Wicked Nights

“Look at me,” he said.

Those lids squeezed tight. “No.”

“Annabelle. Please.”

“Now you say please?”

“Annabelle.”

“My eyes,” she whispered. “You hate the taint of them.”

He belonged in the depths of hell for saying such a thing. “They are lovely.”

“But you said—”

“A mistake. Difficult as it is to imagine, I make them, too.”

“All right.” A pause, then her lids parted, and those beautiful blues were peering at him.

“Thank you.”

At last she settled against him, and he felt her mouth curl into a grin. “Welcome.”

“I’m going to put my arms around you,” he said. When she offered no protest, he fit action to word.

A delicate sigh left her. “So…what are we doing?”

“Taking a moment to enjoy each other.” He traced his fingers along the ridges of her spine. “At least, I am. Are you?”

“Yes. I— Your heart is pounding,” she said, sounding surprised. Her ear rested directly over the pounding beat.

“Only you have that effect on me.”

“Well, we’re even, then.”

Minutes passed, perhaps hours. Every new second was a rapturous torture. He breathed her in, happily drowning in her heat, and he vowed to stay like this all night if that was what she preferred—but to his delight she began to move against him, urging him to do…something. The tips of her fingers traced the ridge of his navel.

“Zacharel?”

He released her to reach up and grab the headboard. “I will not let go.” Not this time, no matter how badly he wanted to touch her. “You will control everything, just as you wished.”

Still she hesitated.

“I mean it. Even if I break the bed apart, I will not let go of this railing. Not until you tell me otherwise.”

“You are so on your A game right now.” She lifted to her knees, straddled his waist and settled against him. The exquisite pleasure-pain of the sensation had him sucking in a breath.

If only he could will his robe away…

Down, down she leaned.

“Kiss,” she said. Her mouth claimed his, her tongue sliding past his teeth to duel with his tongue. And oh, the sweetness of her taste intoxicated him far more than anything else.

For a long while, she alternated between kissing him and pausing to look at him, as if judging his control. Whatever she saw in his expression always managed to reassure her, because she would dive back in for another helping.

He wasn’t sure how he managed to hide the force of his arousal from her. He felt like a rubber band pulled too tight, ready to snap at any moment. What could he do to propel her to that point? Move against her, as she had moved against him?

He shifted slightly, brushing against her—but that wasn’t nearly enough, and merely fueled his desire all the more. But…a groan escaped her, and then, oh, finally, blessedly then, she stopped taking time to look at him, stopped searching his face, and gave him a kiss that seared his soul, her mind seemingly as lost as his was.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, angling his head for deeper, better contact. On and on this new, hotter kiss continued, until they were biting at each other, moaning and groaning and saying incoherent things. He wanted more, so much more, and his muscles bunched and knotted from the strain of holding back.

Then she began to rock against him, her entire body rubbing, rubbing, rubbing against his. He was desperate to get closer to her, as close as a man could be with a woman. Wanted it, needed it so badly.

“Zacharel, I want… I need…”

Exactly want he wanted and needed, he prayed. “Anything. Name it, and I will give it to you.”

“Roll to your side.”

He obeyed in an instant, so that they were face-to-face, body-to-body. His every exhalation blended with her every inhalation, mixing their breath, making them one, even in so small a way.

“Your hands…on me,” she commanded. “But only if you want to. I mean, we can stop if you’d—”

“No stopping,” he rushed out, then forced himself to say more slowly, “I want. I do. More than anything. But I’m not in a hurry.” On some level—probably. “I’ll go nice and easy.” He would force himself.

“Okay, yes. Please. Slow.”

He released only one hand from captivity to lift the hem of her shirt. Her skin was a mesmerizing bronze, and his a lighter gold; it was such a delicious contrast, inflaming the spark of his desire to yet another feverish degree.

“You are so beautiful, Annabelle.”

“Really?”

Yes, oh, yes. “Your mind…”

“Is on you, only you. Or were you trying to tell me how beautiful my mind is?” she asked with a little giggle.

A pleasant blend of relief and satisfaction soared through him. He had made her laugh, in bed. “What do you want me to do?”

“What are you wanting to do?” she breathed.

Strip himself, strip her, touch, taste, consume, learn, know, nothing held back—things she wasn’t ready for. Steady.

“I will put my hands on you, as you demanded.” He cupped her breast, paused, waiting for her reaction. She moaned at the pleasure, thrilling him. His hand began to burn, burn so deliciously, hotter than the rest of him as he kneaded her.

Another moan left her.

Yessss. More.

“Your skin is like fire,” she said on a moan.

“Bad?”

“Wonderful.”

He tightened his grip on her breast, allowed his fingers to trace over the little pink bead in the center again and again.

Until she gasped out, “Zacherel, I can handle the next step. Promise.”

Taking her at her word, he bent his head, lower, lower still, but when his lips hovered directly over her, he paused, again waiting. Though she panted and mewled, she never turned from him, or tried to shove him away.

Steady. His tongue flicked out on an exploratory mission. Such sweet, sweet contact nearly undid him. Having the warmth of her skin on his tongue…the taste of her in his mouth…was there anything greater?

“I’m here with you,” she promised.

He allowed his tongue to play, tracing from one side of her to the other and then back again. Something he learned in the ensuing minutes: the more he played with her, the more broken entreaties he earned from her. Each one pleased him, driving his own need higher still. He wasn’t sure how much more he could take.

Very carefully, he dragged his hands along the plane of her stomach and untied her pants. Her cries of approval did not cease, so he allowed his fingers to tunnel down…down… She wasn’t wearing any panties.

“Wait,” she said brokenly, her legs squeezing together.

He froze.

Cheeks rosy, she asked, “Are you… Do you know…what to expect?”

She wasn’t expressing concern for what was happening, but concern for his mindset. “I do.”

“And you’re okay with that?”