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He recoils, throwing my hand off of him, his expression guarded and hard all over again.
The humiliation flares to life a second time, and I jolt up from the piano bench. “Never mind. I’m just …. It was stupid.”
A hard tug of my arm jerks me into him until my butt slams back against the bench. Palm to my chin, he holds my face, and devours my breath in a white hot kiss.
Butterflies explode in my stomach, my heart fluttering out of control, a menagerie of wings and victory trapped inside of me. My head is dizzy and my muscles are weak, and it’s a damn good thing I’m sitting down, or I’d have probably passed out. I reach out to hold onto something, and my fingertips are greeted by the hard bunched muscles of his biceps.
A feral growl rattles in his chest, and his fingers curl tighter, his tongue dipping past my teeth. With heightened fervor, he kisses me harder, and his hand slides to my nape, the tight grip there thwarting any chance to steal a breath. “I’m tired of these fucking games with you,” he says through his teeth.
A warm palm skates up my thigh, and when he reaches beyond the hem of my skirt, I gasp into his mouth.
His touch falls away, and he breaks the kiss, leaving a cold and bitter emptiness between us. Tongue sweeping across his lips, he stares back at me, with rapid breaths and flared nostrils.
The enthralled look on his face reminds me of an animal that’s just gotten a taste of blood and hasn’t decided whether to spare, or finish off, the rest.
Gaze locked on his, I escort his hand up my thigh and beneath my skirt, my own hands trembling with fear and excitement. “It’s okay,” I whisper.
His breaths hasten, and the amber of his eyes is swallowed up by the blackness of his dilated pupils. At the first skim of his fingertips over the damp cotton of my panties, I watch his expression sharpen to a knowing smirk. I suck in a breath and close my eyes, concentrating on the tickle at the barrier to my flesh beneath.
I’ve been with boys, I’ve been touched by boys, but never a man so forbidden and off-limits as Lucian Blackthorne. The exotic animal trapped in a cage. It’s like falling into a tank, not knowing if the circling shark will ultimately devour me.
Warm breath hits my neck, just as in my dreams, as he runs his finger up and down the indentation he’s made, the slit of sensitivity. A shaky blast of air escapes my parted lips.
I brace one palm on the bench, squirming against his intrusive fingers, and spread my knees open to allow him access. “Oh, yes,” I breathe, and suck my bottom lip between my teeth, until the coppery flavor puckers my tongue.
“You’re my curse. Staying away from you, is like trying to hold my breath when the tide is rising.” His words dance around my head, the deep timbre of his voice titillating my senses. “I want to drown in you.”
I tip my head back, and the coarse scratch of his facial hair against my throat adds a delicious tickle, as he pushes my panties aside, rougher than expected, for the bare skin beneath.
He doesn’t fumble in his movements, like boys my age. Every touch is deliberate and brimming with assurance that I’ll be a hot, wet mess afterward.
“I hate that I could fuck you for hours and never tire of it.” He kisses along the edge of my jaw, and on instinct I turn to face him. Tongue dancing over my lips, he licks the blood I’ve drawn, before sealing my mouth in a possessive kiss. His fingertips gather the sticky fluids he’s worked up between my thighs, and he spreads it up over my swollen clit, gently rubbing my sensitive nub like a tiny pet he’s trying to rouse from slumber. “Everything about you pisses me off,” he grits against my mouth, the radiating tension hot and dangerous, while his fingertips work me beneath my skirt.
I let out a moan and lift my hips off the bench toward his unforgiving strokes. My belly curls, muscles tight, and my shirt is suddenly too tight, the scratchy fabric tickling my nipples through the lacy bra. Releasing my neck, he seems to take notice of the hard peaks and scrapes the tip of his thumb over the sensitive buds.
A tortured whimper leaks from my mouth, my whole body stiff, as if wires run beneath my skin.
“The way your body responds to my touch. Like the strings of a piano when the hammer strikes it. Every note of a song that I write. A song you keep begging me to play.”
There’s a hypnotic darkness in his eyes, malicious and desiring, and I wonder if this is how it feels just before the devil claims a soul. I pant with his movements, his fingers tunneling deeper, circling against my soaked slit, creating chords of music that escape my lips. He hasn’t even penetrated me. “I dream of you sometimes.” The ragged texture of my voice mirrors my slowly dissolving composure.
“What do you dream, Isa?”
“Of this. Of … of your hands on me.”
“How far do we take this in your dreams? Am I fucking you?”
The mere thought of that sends tingles of excitement shooting through my core, and I can’t answer him, for fear of sounding like a pervert who’s fantasized about him. The ache between my thighs swells, as if attached by some invisible string that he pulls for his own amusement, and I cry out instead.
“Of course I’m fucking you. How do I feel inside of you?”
The heat of his breath on my skin, the touch of his fingers, the sound of his voice. It’s all too much. Too much. My senses are on overload right now, spinning me out of control.
“So good. I don’t want it to stop.”
“You want my finger inside of you, Isa? To fill this tender little hole with something thick and warm.” The tip of his relentless little weapon circles my entrance for emphasis, stirring the wet sticky juices over my skin, and I curl my hand around the bench, desperate to squeeze something.
I mindlessly nod, my body lost to the sensations he’s stoked. Lust blazes through me, an inferno of need building at my core. I can’t sit still. I can’t move. My body is in chaos, waiting for the moment he puts it out of its misery and penetrates me.
