Page 40 of Coveted

The way he says our makes my face burn hotter. It sounds intimate, which I resent. I’m only doing this for the sake of tradition and refilling my creative well.

The unyielding cold glass beats against my tender skin like ice, even as the heat of my blood courses through my body. I hate the hot feeling, because it means he’ll see my pussy blushing harder.

Lucan watching me is horrible, yet something about the agony of exposing myself sends a potent surge of electricity through my core.

This arrogant bully who thinks he owns the world is looking at my pink folds trapped against glass, and I’m letting him. It’s so completely messed up.

My pussy throbs like a little traitor. Wondering if he can tell, I grit my teeth to stop myself from shifting around.

From the corner of my eye, I see him move.

Immediately, I’m on high alert.

“What are you doing?” I ask in a tight whisper.

He prowls toward me as he did in the forest. As though he’s about to take something from me. I feel stuck, like I’m glued to the table.

Lucan crouches in front of me. He’s close enough that I can smell hair conditioner and cinnamon gum along with his cologne.

He’s not touching me though. Strictly speaking, he’s doing nothing wrong.

Meeting his eye feels impossible. I send my gaze sideways, though my fast breathing betrays my heightened state.

I’ve never done anything like this before. With Chace, my first and only boyfriend from high school, I turned off the lights when we hooked up. Even when we were hanging out and I wanted to change outfits, I made him leave the room.

Lucan’s voice is husky. “How does it feel to show me your pretty little pink cunt?”

I die inside. He really can see everything.

“Cold,” I whisper.

Since I’m certain he’s staring at my pussy in the mirror, I steal a look at him.

But he’s focused on my face, his deadly blue eyes intently studying whatever it is he sees there.

“Cold?” he repeats, making my stomach drop.

His hand extends, moving under the table between my tensed thighs.

My pulse races so fast I worry I’ll pass out. I feel faint pressure as he plants his palm on the glass over my pussy.

“What are you—” I breathe.

“Not touching you,” he says.

“May as well be.”

Lucan’s hand is less than half an inch from my bare skin on a mere technicality.

His body heat melts through the glass, making contact with my entrance.

Lucan continues studying my face, like he’s determined to catalogue my every breath and expression.

“Nine minutes,” he mutters.

My brows knit. “Nine?”

I thought at least five minutes had passed, and even that felt like an eternity.