Page 71 of Freedom’s Inferno

Her lips parted, and the soft sigh that came out leveled me.

“Fuck,” I breathed.

Lana slid her fingers free and spread them, showing me the slick strand of arousal stretching between them. “Look what you did.” A smirk played across her lips.

Fuck.

She lifted her hand like she knew exactly what it would do to me, and my attention sharpened.

I took her wrist, dragging her fingers to my mouth, and sucked the taste of her from them.

Lana moaned at the sight, and it reverberated through my bones.

“Jesus Christ, Charlie…” she gasped.

Something feral inside me surged up. I guided her hand back down, stopping just shy of where she’d touched herself before.

“Finish what you started,” I growled, the words rough and jagged in my throat. “I’m not done watching you come apart.”

“Maybe I don’t want to,” she whispered, chin tilting in defiance.

Christ. There she is.

“Yes, you do. You want me to see exactly what I do to you. You want to drive me insane.”

She didn’t deny it; she held my stare, bare and unflinching. Then, she moved her hand exactly where I wanted it.

I inhaled hard when her fingers moved in steady, deliberate strokes. I gripped her thighs, pushing them further apart, and the breathy little sound she made went straight through me.

“Christ, look at you.” I said, voice thick.

She moved with more intent, eyes half-lidded, lips parted, chasing something she knew I could hear in every shaky breath. A low, desperate sound slipped from her throat, and I forgot how to breathe.

Her thighs trembled under my hands. She was close—too close.

I felt it in the way she arched, in the frantic edge creeping into her breathing, in the way her body tightened, bracing for the fall. Something wild in me reared up, fierce and possessive. I snagged her wrist mid-movement, fingers closing around her hand before she could take herself any further.

“Lana.” Her name scraped out of me, raw. “Not like that.”

She blinked up at me, dazed and a little wrecked. “Why?” she groaned, frustration in her voice.

I pulled her hand away. My thumb stroked the inside of her wrist; I needed her to know this wasn’t punishment. Desire consumed me. A brutal, burning need.

“Because that edge you’re riding?” I said, leaning in until my forehead brushed hers. “I want to be the one who takes you over it.”

Something hungry lit in her eyes. Her mouth curled into the faintest smirk, an edge slipping through her haze.

“Then take me there,” she whispered, and her hand was already moving.

She pressed her palm flat against my chest and dragged it down, her nails catching my skin as she went, until her slender fingers wrapped around the base of my cock. She slid her fist along the length of my shaft, my dick throbbing in response. She rolled her thumb over the head of my cock, brushing away a bead of precum, and my balls tightened.

“Put your hands behind you,” I ordered, though my tone was more invitation than demand.

Lana obliged, stretching both arms behind her to prop herself up where she sat perched on the counter.

I gripped her thighs, spreading them wider, taking in the full view of her aching pussy, glistening with the evidence of what I was doing to her.

“Charlie,” she moaned, a plea.