Her lips parted, her breath shaky. He was too close, his heat sinking into her, his scent—dark spice, something dangerously addictive—wrapping around her senses. She should push him away. She should remind him that this wasn’treal.
But he was right. Whatever this was… it was real enough to steal the air from her lungs.
Titus leaned in, lips brushing her ear. “We know the reasons. That doesn’t mean the outcome can’t change.”
She wanted to ask more, to push him, but his fingers kept moving, moving, moving. They traced down her arm, sending a wave of sensation through her body. Her pulse stuttered as his touch drifted with agonizing slowness.
“Dad was at the wedding,” she whispered, trying to base herself. “He actuallyseemed… grateful.”
Titus’s fingers paused. “Of course he was. Iforgave most of Sam’s debts. Gave him back his life.”
Jazz fought the emotions swirling inside her. “And now I belong to you.”
He didn’t correct her.
The air between them thickened, his gaze dropping to her lips before sliding lower. “Tell me, Jazz,” he murmured, his voice dangerously soft. “Are you afraid now?”
He backed her to the bed, but he didn’t force her down. Not yet. Instead, he took his time, settling onto the edge and pulling her between his parted thighs, his large hands resting on her hips. The warmth of his touch burned through the thin lace of her underwear, brandingher.
“We’ll take it nice and slow, Jazz,” he murmured, his voice rough with restraint. “There’s no rush.”
No rush? The words sent a shiver through her, because all she could feel was urgency—her pulse pounded and she fought to draw a steady breath. But he was in charge, as he alwayswas, and that was what left her unmoored. He lifted his hands, trailing them over the curve of her waist, sketching the outline of her ribs as though memorizing her. His fingers grazed the undersides of her breasts, featherlight, teasing, before he cupped her fully, his thumbs brushing over the lace-covered peaks.
She sucked in a swift breath. “Titus—”
“Shh.” He squeezed gently, his thumbs teasing again, drawing slow circles that made her body tremble. “Let me enjoy my bride.”
Heat coiled through her, pooling low in her belly, tightening something deep and unfamiliar. He reached behind her and unhooked the delicate scrap of lace holding her breasts in place, peeling it away with devastating patience. She gasped as the cool air kissed her exposed skin, but before she could react, his mouth was there—hot, wet, his lips closing over one tight peak, his tongue stroking, teasing. Abroken moan slipped from her throat, her hands flying to his shoulders, her fingers digging into the solid muscle beneathhis shirt.
“Titus—oh.”
He made a sound of satisfaction, laving her nipple with his tongue before drawing it deeper into his mouth, sucking with a force that sent pleasure arcing through her, winding her tighter, leaving her raw and aching. His free hand traveled lower, skimming her stomach, dipping beneath the waistband of her panties. His fingers slipped between her thighs, parting her, finding her already drenched.
He groaned against her skin. “You’re so ready for me, Jazz.”
Her face burned, but there was no embarrassment. Just need. Justhim.
He stripped away her final barrier, her lacy thong dropping to the floor. Then his fingers stroked her, sliding through her slick heat, teasing, circling, but never giving her what she craved. Every touch was measured, skillful, as if he had all the time in the world. He watched her, his dark eyes burning with hunger.
“Tell me what you want.”
She swallowed hard. “Idon’t know.”
He smiled. “Yes, you do.”
His fingers slipped lower, teasing at her entrance, then back up, gliding over the swollen bud at her center with unbearable precision. Her hips jerked instinctively, chasing his touch, and he released a soft chuckle.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “Let go, Jazz. Stop thinking. Just feel.”
She let out a trembling breath, her head falling back, her body melting into his hands. He worked her slowly, thoroughly, his fingers stroking, circling, dipping inside her only to retreat, keeping her right on the edge. She whimpered, her nails biting into hisskin.
“Titus—please—”
His lips brushed the shell of her ear. “Not yet.”
She nearly sobbed. But then he stood, his hands moving with slow, deliberate purpose. He unbuttoned his shirt, sliding it off broad, muscled shoulders, revealing golden skin stretched taut. The firelight flickered, casting shadows across theridges of his chest, the defined cut of his abs, the sculpted lines that disappeared beneath his belt. He held her gaze as he removed the rest, never breaking eye contact, letting her watch as each piece of fabric was stripped away until there was nothing between them but desperate need, expectation, and intense desire.
Her breath hitched when he finally pressed her into the mattress, his bare body a solid wall of passion and muscle, his skin hot against hers. He reached between them, guiding himself to her entrance, pausing just long enough to meet hergaze.
