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Lust sliced through him, straight down his spine. His ballocks ached, cock throbbing. The tease was torture. The display of her taking her own pleasure was too wicked, too beautiful.

She bit her lip, teeth skating over the plush pink flesh until it popped free. Heat pulsed in his groin. She was beyond tempting.

“So full. So full of you, Duke.” Her hips jerked forward, as if she were also experiencing the torture. “Can you feel me?” Her core squeezed around his length, and a groan burst from him, ending on a whimper. Sharp pleasure snaked through him, settling in his tight ballocks. He wasn’t even thrusting into her, and his cock was desperate for relief.

Her fingers slowed, her ragged breaths dancing around them. “Do you wish you could sink into me, Rafe? Do you wish you could feel these tight muscles”—she squeezed again—“dragging over your length?”

She spread her thighs wider and somehow managed to take him even deeper. “Or do you like the subtle friction?” she whispered. She rocked back and forth, his head rubbing over somewhere deep inside her that had his vision dotting over.

He gritted his teeth. His muscles were like stone from resisting movement. He wanted to thrust into her. He wanted her to grind into him harder. He wanted it all. All at once.

And then she did something that was so utterly cruel he almost cried out. She rose on her knees until he was barely inside her, threatening to slip out. The hand not between her thighs wrapped around his nape, and she held on tight as she picked up touching herself. Her thighs flexed and relaxed as her pleasure continued to pull tight over her body.

It was torture. It was excruciating. The hint of her body at his crown, dancing over where he was most sensitive but not giving him what he needed. Hard. Hot. Friction.

Her long, lithe body in front of him, the most beautiful display. Breasts swollen, nipples hard, head thrown back, neck stretched. His mouth watered. His grip on her tightened, and a pained sound came from deep in his chest. He needed. He needed.

“Oh God,” she moaned.

She fluttered around his crown, and his cock pulsed dangerously. Oh God, was right. The pressure was coiling tight, sparks shooting down his spine. He was moments from coming, and he was barely even inside her.

“Theo,” he whined.

Her lust-drunk gaze snapped to his, instantly crystal clear. “Did you need something?”

Oh, she was good.

She leaned forward, lips hovering just out of reach. Her fingers picked up again, more subtle this time, sliding back around his shaft, then back up and over her. “Did you need something?” Her husky murmur teased over his lips.

His hips bucked, but she evaded him. She shook her head, a soft tsk falling from her.

He swallowed hard. “Theodora.” The word was wrecked. Raw and abraded by need.

“Do you need me to fuck you, Rafe?”

An embarrassing noise fled him.

She moved even closer, her tongue trailing over his bottom lip. “If you want it, you can have it.”

One hand gripped his hair, tilted his head back. Then fingers were drifting over his lips. Her other hand. The hand that had been between her thighs.

“Open.”

He did.

She slid her fingers inside, and his eyes fell shut. Oh my bloody fucking God. He groaned as he sucked her fingers. Her taste exploded over his tongue, and he almost died. He saw the closest thing to heaven that he’d ever thought he’d get to experience right then.

This woman was going to be the end of him.

She chuckled darkly as she slipped her fingers from his mouth and began circling her hips again. Both her hands in his hair now. Holding him captive. Captive, yet he’d never felt safer. He couldn’t look away from those lust-drenched irises, nearly swallowed by her pupils.

“I want it,” he whispered hoarsely.

She stopped.

“Then beg.”

“Please, Theo.”