Wicked Torture (Stark World 3)

He meets my eyes. "No." His fingers run over the leather of the belt. "That was just playing. Leading you to the bed."

"Oh. Why not?"

"You know why not."

He's right. I do, and I turn away, lost in a sudden memory. We'd played those kinds of games before. Nothing hard core, but lover's games. Handcuffs and ropes. Spanking. Once, even candle wax.

Games, yes, but the kind that require trust. Commitment.

And those are two things we've lost.

"Later," he says gently. But I know better. We'll never get to that point because this isn't a relationship. It's not going to grow.

On the contrary, tonight is a wall. A cure. A terminus.

The thought disturbs me more than it should, but I brush it off, then flash him a smile. "Good," I say. "Because right now, I need these hands."

Before he can ask what I mean, I give him a little shove onto the bed, then force him onto his back when I straddle him.

I make quick work of his slacks and shoes, and in no time at all, he's naked beneath me. "There," I say. "That's better."

His eyes flash with green heat. "Much."

He starts to say more, but I silence him with a kiss, then move my lips lower and lower, until my mouth is brushing over the smattering of hair on his chest, then down the straight line to his navel, and then down the final line of hair arrowing toward his very large, very ready cock.

I use my tongue only once, licking from his balls to the tip as I keep my eyes on his. "I want you inside me," I say, and am rewarded by his low, eager groan.

He edges sideways to get a condom out of the bedside table, then rolls it on. I approve, but at the same time it makes me sad. Because we used to be so far beyond that.

"Kiki?"

I realize I'm frowning, lost in the past, and I shift my expression, even as I shift my body to straddle him.

"Good girl," he says as I rub against him. I'm so wet already, my core clenching in anticipation. In want. In need.

"Touch me," I demand, and he strokes me, his fingers teasing my clit, then plunging deep inside me, making me wild. Desperate. Until I can't take it anymore and I lower myself hard and fast, taking him in, and then again and again. Deeper and deeper until he's filled me, and I'm riding him, and I don't ever want to stop. Because this is Noah, and we fit.

We've always fit.

A momentary wave of melancholy crashes over me, but then it disappears as rational thought is pushed out of my mind. Replaced by need and pleasure and vibrant passion.

Faster and faster I ride him, until finally he grabs my hips and slams me down hard.

I cry out, overwhelmed by the sensation of being filled so completely, coupled with the added friction against my clit.

A wild orgasm rips through me, turning me inside out, shaking me to my core as my body milks Noah and he explodes inside of me even as I tumble over the edge and burst into a million bright new stars.

I'm as limp as a rag, utterly exhausted, completely drained--and I feel wonderful. We're spooned together, his arm draped over me, his chest against my back, and I'm breathing deep as I start to drift, anticipating reliving every delicious moment in my dreams since my body is too spent to survive another round in real life.

"This is what I wanted from the moment I saw you singing at The Fix," he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to my shoulder. "But I never imagined we'd get here."

His words are innocent enough. And yet they rouse me back to consciousness, causing me to shiver as pinpricks of something akin to worry skitter over my skin.

"We can't," I begin, then let the words hang because I don't know where to go with them.

"I think we just did. And pretty well, too."

"No," I say, rolling over to face him. I draw a breath, gathering my courage. Because the truth is, I need all the strength I can muster to say what needs to be said. "No," I repeat. "This wasn't a beginning, Noah. It was an end."