead, I finally felt alive.

He grabbed the end of his belt and yanked it free of his pants with a snap. “Arms behind your back.”

I obeyed, heart thundering in my chest. He held my gaze as he wound the leather around my wrists.

“Tighter,” I said.

He slid the buckle further.

“Tighter,” I said.

A muscle feathered on his jaw. He jerked hard on the strap, my fingers curling in at the sharp bite of the leather digging into my skin. He secured the buckle closed before I could push him any further.

“If it goes too far, you will tell me, do you understand?” he asked.

I looked away. Too far was exactly what I had in mind.

He gripped a hand around my throat and pulled me back against his chest, rumbling in my ear. “Do you understand?”

“I do,” I said quickly.

He tilted my head upward, caging me in his stare. I wondered what he found there—if he still saw the fierce, strong woman he believed me to be, or if he recognized how pitifully I’d fallen apart.

His fingers loosened on my neck and dropped to unhook the fastenings at the top of my leathers. His hand slid beneath them and over my flushed skin, kneading my breasts.

“More,” I whispered.

He tugged at my nipples, hard enough to arch my back but far softer than the darkness in me craved.

“Harder,” I begged.

He pinched the peaks between his fingers, a lightning bolt of pain shooting through my chest—that was the light I needed. Not a comforting glow, but violent, crackling destruction.

Another hook unsnapped, and the leather stretched wider, my mark dangerously close to being revealed. Panic rose as I squirmed against his hold.