Burn My Hart (The Notorious Harts 2)

I lift my face to his for a second but he flashes me a tight smile—tight, I think, because he can barely hold on another moment—and then he’s bending me forward towards the bed.

‘Stay there.’

Another command, and this time I obey it without question. I lie with my wrists on the bed and when he comes back I hear the tell-tale noise of protection and then his hands are on my thighs, spreading my legs wider. He mutters something in Greek and then he drives himself into me, his possession from behind so deep, so all-consuming while his hands on my hips steady me as pleasure blinds me momentarily.

‘Theo...’ His name on my lips is a curse and a prayer. I dig my nails into the bed, holding on for dear life, fully aware I’m at risk of losing myself and not sure I care. ‘God, Theo.’

He moves his hands to curve around my rear, and all I can do is feel—I feel every shift of his body, every thrust, every breath that whooshes out of him. I feel the balmy night air breezing through the half-open window, I feel the softness of the bed beneath me. I feel Theo in every pore of my body. I squeeze my eyes shut as I come, pleasure bursting over me like a dam wall at breaking point.

I don’t realise I’m screaming until his hand curves over my mouth and a husky laugh emerges from him. ‘You’re going to wake all of Paris.’

‘Don’t. Give. A. Shit.’ I press my face to the bed, my cheeks warm, my eyes foggy. It’s too good. Everything about this moment is mind-blowing. But then he brings a hand around to my clit and begins to rub my sensitive flesh as he moves deep inside me and I can barely hold myself together. I bite down on my lip to stop from screaming so loudly but God, this feels good.

He is an expert at my body, an expert at me.

I feel another wave building but, before it can crash over me, his hands are chasing mine, catching the wrists, holding them completely still.

‘I want to tie you up,’ he murmurs, so my heart rate accelerates and I am beyond speech for a moment. ‘What do you think?’

My mouth is dry. The image of being at his command is intensely erotic. ‘Do you have any cable ties?’ I joke, but my voice is airy and thin.

‘Something better.’ He slaps my butt lightly and releases my hands. ‘Hop up.’

He pulls out of me and I climb up onto the bed, moving to the centre. His hands catch mine once more and his body comes over me, his gaze locked to mine as he presses my fingers to the ornate wrought iron bedhead. It takes me a second to realise he’s using my thong as a restraint, weaving it in and out of the metal and around my wrists.

‘Seriously?’

He grins. ‘Innovative, right?’

‘Genius.’

His eyes hold a warning and then he kisses me once, hard, fast, before lifting his face and staring down at me once more. ‘Let’s see if it’ll hold.’

I don’t realise what he means until his tongue is on my sex, running over my flesh, tormenting me and delighting me. I cry out and buck my hips, jerking on my arms but they don’t move. They can’t. I’m effectively trapped.

‘Theo!’

His laugh is warm against my flesh and then his tongue is at my clit, his fingers separating me and sliding inside so my whole body is filling with warmth and heat. ‘Fuck!’

He laughs again, a gravelly sound.

‘This isn’t...fair...’

‘Do you want me to untie you?’

I push up to stare at him. ‘No!’ It’s a whisper. ‘I want you to...’

‘You want to come again,’ he teases, enjoying this.

I fall back to the bed, my pulse racing. ‘Yes.’

‘And you will, Asha. I’m going to make you come so many times you black out.’

A smile curves my lips. ‘Is that a promise?’

Somewhere after the fourth orgasm I feel like I could actually faint. Pleasure has crested through me and I have no idea how I’ll ever feel sane again. I’m living in some kind of euphoric world, all bliss and pleasure and hedonism.

‘I want to stay like this for ever,’ I groan, my body heavy with delight, my nipples tight and sensitive, my blood languid after rushing through my body for over an hour.