The Hotter You Burn

“You only grow more beautiful with every second that passes, baby. How is that possible?” He lowered his head again, kissed the edge of one of the scars and this time he traced his tongue over the puckered edge.

Slowly the tension melted from her. She wound her arm around him, her nails soon digging into his back. “You don’t have to lie. Not with me.”

“I’m not lying. In fact, I will never lie to you. Not about this or anything else. You promised me, and now I promise you.” He fit his lips over her nipple and as he sucked, she cried out, her hips lifting from the bed. “Like a wild strawberry, sweet and addictive, and I can’t have just one.” He turned his attention to the other, sucking it hard, harder, then flicking his tongue back and forth to soothe the ache. The little bead swelled under his ministrations, a silent plea for more.

“Beck.” A gasp, her hips undulating with need.

He yanked the tank over her head. Every obstacle had to go. Strands of inky hair fell over her shoulders, the pillow, and as he ran his fingers between her breasts, down her stomach, he felt the evidence of more scars. Far more than he’d realized. He kicked off the covers, baring the rest of her. Some of the scars were bigger than others, clearly deeper.

Aching for her, he kissed another scar, then another, his fingers still traveling down, down...finally tunneling under her panties. His eyes nearly rolled back into his head. She was wet. No, not just wet. She was soaked, and she was white-hot, burning him so deliciously.

She’ll taste as sweet as candy.

As he rubbed...rubbed...spreading her moisture, building her desire, stoking his own desperation, he croaked, “Part your legs for me, Harlow.”

The moment she obeyed, he thrust a finger deep, and oh, hell, she was tight. Sweat beaded on his brow, the urge to rip off her underwear and sink inside her a tangible thing.

Control! “Can you take another one?”

“Yes. Please, yes.” The way she clung to him, as if he were as necessary to her as breathing, only magnified the sensations blasting through him, and in that moment, she was necessary to him.

Precious girl. As he thrust in a second finger, she gave a strangled cry and lifted her hips. An instinctive action, and an irresistibly greedy one. The heel of his palm pressed where she ached most, and as her body’s shivers vibrated into his, that very necessary control slipped farther and farther away.

“Touch me,” he demanded.

“But...aren’t I already?” Then understanding hit her and she eagerly shoved his underwear out of the way.

What had been a delight only seconds before became a glorious torment. While her rhythm lacked any kind of finesse, her unfettered excitement and enthusiasm touched him deep inside, where no one else had ever been.

He knew women, knew their reactions, and knew Harlow wasn’t gifting him with pleasure by rote, but through the most primitive compulsion. The same was true of him. With her, he was too swept up to stick to routine—a hand here, his mouth there, give this so he could take that. He thought only of branding his woman now, now, now, hanging on and never letting go. Owning her—the way she owned him.

“I know you can take another.” He wedged in a third finger, and she gasped. She moaned. Her head thrashed atop the pillow, ribbons of jet-black silk tangling around her face.

“Too much? Am I hurting you?” It would kill him, but he would stop.

“Just need...a moment...to adjust.”

He waited, his every muscle vibrating with the urge to move...have to move...but her enjoyment mattered more to him than anything else. “You feel so good. Never felt anything better.” His thumb caressed in circles, pressing...pressing closer to the heart of her.

Her knees parted farther, and she dissolved into the mattress, close, so damn close, to release. That’s when he removed his fingers.

With a disappointed cry, she latched on to his wrist. “No! Stay! It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“I’ll be back, don’t worry.” Nothing would keep him away.

Reluctantly she released him, and he spread her essence down his length, moistening it from base to tip. He put her hand back on him—put his fingers back inside her. She sighed with contentment, gripping him hard and tight, just the way he liked.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

Those baby blues were almost too hazed to focus. Her pupils were blown, nothing but twin pools of desire, drowning him...but what a way to go. “As I thrust my fingers in you, ride my length up. As I pull out, ride my length down.”

“Yes, yes.”

As he slanted his lips over hers, thrusting his tongue against hers, he thrust his fingers deep, deeper inside her. Her groan filled his mouth, and her hand, her sweet, sweet hand, rode up his length. He pulled his fingers back, and she stroked down. A growl rose from somewhere in his chest, a place he’d never known existed, where a spark of possession had never quite died.

Mine.

The claim would have freaked him out—did freak him out—but he was past the point of caring. His skin was pulled too tight over muscle and bone; any second he would burst apart at the seams.

“Faster,” he said, and the sounds of their panting breaths filled the room. He would have sworn the very air around them electrified.

Her hips followed his every motion while his followed hers. He deepened the kiss, slid his fingers back in and at the last second, angled his wrist. Her grip tightened on him, and she cried out in wonder, her inner walls spasming.

As the pleasure washed over her, she made the most sublime sounds, gifting him with an expression of such exquisite satisfaction he knew he would be haunted by it all the days of his life. Then her nails sliced across his back, branding him as her property, and he, too, spiraled over the edge.