Page 78

I grip his hip and pull him closer, grinding against him with deliberate pressure. The friction is delicious and maddening, his hardness against mine, separated only by fabric and the thinnest veneer of control. We’re both hard now.

He whimpers when I grind harder, and his hands are in my hair, tugging, pulling me closer. His legs wrap around my waist, locking me in place, and the pressure of him cradling me like this, like he can’t bear even an inch of distance, sends a rush of possession through me so fierce it’s nearly violent. I growl, the sound torn from somewhere deep in my chest.

“You’re fucking magic, Cam,” I breathe against his jaw, unable to hold the words back.

He blushes deeper, and it’s so impossibly tender that I soften the kiss. I kiss him slower this time, each brush of my lips a plea for him to understand my devotion to him.

My heart is racing as much as his is.

Then I slide my hand down, across his ribs, feeling the way his muscles tense under my touch. I trace the line where skin meets waistband, just barely brushing the edge of his boxers, watching the way his breath catches, the way his hips twitch toward me involuntarily. He wants this as desperately as I do.

I pull his boxers down slowly, revealing him.

His cock is hard, flushed and dark. The dark hair at the base is slightly damp with sweat. His thighs are strong and lean, muscles elegantly defined from years of rowing, from being in motion, from running, always running. But now? Now he’s still. Now he’s with me.

He’s exquisite. Every inch of him—the angle of his collarbone, the hollow beneath, the cut of his abs, the sharp line of his hip bones, the pale skin on the inside of his thighs. I’ve dreamed about his body, about seeing it exactly like this, but the reality is so much more devastating than any fantasy.

I toss his boxers aside and look at him for a long moment, drinking him in like communion. This is my version of Cameron, the version where he transforms just for me.

“God, you’re so hard, baby. I love that I make you this hard.”

“Lucien,” he breathes, his voice shaky, almost uncertain. Like he’s afraid I might stop, might leave him here exposed and aching.

I meet his eyes, and I let him see everything, my hunger, the raw need that I’ve been containing for so long. “Yeah, baby?”

My voice is husky, almost unrecognizable.

“Please.” It’s barely a whisper, and it absolutely destroys me.

I grin, slow and predatory, letting him see exactly what he’s asking for, what he’s inviting into his body when he begs like that.

“Please what?” I ask, and my voice is a weapon now. A beautiful, terrible weapon. “Tell me what you want, Cam. Tell me what you need.”

He lifts his chin, breathing hard. The words are trapped behind swollen lips, but his eyes are begging me. Please. He looks like he’s ready to be fucked. But I know it’s too soon. Not tonight.

God, what are you doing to me, baby?

25

CAMERON

The heated leather seat of Lucien’s Range Rover is warm beneath my thighs. I’ve been sitting here for three hours, watching the highway blur past, and I can’t sit still. My leg bounces. My fingers drum against my knee. I can’t get comfortable, even though the seat is made for comfort. I know what I need from him. I want him inside me. The other night, I couldn’t ask because I was too nervous. But I’ve been thinking about it the entire drive, about tonight, about what I want to happen, about how to ask for it.

Hey, Lucien, can you fuck me tonight?

No, that sounds ridiculous.

I was thinking maybe we could…you know…

That’s even worse.

I glance at his pretty profile. Lucien turns to me and smiles. “You okay over there?”

“Yeah, fine.”

He reaches over and puts his hand on my thigh, offering gentle pressure. A heated relief rushes over me with his touch. I open my legs a little, giving him more of me.

“We’ll stop in Richmond for the night,” Lucien says, his thumb stroking my inner thigh. “I booked us a room.”