Fueling His Hunger (Masters of Adrenaline 2)

A thrill of sexualized fear stole through her. She was so vulnerable, tied like this—hell, even if she wasn’t tied. Why was she goading this large man she barely knew?

He grabbed her by the back of the hair and claimed her mouth, coaxing, sensual, yet unforgiving. When she was whimpering again, he switched on the toothbrush. His hand came up between her legs, the handle of the brush vibrating as he coaxed it between her labia. Pressed against her aching clit, it brought her, gasping, to the brink, only to have him draw it away, let her calm, before pressing it to her again. He played his game, teasing and denying, until she could no longer control her sobbing.

At one point he dropped to his knees and nudged her legs further apart, spreading her labia, then flicking his tongue over her clit . . . so, so gently that she held her breath, every fiber of her being focused on the tiny center of her pleasure as he barely connected with it. Her muscles strained as she tried to use his tongue to get herself off, but he would draw away, avoiding giving her what she needed.

He alternated between tongue and the lightest touch of the spinning brush head, both like electric shocks, making her squeal and shriek until finally all she could manage was a constant, thin wail. During the breaks he bit her nipples, groped her, smacked her ass, teased her asshole. He finger-fucked her, drawing his fingers away, slick with her arousal—and made her taste it after all.

Sweat coated her body, making her hair cling damply to her neck. Needy, exhausted, she hung in her bonds, her legs like jelly.

This was never going to end. He was never going to give up, but she didn’t know what he wanted from her, other than to feed off her sexual suffering. Evil. He was just evil.

She couldn’t take another lick, another flick, another suck. And that damned brush. She couldn’t take the brush.

“Red.” She whimpered, broken, ashamed she was giving in. “Red, oh God, fucking red.”

He got to his feet, his brows furrowed in concern. “You’re done?” Without waiting for an answer, he unbuckled the restraints on her wrists, then caught her when her legs trembled and threatened to give out again. He eased her down onto the blanket he’d laid out next to the fire, covering her with a second one and wrapping her in it while she shivered and trembled. He pulled her close and she felt dazed but safe in his arms. But that didn’t fix the problem.

Shouldn’t he have lost control before this—more than just to take a breather and check her circulation?

“Are you okay?” he asked, his gaze concerned.

Unable to help it, she squirmed in the blanket. Her teeth chattered and her heart still thundered so loud it echoed in her ears.

“No.”

“What do you need?” He pulled her closer and trailed small kisses up the side of her neck to her ear, making her eyes roll back in pleasure disproportionate to his action.

“To come. I just need to come. Please.”

“You want cock?” he asked, his expression serious.

“I—Yes.”

“Then get on your knees and ask like a good girl.”

The words shorted out her mental processes for a moment. Knees? Like, kneel and ask for his cock? Oh God.

After only the barest hesitation, she fought her way out of the blanket and got shakily to her knees, sitting back on her heels. Luke rolled to his side and lay indolently on the blanket, head propped up on one hand, like a sultan eyeing a slave girl. Her slickness coated her thighs and now transferred to her heels, and parts of her calves. He waited, looking indifferent. His expression said, ?

?Impress me, slave, and I may grant you what you need.’

“Please, Luke,” she said shakily, “I need to come. Can I please have . . . cock?” She squirmed. Begging for sex was far more humiliating and arousing than she ever would have guessed.

The cruel smile on his lips matched the sin in his eyes.

“You may.” He stretched out on his back and laced his fingers behind his head.

No, damn it. She wanted him to throw her down and take what he wanted, not just let her use him to work off some steam.

“But . . . You’re dominant. I thought you’d want to, you know, take charge or whatever.”

“I am. Who’s getting what they want?” He flicked a finger toward the nearby bag. “Condoms are in there.”

“But I don’t know what I’m doing,” she stammered.

“I’ll help.”

Ugh!