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She swore she had never actually felt the inner flesh of her sex and the loneliness it felt. But she felt it now. It clenched and tightened and the slick layer of juices eased from it, creating a teasing friction that only amplified the need for more.
Plumping the firm flesh of her breast with his fingers, Stygian worked the agonizingly tight peak of her nipple with his tongue. Rolling it over the sensitive flesh, flicking the tip of his tongue against it, laving it, rubbing the side of his tongue over the pebbled hardness as it grew increasingly tender. It ached, the hard flesh demanded—
“Please.” Her fingers buried in his hair. “Oh God, what are you doing to me?”
His head lifted.
“Don’t stop.” Eyes flaring open in shock, she stared up at him as she watched him jerk his shirt off.
Tight, hard abs flexed. The muscles of his chest rippled as his hair flowed around his shoulders.
His blue-black gaze was piercing, filled with a demand that her body was responding to with incredible force.
“Do we stop this now, or do we finish it, Liza?” His voice sounded tormented.
“Stop?” Shock filled her. “Do I act like I want to stop, Stygian?”
What the hell was wrong with him?
What happened to a man taking what was offered and just running off the next morning rather than asking questions before he ever managed to get a woman into his bed?
“I don’t want your regrets in the morning,” he stated, his tone rough.
She had to curl her hands into fists to keep from touching him.
All that tough-looking, prime, muscular male flesh did nothing but tempt her fingers and her lips to explore, to kiss.
A sharp shake of her head was a mistake. Allowing him to pause, to speak, to be the man he was, was definitely a mistake.
Because now, all she could think was, what the hell was she doing?
She could taste him on her tongue, even now, as the
feel of his kiss should have been easing from her lips. Yet it wasn’t. It was still there, the sensitive curves still swollen and aching for more.
“Don’t,” she whispered, suddenly overwhelmed by an emotion she didn’t recognize or understand. “Don’t do that, Stygian. Don’t make me choose like this.”
“Our tomorrows mean too much to me, Liza.”
“Bullshit!” Anger shot through her as she jerked out of his arms, confronting him furiously. “Do you think I don’t know a play for control when I see one? God, just take it and stop talking.”
She could barely breathe now for the emotions surging through her, for the hunger and the aching need for the return of his touch.
Oh, she wasn’t having this.
She wanted him. She wanted him until it was all she could do not to throw herself back into his arms. But as he stood there staring at her, his expression dominant, full of arrogance, she just wanted to kick him instead.
Jerking her shirt from the bed, she pulled it over her head furiously.
“‘Our tomorrows mean too much to me,’” she mocked him, her hands moving to her hips as she cocked one hip and faced him with such a surge of antagonism that she could barely breathe for it. “For God’s sake, Stygian, if tomorrow meant so damned much to you, then you would have kept your mouth shut and just fucked me while you had the chance.”
“Like any other man would have done?” His arms crossed over his chest, and for just a second, she hated him for the fact that he wasn’t holding her. That he was blocking the heat she swore she was going to freeze without.
“Well, yeah, pretty much,” she snapped back at him. “What do you want from me? Do I have to make you a few promises first? I thought that was your job? Come, Stygian, give me the empty promises, get me off, then leave me the hell alone.”
Her father had always warned her that her smart mouth was going to end up costing her something she didn’t want to lose.
It was her temper, she’d reminded him. A temper she’d gotten from him, so he really couldn’t blame her.
