Wicked Burn

He winced slightly. “No, I didn’t mean that. I just should be more careful about withdrawing from you afterward if you can get pregnant, that’s all,” he mumbled. Niall watched him, feeling perplexed. He got up and sauntered to the bathroom, reminding Niall of a wild animal, supremely confident and graceful in his natural state of nudity. When he returned a few moments later, he kissed her lightly as he came down next to her on the bed.

“Aren’t you worried about catching something from me?” he asked bluntly.

Niall’s cheeks burned. The answer was “no,” but she felt like too much of a fool for saying it. She was like a teenage boy in the first hormonal throes of lust, wild to have sex with Vic for the lame, downright pitiful reason that if felt so damned good . . . and she was so hungry, so desperate to feel alive.

“Hey, it’s all right,” Vic said in his slow, soothing drawl when he saw how her face collapsed with emotion. His hands came up to cradle her head, his fingers furrowing into the waves of her hair. “I’m as healthy as one of my horses, I swear. Granted, that doesn’t mean much to you, but if you knew me, it would. I just had a checkup two weeks ago and I got a clean bill of health. I always wear protection, Niall—without fail.”

His face stiffened in concern when she just shook her head, made speechless by emotion.

“Course, I should turn you over my knee if you actually believe a line like that from a guy who screwed his neighbor the second after he knew her name.”

That pierced Niall’s temporary mortification. She blinked rapidly, bringing him into focus. His handsome mouth quirked ever so slightly into a grin.

“I’m kidding, Niall. I might be a moody son of a bitch when I’m writing, and my sister and a hundred or so other people have told me that I’ve got a foul temper, but I don’t lie. That’s not one of my vices. I hate lies.”

Niall burst abruptly into laughter. It felt bittersweet to have Vic encircle her in his arms and tighten his hold while emotion washed over her. Laughter continued to burble out of her throat uncontrollably. She carefully hid the tears that scattered down her cheeks.

What could she tell him? Nothing about the intense passion she had for him made any sense. She felt too embarrassed . . . too vulnerable to say out loud that she couldn’t picture herself in a million years behaving in this wild, uninhibited, impulsive fashion with another man.

She had some kind of intense crush on Vic Savian.

And he would undoubtedly be the one who was mortified if she ever went into the ugly details of her life, poured out her heart, told him how it felt so heavenly to feel life coursing vibrantly in her veins again. This was supposed to be a mutually satisfying sexual relationship, not an opportunity for Niall to cry all over Vic while he played psychotherapist for her.

How desperate could she get? Niall stared sightlessly at Vic’s iron bedstead, and muffled laughter came in semi-hysterical bursts past her lips. She’d been so frozen, so numb for the past few years.

Why couldn’t she have been like most people and awakened from her trauma gradually instead of in the fierce, volatile explosion of desire and passion that Vic had ignited in her?

Vic stiffened when he felt a splash of wetness fall on his shoulder. For some reason he couldn’t bear the sadness that he saw in Niall’s eyes at times. He gently scooted her down on the pillows. He refused to look at her face as he came down over her, not wanting to acknowledge her sadness.

There was only one way that he knew of to get rid of it, temporary though it was.

Maybe it was selfish. Who knew? Vic was the first to admit he was a savage when it came to dealing with a woman’s tears. If he couldn’t beat the hell out of whatever was making Niall miserable, than he’d fuck her until he saw the look of glazed ecstasy in her beautiful eyes that he much preferred.

Yeah, they were caveman tactics, but shit . . . he barely knew her, right? He wasn’t certain that he wanted to know more about her. As drawn as he was to Niall, he was skittish about jumping into the dangerous, shark-infested waters of a woman’s emotions.

He noticed how she furtively wiped at the tears on her cheeks but forced himself to focus on the sight of her naked body. It easily distracted him. He reached up and fondled her breasts. He lifted both and removed his hands quickly, enjoying the sight of them popping pertly back into their original position.

Enjoying it a lot.

He popped the pert little beauties several times, scraping his palms across her stiffened nipples as he released her, and growling in aroused satisfaction like a big cat playing with its prey.

“You’re so firm,” he muttered. He plucked and pinched her nipples. The red tips made his mouth water. Her breasts were perfectly shaped, but the unusually large, succulent nipples drove him wild.

“You liked it when I spanked you earlier, didn’t you?”

Niall’s lips fell open in surprise at his abrupt question. His light eyes flickered to her face and held her gaze.

“I . . . I’m not sure . . . I . . .” Niall stammered.

His stared down at her, unrelenting.

“Yes,” she whispered after a few seconds.

He leaned down without any further comment and slipped a tasty, fat nipple between his lips and teeth, drawing on her. He consumed her greedily, sucking and nipping at the sensitive flesh. Niall beaded tight at his harsh treatment, which was creating an unbearable ache in her sex. He continued to play with her other breast with his hand, fondling and squeezing and pinching.

Niall moaned. Her hips lifted off the bed in an instinctive motion. His hard suction on her nipple pulled at some invisible cord deep in her vagina, making her long to have the hard length of his penis rubbing and agitating it like he did when he fucked her. He made her forget her self-consciousness and anxiety so easily, transformed her into a purely carnal creature.