Leather & Lark (The Ruinous Love Trilogy, #2) (85)
My cock aches and I drag a hand down my face. I put all my effort into tearing my thoughts away from Lark, but it doesn’t work.
She takes her time in the shop. And just like she promised, she comes out with two bags of ice and a magnetic, shit-eating grin, one that stays pinned on me as she saunters past the passenger door to put them both in the trunk. Lark slips back into the car looking quite pleased with herself, and it only makes my erection that much harder. Just like she probably planned.
“Quite the smirk you have there, duchess. Think you got away with something, do ya?”
Lark laughs and turns toward me to look out the back window as she reverses. The harness tightens across her breasts with the twist of her body. “Oh I know I didn’t, but it still brings me joy.”
“Won’t be so feckin’ funny when you’re gagging on my cock.”
A giggle escapes her lips as she throws the car into first gear but keeps her foot on the brake. She pins me with her crystalline gaze, and though she might be teasing me, I know what my words have done to her. It’s in the slow pass of her tongue over her lips. The dark expanse of her pupils. The way her nipples harden to firm peaks beneath the delicate fabric of her dress.
I lean closer and her breath hitches. My eyes fuse to her mouth as a smile sneaks across my lips.
“You like that, don’t you? You want me filling your throat. You want to swallow every drop of cum like my good fucking whore. Don’t worry, you will. And then you’re going to beg me for more, won’t you?” I chuckle as her lips part and the sweet scent of her breath floods my senses. She nods. “That’s what I thought.”
I lean a little closer, just enough for my lips to graze Lark’s as I whisper, “Drive.”
I sit back in my seat with a satisfied grin. My cock is so painfully hard that I’m convinced my entire body is as furious about the near kiss as she is. Finally, she takes her foot off the brake. The tires squeal against the asphalt as we pull out of the parking lot.
The moment she parks, I’m out of the car. Lark’s barely gotten a foot on the garage floor before I haul her out of the vehicle and throw her over my shoulder to the sound of her shocked laugh. I grab the ice from the trunk, and a moment later I’m striding up the stairs with her body still hanging off my back. Her half-hearted protests echo across the factory floor. It’s not until we’re in the apartment and I’ve put the ice in the chest freezer that I set her down, but it’s only long enough to capture her lips in a brutal kiss.
Lark melts into me. Her moan vibrates in my mouth as her tongue sweeps across mine. She fists my shirt and tugs me along with her, not breaking the kiss as she stumbles into a side table and the dog and the couch as she leads me toward the bedrooms.
The moment we’re in her room, I pick her up and toss her on the bed. Lark is panting, kneeling on the crumpled covers, her eyes hooded. Her expression is ravenous as I reach over my head and pull my shirt off.
I take a step back toward the armchair in the corner of the room. “I meant what I said.”
“I’m counting on it,” she breathes. Her eyes rake over my body, coasting over scars hidden beneath ink. She drinks in every inch of my skin, the fabric of her dress balled in tight fists as she leans back onto her heels, her lower lip trapped between her teeth. “I want to touch you.”
With a final step backward, I sink into the chair. I lean back and regard her for a long moment, reveling in the desperation painted across her face. “Then you’d better show me how much you want it, duchess.”
A shiver wracks through Lark’s body before she starts to climb off the bed.
“No.”
Lark stops immediately. She waits for instruction, but there’s frustration in her eyes. My blood turns to fire, possibilities and fantasies racing through my mind. Just like the time I spoke to Lark on the balcony, she ignites a spark in the dark. But I don’t know if I’ve ever been the hunter with Lark, or if I’m the one who’s been ensnared.
Either way, there’s no stopping it now. I wouldn’t want to if I could. Not when Lark is right there, nearly within reach, so desperate for friction that she’s nearly squirming on the bed.
“Take that dress off, but leave the harness on,” I say.
Lark pauses as though the words take a moment to cut through the haze of lust that’s descended between us. Then she guides one of the thin straps off her shoulder, slipping it beneath the leather that loops toward her back. She does the same on the other side. With balletic flexibility, she pulls each arm free, careful not to tear the delicate fabric. Then she holds my eyes to drink in my reaction as she slowly pulls the layers down beneath the harness, exposing her breasts and pebbled nipples, the smooth expanse of skin around her navel, the narrow strip of hair leading to her pussy. She drags the dress down her legs and holds it up before she lets it drift to the floor.
Every breath she takes is unsteady as I take my time to just look. The black leather lines and tiny stars. The way they trace the contours of her breasts, the ridges of her ribs. My art embracing her flesh.
It takes everything in me to stay in the chair.
We exchange a silent conversation with no more than a glance, and I know Lark understands that she can say whatever she wants. Whatever she feels. She can be whoever she wants to be. I will take her in any version of herself she’s willing to give.