“What is?”
“Hmm.” His fingers trail down to trace over my lips until I’m smothering again. “I think you know.”
“What’s the problem?”
“We should talk about this tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“Because I have this funny feeling that you’re going to argue with me and when it comes to you there’s always a chance I’ll lose the argument and I can’t let that happen.”
I see the light at the end of the tunnel growing dim. Cold. The rejection mangles my insides, twisting me inside out. “Please?” I know how pitiful it is but I can’t seem to help myself. It always feels like he’s right here and somehow just out of reach. I want him so much, I feel fucking crazy with it.
“Pandora,” he sighs.
It’s too pathetic, too desperate. I need a different approach. I trail my hand down his neck, sliding it under his collar to trace my fingers from his shoulder to his sternum, chest lightening when his eyes drift shut with a shaky exhale. I begin cautiously unhooking the buttons of his shirt and his eyes flash open. I peek up, biting my lip in what I hope is an enticing expression.
He squeezes his eyes shut with a hoarse laugh before shaking his head and stilling the descent of my hand with his. “Don’t do that.”
“What?” I mutter obtusely.
“Try to seduce me.”
I look down at my hand, still fiddling with the buttons of his shirt. “No one has to know…”
“You silly, oblivious, wholly frustrating girl—“ He flattens his forehead to mine, staring at me intently. “I am not—“
Trapping his jaw between my hands, I kiss him before he can retreat. “Pan—“ he starts, muffled against my mouth.
I kiss him more fiercely, digging my nails into his neck, trying to communicate how desperately Ineedthis. He’s unmoving against me, eyes still full of troubled reluctance. “Please?” I nip at his lip and he breaks with a growl that sings under my skin. Taking advantage of his moment of weakness, I haul him against me and wrap my legs around his waist, feeling like I’ve won when he slams me back into the wall and kisses me as if he needs it just as much as I do.
I tear at his shirt and wrench it down his shoulders. He seems to have resigned himself to my wishes because he only watches helplessly as I aid him in shrugging it away. Now that I’m here, I falter, a flush working over my cheeks. My movements turn a little slower, a little shyer as I run my hands over the warm, smooth skin of his chest, his shoulders, the firm solidity of his arms.
His next kiss is tender as his hands begin slowly melding down my body. He breaks free to look down as his hands appreciatively carve over my hips and trace up my legs wrapping his waist. They inch under the hem of my dress, lingering over the bare skin of my thighs, and come to a still—hesitating, deliberating.
Please.
I thrust forward, coaxing him on, lifting my arms obediently as he tugs my dress up over my head. He slams my wrists back against the wall before I can lower them and laces our fingers together above my head. The heat of his body converges with the heat of mine and I want to cry in mouth-watering relief. I press myself to him completely, my stomach to his stomach, my chest to his chest, soaking up all of the glorious warmth of his skin. He kisses me harder and harder in an endless rolling tide that takes medeeperanddeeperanddeeper.
His lips find my neck, kissing and nipping and licking at me as he works his way down. When his fingers curl under the fabric binding my breasts I arch my back in a silent request.
More.
He rips the fabric down to expose me and straightens. Because, of course, it’s not enough to touch. He wants tolook,like he’s intent on seeing what no one else did tonight, hidden under the thick curtain of hair.
I’d momentarily forgotten about the daemon’s blight in the heat of the moment and I falter, self consciousness prickling as a flush creeps over my skin.
Small breasts that likely won’t fill his hands, one patterned with the large, ugly, splotchy mark cutting all the way to the peak. Not even close to the lush curves of the woman he’d disappeared with earlier. Will he like me…will he be disappointed…
Trembling, I fight the urge to hide, to curl around myself. Maybe he senses the vulnerability he’s uncovered because he moves slower, head bowing and cheek caressing the side of mine as he drags a single knuckle down the center of my chest.
He pauses at the blight and then changes direction, making a circle—outlining it. I let out a shaky exhale and he turns his head to nuzzle his nose over my temple. He traces the pattern, leaving a trail of fire in his wake, until he meets the swell of my breast before he stops and continues his descent back down. His other hand grazes up from its perch against my hip. I fight the urge to squirm as he cradles the bottom creases of my breasts between his forefingers and his thumbs.
I want him to touch me.
God, I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want him to touch me.
I arch my back, driving myself further into his hands, hating myself for how much I need it. This seems to draw him from his lazy stupor. He inhales sharply, driving me back into the wall as his hands come up to give me what I want.
