Slashed (Extreme Risk 3)

Everything else washes away.

The crappy way Darren treated me. The fact that my mother is back. The fact that my father took her back. The fact that things between Luc and me are about as far from settled as they can get.

It’s all gone, all buried under the avalanche of need that slashes through me. “I need you,” I tell him, and my voice is so hoarse it’s nearly unrecognizable. “I need you, I need you, I need—”

I break off with a low, keening cry as he tilts my hips up until I’m standing on my tippy-toes, and then delivers one long, slow lick along the very heart of me.

My knees do go then, and the only things holding me up are the counter beneath my cheek and Luc’s shoulders angled between my legs.

“What are you doing?” I manage to gasp out.

He laughs a little, his breath warm and wicked against my sex. “If you don’t know, I guess I’m doing something wrong.”

He licks me again, sliding his tongue between my lips this time and delving deep inside of me. Once, twice, then again and again as I white-knuckle the counter and pray for him to stop. Or to never stop. I can’t decide which. No one’s ev

er done this to me before and I never guessed it could feel this good, no matter what Cosmo says. I never guessed my whole body could become one white-hot, throbbing live wire of want and need and desperation.

Luc pulls back a little, and I arch my back, try to follow his mouth. He laughs again, but it’s warm and sweet and so, so sexy. Then he slides first one and then a second finger, deep inside of me. I gasp at the feel of them there, at the way he crooks them so they hit my G-spot perfectly. At the way he leans forward and licks his way over my sex, between his fingers, deep inside of me. Pleasure slams through me like a landslide, pulling me under, burying me in the overwhelming power of it all. In the overwhelming heat that burns in my blood, sizzles along my every nerve ending.

I cry out his name, holding onto the sound that hangs in the air—holding on to him—as my orgasm builds and builds. Luc must sense it, because he grabs my hip with his free hand, pulls me back against him hard. Opens me up so that his fingers can delve deeper and his tongue can circle my clit.

“Fuck, Luc, I—”

He doesn’t stop what he’s doing to answer, but his free hand caresses my hip now, soothing me even as my hands shake and my brain goes fuzzy. And then he does something with his tongue that sends me over the edge, sends me hurtling into ecstasy as I lose all control and call out his name again and again.

He stays with me through it, using his mouth and hands and body to make me crazy. To take me higher. To make the pleasure last and last and last.

He doesn’t move until it’s over—until I sag against him, gasping for air. Only then does he stand. Only then does he let his pants fall off his hips and down his legs. Only then does he press himself against me from shoulder to thigh and whisper in my ear, “Can you take me?”

I’m too pleasure-drunk to form words, so I answer him the only way I can. By winding my arms around his hips, palming his ass, and pulling him as tightly against me as I can get him.

He groans, long and low and deep. And then his thumb is on my still-sensitive clit, circling, circling, circling even as he tilts my hips up and back. Even as he slides a condom on that he got from God only knows where. Even as he sinks home.

“Fuck,” he whispers, and it’s a prayer as much as it is a curse. “You feel so good.”

“So do you.” And he does, even though he’s taking it slow, giving me time to adjust. But I don’t want time, don’t want to adjust. All I want is him moving inside of me. Coming inside of me.

I move my hips restlessly, taking control from him for long moments as I slide myself up and down his cock. Darren would never let me get away with that—he always had to be the one in control, even when he hurt me—but Luc isn’t like that. Luc just braces his hands on the counter on either side of me, rests his forehead against my upper back. And lets me fuck him like I so desperately want to.

At least for a little while. And then he’s steadying me with a hand on my hip. With his mouth on the back of my neck. With his teeth sinking gently into my skin.

I cry out then, my knees buckling once and for all under the renewed onslaught of pleasure. “Let go,” he whispers with his still damp mouth against my skin. “I’ve got you.”

And he does. Oh, God, he does. He’s moving inside me now, faster and faster. Hands grabbing, hips pistoning, long, lean body trembling despite the rigid control he’s exerting—or maybe because of it.

“Luc, please. I need—”

He thrusts harder, licks his way across my neck and up my cheek. “Take what you need, baby,” he tells me, voice harsh and strained.

It turns out that’s all I need—Luc, calling me baby. Luc, stretched to the breaking point. Luc, needing me in that moment as much as I need him.

I tumble straight over the edge and off the cliff. Pleasure swamps me, pulls me down, pulls me under. And Luc is right there with me, body going rigid. Hands tightening on my hips. Body jerking against mine.

Nothing in my life—not even boarding off the side of a mountain in the backcountry—has ever felt this good. This right. The feeling would scare me to death if it weren’t Luc holding me. If it weren’t Luc still pulsing inside of me.

When it’s over—when I’m sated and exhausted and tucked into Luc’s side in his bed—I expect to fall asleep instantly. Despite the rigors I put it through on a regular basis, my body has never felt so drained.

But that’s not how it happens. Luc drifts off to sleep beside me, his mouth pressed against my hair, and I’m left staring at the ceiling as my mind races over everything that happened today. Over the boating trip with Luc and Z and Ash. Over going home and finding my long-lost mother has moved back in. Over coming to Luc—because it’s always Luc who makes me feel better—and making the terrifying and exhilarating move from friends to lovers.