She should stop him, she knew. She should have never allowed it to go this far. She couldn’t allow herself to sink so deep into this morass of sensations.
But it was happening.
Her thighs parted as his fingers met the soft tuft of curls between her thighs.
He hadn’t kissed her. But at that moment every thought was centering on what he was doing, not on what he hadn’t done.
There were very few preliminaries, but she didn’t need them tonight. When his fingers found the saturated, sensitized slit of her pu**y and the swollen folds of flesh between her thighs she wondered if she somehow lost her mind in that moment.
Because there was no way that any man’s, or Breed’s, touch could really feel this good.
She really didn’t feel sensation suddenly snapping through her body as something so far beyond pleasure tore through her senses.
A cry slipped past her lips. Rough, ragged, it was one that echoed with a building ecstasy and the need she couldn’t control.
She didn’t want to control it.
“Lawe, this is dangerous!” Her voice filled with the need for more, the fear of more, the exclamation came just as his fingers stroked around her clit, gripped it and began plumping it.
Her knees weakened as she arched into the sensually charged, erotically painful pleasure. She could barely gasp for air, the sensations were so brilliant. It was all she could do to spread her thighs farther apart. Tilting her hips closer, Diane reached back to hold on to his neck as his fingers released the tight bud, slid lower then sank inside the clenched, tight depths of her pu**y.
She moaned. Her inner muscles clamped on his digits, flexed and convulsed around them.
“Feel your body milking my fingers.” The growl in his tone, animalistic and primal, had her womb clenching with pulse after pulse of erotic excitement. “That’s how you’ll grip my dick, Diane. All sweet and hot. Like a tight little fist wrapping around it and sucking my c**k until I’m exploding inside you.” His fingers pushed in deep, the feel of them rough and calloused. “Until I’m pumping my come so hard inside your pu**y we’re both dying from it. Locked so tight inside you we’ll wonder where one begins and the other ends.”
And she wouldn’t care.
She was so close.
She wouldn’t care where he began and she ended. All she cared about now was the pleasure and the need for release that beat inside her bloodstream like a fever.
“So silky and hot.” His fingers eased back before thrusting inside her again, hard and deep and drawing another ragged cry from her lips.
“I want to taste you, Diane.” His voice was more guttural, rougher than ever. “I want to f**k you with my tongue, taste all your sweet juices and feel you coming for me. I want to taste your pleasure until I’m drowning in you.”
“Lawe, please.” She couldn’t bear it. The need for release was growing, tightening, burning inside her until she felt as though flames were licking through her body. “Just do it, damn you.”
“Mate you?” His fingers were deep inside her, stroking, caressing, rubbing against nerve endings never touched before and too sensitive to bear it for long. “Should I mate you, Diane? Give you my kiss and let you go crazy with the heat that will fill both of us?”
“Why are you doing this to me?” She moaned as reality threatened to intrude.
A whimper built in her chest as the sensations began to coalesce into a white-hot conflagration that she no longer had any control over.
She could feel her release building, feel her womb, her pu**y, her clit tightening, reaching, rushing headlong into ecstasy.
“You’re mine,” he whispered at her ear as his fingers stroked, rubbed, thrusting into the clenched tissue. “My scent covers you. It’s my touch you ache for and only mine that will satisfy that sweet, hot little pu**y.”
His fingers were moving harder inside her. Faster. She could feel it beginning to pour through her, like a wave rushing out of control, pounding at her, building, surging—
She wanted to scream.
“Why are you doing this?” she cried out, desperate for release as he tormented her. “Please, Lawe . . .”
“Don’t think to let another have you, Diane,” he snarled at her ear, nipped it. “Because no other will ever give you this . . .”
Harder.
His fingers f**ked inside her with a rhythm that had her gasping at the savagery of the pleasure, reaching, crying out and giving herself to every white-hot sensation he unleashed inside her.
When the ecstasy hit she could do nothing but lift to him and gasp for air, her pu**y clamped down on his fingers, convulsing, spilling more of her juices as she shot into her release with a power that left her spinning out of control.
She had never known anything so intense, so erotic and primal. An orgasm had never tossed her so violently into rapture, into such an ecstasy that there was no control, no denial or reality but that of Lawe and the culmination of his touch.
With Lawe, there was no way to throttle back, no way to ease anything or control it.
She was his.
Dependent upon him to remain standing and not sink to the floor.
Dependent upon him to hold her against him, to share his warmth, his heartbeat, to protect her for the few fragile moments she was defenseless and unable to protect herself.
She was dependent upon Lawe to ensure she came back to her own body after flying through space and time. To ease her past the savagery of each aftershock, to croon her name at her ear, to bring her slowly back to earth before he eased his fingers from the tight, convulsive grip of her sex.