Moaning his name, rather. Kiss me, Lucian.
She shivered.
Sheets rustled as he rose on his elbow. “Are you cold?”
She couldn’t tell—goose bumps were prickling over the surface of her skin, but inside she felt heated. “A bit,” she said.
He was more shadow than solid form, his eyes a faint glitter in the dark. “Lie closer to me,” he said. “I’ll warm you.”
She gave a shaky huff. “That’s not all you want.”
“No,” he said after a moment. “I want to touch you.”
She couldn’t seem to catch her breath. “Just touch me?”
He held himself very still. She had breathed the words so softly she had not expected him to hear them. “It’s all I’d do,” he murmured. In the velvety dark, still humming with unspent desire, his ragged words promised pleasure. The dull ache between her legs became a yearning pull.
Slowly, slowly, she rolled to her side to face the wall.
Lucian was silent.
She inched her hips back toward him.
It was the only invitation he needed. He embraced her from behind; one strong hand slid under her chest, the other over her, his fingers spreading over her belly as he pulled her against the hard length of his body.
She gasped—he slept naked. “I don’t—”
His hold on her eased. “I heard you.”
Her heart still beat rapidly beneath his palm. She was aroused by transgression and risk; it was the only explanation for why she had pushed her backside up against a naked, virile man. His hair tickled her cheek, then he lightly kissed the side of her neck. At her soft sigh, his hand on her belly slid up over the curve of her hip and lingered, and when she remained still in his arms, he stroked slowly down her thigh. Heat bloomed beneath the warm pressure of his palm, then all attention pooled where his fingers inched under the hem of her gown. The wicked touch moved over her bare leg, up, and up. He gently kneaded her breast that filled his other hand, and her cheek was hot against the pillow. No thoughts, just sensations. The steady flow of his breath. The rustle of her gown. Her body gathering pleasure wherever he moved his confident fingers. He caressed the downy-soft skin high on the back of her thigh until she shifted to ease the building tension. From behind, his hand slipped between her legs. She was panting when he rubbed over the most delicate spot.
His warm lips brushed her ear. “Does it feel good?”
She couldn’t speak. His hand was working small, firm circles. She could barely hold on to thoughts. “Y-yes.”
A twinge of pleasure-pain stung her nipple and her back arched, pushing her breast more fully into his palm. He pinched her again, and down below his fingertips sank into her as if through water. Dangerous. Delicious. She still disliked him, but images flashed of him naked and aroused with his knee between hers on the bed, and her body clenched over dissatisfying emptiness. They would have fit very well indeed. Her nails dug into the mattress.
His finger entered her, slid in smoothly. “Yes,” she heard herself say. He wouldn’t be hurried, but he gave it to her, in a leisurely, steady rhythm, winding her tension tighter with each push of his fingers until her hips were moving, chasing the promise of a pulsing release … His other hand stroked from her breast down her belly and lower, and then he pressed with his fingertips in counterpoint to the plunge of his fingers from behind. A powerful rush of heat overtook her, and she gave an anxious cry. She felt his teeth graze the side of her throat. Then he bit down. The tension between her legs snapped in a shower of stars, and she cried out again.
She lay wrung out in his arms, feeling both light as air and heavy as lead. Her mind was reassembling slowly, one breath at a time. She became aware of Lucian’s need, simmering beneath his warm skin, seductive in its leashed urgency. She supposed she could roll onto her back and open her legs. He could enter her relaxed body easily, not causing her much discomfort, and he could take his pleasure, too. For a moment, it was tempting. But he was a man of his word, and unless she asked him for it as he had told her she must do, he’d probably not do it. He’d rather endure his unspent lust. That, too, was tempting.
“Do you remember?” she said drowsily.
He shifted, carefully withdrawing his hands. “Remember what?”
“On our wedding night, when I said I wouldn’t like it if you kissed me, down below.”
Her eyes were drifting shut by the time he said, “I remember.”
“I said I wouldn’t like it.”
He was quiet, allowing her to return to sleep.