Page 70 of Freedom’s Inferno

“It means you can stop trying to control every second of this. You fight so damn hard to stay in charge, but the truth is, you don’t want control. You just want to know you’re safe when you hand it over. I’ve got it handled.”

Something in her expression shifted. The teasing curve of her mouth faltered, her eyes flicked to where my hand held her wrist, then back to my face. Her breath hitched, almost imperceptibly, but her pulse kicked beneath my thumb.

I let go of her wrist, and my hand lingered in the space between us for a heartbeat before it found its way upward. My fingers brushed the side of her neck, then followed the line of her jaw, my eyes never leaving hers.

“If you knew the things I’m thinking right now,” I said, voice rough. “You’d stop looking at me like that.”

She looked at me with wide, unguarded eyes that almost made her appear innocent.

My thumb found her bottom lip, the pad of it lingering there, my forefinger resting beneath her chin to hold her still.

God, I was flooded with the memory of her mouth wrapped around my cock, and I could feel it thickening beneath the towel. I closed the space between us, my mouth finding hers in a rush that felt instinctive. The kiss was carnal, fueled by hunger and desperation.

Her hands came up to my chest, and the world narrowed down to the taste of her and the pulse that thundered through my veins. Lana’s bare skin pressed against mine, and a low rumble escaped my throat.

I grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her onto the counter in one swift motion.

Her breath caught—a small, startled gasp that hit somewhere deep in my chest. The sound clawed at something primal in me; I let the towel fall to the tile.

My movements were calculated, allowing room for Lana to reject or deny each of them.

She smiled against my lips, and I let out a low hum, as her hands wound around my neck. Our breathing grew heavier with each fervent stroke of our lips, the moment thick with the fear that everything could very well come crashing down around us.

My tongue traced her lips, my palms pressing against her back as I pulled her lithe frame against me.

Lana’s legs hooked around my waist and her nipples pressed against my chest.

My cock was so hard it almost hurt. Nothing would ever be enough when it came to this woman, I was sure of it. I’d never be satisfied for the rest of my God damn life.

Lana parted her lips, inviting me in with a moan that ignited something in my core.

I swept my tongue into her mouth to taste her, to tangle with hers, until I found myself dragging her lower lip between my teeth.

She kissed across my cheek, and down the sensitive skin of my neck, finding the pit where my throat met my collar bone and burying her face there. Her teeth nipped, and her tongue dragged over the salt of my skin.

My hands found the soft warmth of her breasts, unhurried but without hesitation. I cupped them in my palms, fingers kneading flesh, thumbs teasing in circles around her rosy nipples.

Her breaths became sharper, hot against my chest, and the small, fractured sounds only spurred me on.

I pulled away from her, enough to see her face, my palms sliding down to grip her thighs with intent.

“Spread your legs,” I said, voice carrying an air of authority that sounded more confident than I felt.

Lana’s eyes flashed.

I wondered if she’d fight me; I’d welcome it if she did.

But, she dragged her bottom lip between her teeth and leaned back on her hands, letting her legs fall open.

Good God.

My gaze dropped to her sex, and I fisted my cock, pumping it once. “Show me how you touch yourself, Lana.”

I expected defiance. Lana Blackwell was a brat on a good day.

Instead, that woman—that fucking woman—reached a hand between her legs and dragged a single finger through her slit. She never broke eye contact.

My jaw went slack as she parted her entrance and pumped two fingers into her heat.