Drunk on the dream, the emotions from the last few days, hell the last few years, she tilted her head to look at him in the moonlight—her dark devil who owned her soul.
“I was reading a book yesterday,” she whispered in the space between them, not knowing any finesse to say it any better. “The man in the story found the woman and said he would make love to her.” She swallowed. “Will you make love to me tonight?”
She knew he could see the earnestness in her eyes, the hunger for this affection in her face, the desire for this intimacy in her voice. He set her on her feet.
“What did the man do to make love to her?” he murmured, taking a step forward as she took one back.
She looked into his eyes, those mismatched eyes that had held her captive since the first time she saw them, and gave voice to the deepest desire of her heart.
“He touched her soul.”
He took a hold of her jaw, pulling her up until she stood on her toes, his lips a hair-breadth from her. She didn’t know if he didn’t close the distance between them because he’d never kissed or because he never wanted to, but she waited. They just breathed each other in for a long moment, before he leaned forward and brushed their lips together in the lightest of kisses, so light the sensation made her strain higher to get more.
“If we do this,” he said quietly against her mouth, “I will be your last everything. You choose this, you choose everything I am, every twisted, deranged, obsessed part of me. You choose this, and I will never fucking let you go. Do you understand?”
Her eyes fluttered close. “I do.”
Before the last word was out from her lips, his mouth slashed down over hers.
Mint. Coffee. Him.
She strained her toes to take her as high as she could go, her hands clinging to the width of his shoulders, one of his hands on her jaw, another on her hip, holding her upright. He pulled back, his eyes dark, the pupil of the light one blown as he gave her a heated look, before he dove in again, picking her up with one hand and turning so her back rested against the closet door. She wrapped her legs around him, grinding against the rock-hard bulge in his sweatpants as he devoured her. The taste of him exploded on her mouth, and she opened hers.
Tentatively, she swirled her tongue against his.
And the most unexpected thing happened.
He shuddered.
A full body, uncontrolled shudder.
She pulled back to find his eyes on her, a slightly unhinged look in them that she’d never seen before as he demanded, “Do that again.”
Feeling her heart pulsing through her entire body, her nipples stiffened to tight points against his chest, just separated by a thin fabric, she pressed herself closer to him, gliding her hand into his hair and tugged him into her.
She ran her tongue over his lips and he pulled her into his mouth, sucking on it in a way that had her pussy throbbing against his cock, her body beginning to writhe with sensations, a blaze of fire spreading inside her.
They stood there for a long time, kissing, testing, tasting, learning each other’s mouths. He shuddered again when their tongues glided over each other, and she felt the jolt of it straight between her legs, knowing it was she who was responsible for such visceral responses from him. Their first and second and third kisses merged into one as he held her up, taking, owning, claiming every inch of her mouth.
Still kissing her, he moved, and suddenly, she found herself lying on her back on the bed.
He pulled away from her mouth. “Trust me still?” he asked, and she gulped, before she gave a nod.
His lips twitched. “Do as I say and you’ll get a gift.”
God, she loved it when he said that.
Putting one hand on the bed by her side and another under her waist, he single-handedly pulled her up the bed, until her head rested on the pillow. He hopped down from the bed with agility, pushing his pants down, his cock springing out, the piercings glinting in the moonlight.
“Hands above your head,” he instructed her, and she complied, curious to see what he had in mind. “Don’t move.”
With those words, he walked out of the room.
Lyla stared at the ceiling, then turned to look at the darkness outside, waiting for him to return. Minutes passed. She became aware of the way her breasts thrust up in this position, her nipples pointed out prominently, her stomach exposed, her pussy weeping in her shorts.
“Dainn,” she called out after what felt like eternity, and he didn’t come.
Whimpering in need, she writhed on the bed but didn’t pull her hands down, wanting whatever gift he had in mind.