Just the thought put so much steel in his cock he could barely contain the erection. His jeans were stretched so tight the material hurt. His skin hurt where the scars were tight, but they gave way to the scorching-hot blood filling his cock at the thought of having his own woman willing to put herself in his hands. Giving herself to him. Surrendering to him when his cravings grew so dark there was no containing them.
In all the years of needing relief from his demons, he’d never once wanted or looked for a woman of his own. Until now. Until Seychelle. Now he couldn’t conceive of another woman meeting his needs or satisfying his dark addictions.
“There are too many things wrong to even start,” he admitted. His voice came out low. Velvet soft. Whispering over her. He could see the results, the way goose bumps rose on her skin. She was very susceptible to him. Receptive to his voice. She was as connected to him as he was to her.
Deliberately, he dropped his hand over his cock, massaging the terrible throbbing ache. It hurt like hell. Made him feel alive. His reaction to her was real. His erection was real. He hadn’t commanded it. He hadn’t put stripes on a woman’s body to get an arousal. Just the images in his mind of them on her skin, the sight of the scars on her leg, and his cock was fuller and hotter than it had ever been.
There was a part of him that knew—if she’d been his woman—he would have just stood up, caught her by all that glorious golden hair and brought her to her knees right in front of him. Or he would have taken her on her hands and knees and pounded into her, relieved the brutal, vicious, glorious ache in his cock.
Her gaze followed his hand, just as he knew it would. He saw the way her nipples peaked beneath the racer-back tank she wore at night. She had lush, generous tits. Full and round. He wanted to see her nipples; they appeared as if they were generous as well, the kind he could spend time with. He had all kinds of fantasies about nipple play since he’d met her.
The tip of Seychelle’s tongue touched her lips, wetting them so they glistened in the light spilling in from the window. The ocean cast a silvery tone to her hair and a glow over her body.
“I told you I knew all sorts of sinful, dirty things. Do you want to learn any of them? I’m in the mood to teach some of them to you if you’re not afraid to learn.”
It was a challenge, delivered in a low, sexy voice. Deliberate. Velvet soft. His voice mesmerizing. She knew his voice could compel, and she was susceptible. She had a choice: to let herself fall under his spell or tell him to go to hell. He waited, his lungs burning. Raw. His face an expressionless mask. Eyes, twin blue flames.
Her gaze jumped from his hand massaging his cock to his eyes. That was a mistake on her part, because he could hold her captive with his gaze. She should have remembered that. Her tits rose and fell with every ragged breath she drew. He had to be so careful. He didn’t want to lose her, and he didn’t want to lose control. Demons shrieked at him. The monster in him rose fast, howling to be let loose.
“The dishes can dry all on their own. Put the towel down.” He waited to see if she would obey him. That was always the first step. The hardest.
She stood spellbound as he unzipped his jeans. Casual. She had no idea what he was going to do. Fear crept into her eyes, but she put the towel aside and stood in front of him, waiting. Bog, she was wonderful. So courageous. He hadn’t even earned her trust. He intended to do just that.
“Do you use toys to get yourself off?” He kept his voice low. Casual.
He’d talked about jerking off in the hospital. She’d been under the influence of pain medication and maybe she wouldn’t remember. He was commando under his jeans, and the relief to his cock was tremendous. The cool night air hit his shaft, those tight bands that were stretched so wide the pain was part of the pounding pleasure. He thought it was possible his cock might explode, it was stretched so thick with rich hot blood. He wrapped his fist around the pulsing shaft and waited for her answer.
“I have a toy,” she whispered. “It fits over my clit.” Her fascinated gaze was fixed on his fist, lazily beginning to pump his cock.
“Have you ever gotten off with it?”
She shook her head. Once more her tongue moistened her lips, and his cock nearly jumped out of his hand in response.
“Babe, get it out. You’re going to need it.”
She stood very still as if she might not do what he said. He didn’t tell her again. He just stayed sprawled out in the chair, cock in hand, watching the expression on her face. The hunger in her eyes. There was so much mystery to Seychelle. So much about her he didn’t understand.