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His hand suddenly snapped out and grabbed my wrist.
I stiffened, and my gaze reluctantly met his, my cheeks on fire at being caught. Could he see me this time? Would he be angry?
He woulddefinitelybe angry.
His eyes opened just enough to reveal two scorching slits. Was he awake or in that in-between state where he thought this might be a dream?
I sure hoped for the latter because explaining what the hell I was doing in here and without my body would not be easy—as in there was no explanation.
When I tried to break out of his grip, his fingers tightened, and he pushed my hand toward his hard length.
“Tate.”
My heart jumped in my throat as my first name fell from his lips in a breathy whisper, that one syllable slipping off his tongue like a sultry wave of pleasure and desire.
What the actual fuck?Washe dreaming about me?
He sucked on his bottom lip. “Please.”
A fiery punch slammed into my gut, and I pressed my legs together as a throb pulsated between them. The man said it himself. He wanted me to touch him.
So I would.
If a seat hadn’t been saved for me in hell yet, one was being fitted with spikes right now.
Fane curled my fingers around his shaft, and I gasped at the hot, hard feel of him in my grip. As I stroked him, his breathing grew louder. His hand remained around mine while his other dug into a cushion. A groan pushed out of his mouth as he arched into my touch.
Lava poured through my veins, and I was surprised the entire couch hadn’t caught fire. He pulsated in my hand, and his hips bucked in time with my movements. Crimson leaked into Fane’s cheeks, making the scar beneath the left one more prominent. The tendons in his neck popped as he strained
“Tate,” he rasped, his voice like a rough caress over my blazing skin. “Don’t stop.”
Desire spread over me as his spicy, earthy scent engulfed my senses, kicking off a wave of tremors within my core. My own breathing elevated, turning shallow and uneven.
The longing to taste him screamed through every cell. Fane Maverick had done something to me, and I’d lost the battle with my common sense. A sharp blade—or those inked fingers—pressed against my throat, and I submitted to the urges clawing through me.
I leaned down until the heat of him raced across my face like a smoldering fire.
Just one taste.
My tongue slipped out and slowly licked him, his salty flavor roaring over my taste buds. The growl that vibrated through Fane sent electric jolts ricocheting between my legs.
I couldn’t help it. I did it again. And this time, his hips lurched forward, wanting more.
“Fuck.”
His voice was too loud, too clear, and a wave of panic washed over me. I slowly tilted my head, finding those mismatched eyes wide open and focused on me with so much intensity the air catapulted from my lungs.
ChapterTwenty-Five
Fane remained sprawledon the couch, but his nostrils flared as he scrutinized the room and then his hard length still throbbing in my hand. His chest heaved and sweat beaded his brow. Could he see me or just sense me?
Either way, I couldn’t move a muscle, frozen like an ice sculpture except flames coated my entire frame inside and out.
Holy. Shit.
He caught me.
Red-handed.
