Ravished (The Teplo Trilogy #1) (31 page)

"Finish it for me."

She swallowed, biting her lip.

"You were so bold earlier, Lillian," he teased. "I like that. I like watching you undress for me." Actually, he was fairly fucking certain at this point that there wasn't much she could do that he didn't like. It all drove him crazy, and made him ache in the best ways possible.

Her expression firmed as he stared up at her, waiting. Small hands dropped to the top of her skirt, her little fingers slipping beneath. She toed her flats off and pushed them to the side with her foot.

"Good girl," he mouthed, his heart jack-hammering in his chest. He hadn't been sure she would do this for him without serious leading on his part, but damn, it was nice to be wrong.

Real nice.

He leaned back on his elbows as she stepped from between the cradle of his thighs, her hands toying with the hem of her skirt. It was innocent, nervous… and as fucking sexy as everything else about her. He groaned as she started inching it down her hips, purple lace peeking from beneath. Her bottom lip was between her teeth again, her cheeks flushing.

"Just like that," he encouraged.

She slipped the skirt slowly down her thighs and let it fall to her feet. Her hands slid back up her thighs and onto her hips before tugging at the fabric of her panties. His eyes roved over her, memorizing the way the dark purple lace molded to her form.

As always, the scar on her thigh drew his eyes, but not in revulsion. It made him angry, made his heart clench… and made him fucking proud of her, too. She'd survived everything that had knocked her down – the loss of her dreams, surgery, physical therapy, pain, doubt and anger – and despite it all, she still had the courage to dance for him, to follow him into
Teplo
.

"You're phenomenal, baby," he murmured, lifting his head so she could see the sincerity in his eyes. "I've never met anyone as courageous and beautiful as you. Everything about you makes me crazy."

She flushed again but didn't say anything.

He nodded at her to continue, and dropped his eyes to her hands resting on her hips, taking in every pale inch of skin along the way. Her breasts, ribs, the flat expanse of her stomach… the way the dark lace sat boldly against her creamy flesh.

She dipped her fingers beneath the lace and inched it down as slowly as she had her skirt.

He swallowed hard as that little patch of curls and the heaven directly beneath was revealed to him again. Jerking upright on the bed, he reached out to steady her as she slipped the fabric down her thighs and stepped out of it.

She straightened slowly, her cheeks blazing with color now.

"Come here," he said again, once more spreading his legs for her to step between them.

She did so silently.

He pulled her closer until she was right up against him, her knees at the edge of the bed. "I want to kiss you, beautiful." He reached out and brushed his hand along her curls to illustrate what he meant. "Just like this." The words were thick, garbled as his desire to taste her on his tongue again damn near overwhelmed him. "May I?"

"Yes. Please."

One hand slid down her leg to her scar and around to the back of her knee. "Can you lift this leg onto the bed for me?"

"I think so," she whispered.

"Good." He smiled up at her in reassurance, promising her silently that he wouldn't push her far. But he wanted to do this anyway. Wanted to taste her… and wanted her to know that she didn't have to be a fucking contortionist to please him as she seemed to worry she needed to be. "Tell me if it hurts, beautiful. As soon as."

She nodded and placed her hands upon his shoulders as he began to lift her bad leg, steadying her with his other hand on her opposite hip. He kept his eyes on her face, watching for any grimace or flicker of pain. There was none and, in short order, her leg was over his thigh, her foot flat on the bed.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, fine." Her answer was breathless.

"No pain?"

She shook her head in response.

"Good." He dropped his eyes again, and groaned quietly at the sight of her spread before him, pink and glistening and perfect. His mouth watered at the sight, at the scent of her arousal so very close to his mouth. His cock throbbed again. "I want your juices all over me, baby."

"Oh God," she whispered, her nails digging into his shoulders.

He took that as agreement and adjusted his position to better reach her. Dipping his head, he inhaled deeply, his tongue darting out to slip between her folds. He groaned and she cried out, both of their hands tightening upon the other as pleasure rocked through both of them.

She tasted so-

He didn't finish the thought, instead burying his face in her pussy and going to work. His tongue swirled over her clit. Lower. His lips and tongue brushed across her, tasting, kissing, licking. She was soaked for him, thick, warm honey bursting in a flood upon his tongue, sliding like liquid gold down his throat. He lapped at her like a man dying, once more greedily taking every drop she gave him.

Her nails were sharp points in his shoulder blades, his own hands vises on her hips as he held her upright. Her soft cries and his muffled groans sounded throughout the room, drowning out the music from
Teplo
, the beating of his heart, the tick of the clock upon her nightstand. Drowning out everything and leaving him cocooned in them. Her sounds and his. Her pleasure and his. His mouth on her, and her hands on him.

"Tristan!" Her legs began to tremble. Her nails scored deeper.

His lips curved against her center at those tell-tale signs that she was already on the verge of exploding for him. He pulled her clit into his mouth, sucking deeply and then backed off, easing away from her slowly.

She cried out in disappointment, left on the edge of orgasm.

"Please… please…." she mumbled as he eased back, carefully lowering her leg back down to the floor.

He smiled again, something sharp and visceral shooting through him at her little chant.

Begging.

Every time he touched her like this, she begged him for more. He didn't know if she realized it or not, but she did. Little pleas issued from her lips, making that primal, dominating part of him roar in pleasure that he'd reduced her to that.
His
hands.
His
voice.
His
tongue. They were the reason she trembled. They were the reason her eyes were wide and dilated, and they were the reason those little broken pleas sounded throughout the room. She begged him without conscious thought and he fucking loved it.

He rose from the edge of the bed, moving her backward with him so he could stand.

"Lay down on your stomach," he commanded gently, jerking the comforter back and reaching for the pillows. He piled them carefully into the center of the bed. Another little lesson in what she could do despite the limitations created by her leg.

Easing her down, he adjusted the pillows beneath her hips until her perfect little ass was lifted in the air, no pressure at all on her bad leg. He stood back… and nearly came unglued at the sight of her laid out for him, her head resting on her forearms and her little slit peeking from between her legs, soaked and swollen for him. His cock jerked in his pants like it was ready to beat its way free.

"Tristan, please."

He needed no further encouragement. He kick his shoes off, jerked his shirt over his head. The holster at his hip followed, and then the one strapped to his ankle. As with her little Beretta, he placed them carefully on the nightstand, gun safety hardwired into him.

That done, he grabbed a condom from his wallet, popped the button of his pants and shoved them and his boxers down, groaning in relief as his cock finally sprang free. He had the condom open and on in seconds. Lillian whimpered and moaned as he climbed up on the bed behind her, devouring her with his eyes again.

"You look so fucking good like this, baby," he whispered. Seeing her spread out for him like this, her head against the mattress and her pert ass lifted in the air… there were no words.

She cried out and arched up wildly when he prowled up her body, his hand dipping down between her legs and pressing easily into her wet heat. He pumped his fingers into her until she tightened around him, on the brink once more, and then he pulled them out and settled over her, his weight on his forearms and his mouth against her ear.

"I'm going to make you come like this, beautiful. From behind, just like this."

"Please," she begged, writhing beneath him. Her ass wriggled against his cock, shredding his control.

"Stay still, Lillian," he demanded.

She writhed again, either unwilling or unable to comply with that command.

He wanted to go slow and ease her into this in case her leg couldn't take it, but she wasn't making it easy to remember why. Every time she moved, he wanted to bury himself in her. He settled back on his knees, his legs on either side of hers and pulled her and the pillows backward until his cock nestled against her ass. And fuck. He no longer boiled; he flashed to steam.

The head of his cock slipped through her folds with ease and, once again, they both cried out. Her heat burned at him, so fucking tight he gritted his teeth, trying desperately not to slam himself inside of her as he had the night before.

All hope of taking it slow was nearly eradicated when she began another little breathless chant, begging him with words and little wriggles to fuck her. That word on her lips…. Pure bliss tore through him when he sank into her, sheathing himself completely in one smooth thrust.

"Oh God, Tristan. I need you so much. Please."

"Fuck, baby, you're killing me," he groaned, gripping her hips to ensure she kept weight off her leg as she writhed. He eased out of her and slowly thrust back in, fighting like a demon through the urge to drive himself into her hard and fast.

"So deep," she whimpered. "You're so deep."

"Feel good, beautiful?" he gasped the question, needing her answers like nothing else. He fucking lived for her confirmations. For
yes
and
more
and every other word that told him that she was right there with him, pleasure for pleasure, ache for ache, need for need. And he
was
there, his entire body taut as he tried to hold himself in check to let her get used to this. To show her that she was enough and ease the fears she'd voice this morning. He hadn't fucking lied to her then.

What she did to him was so far beyond anything he'd ever felt with anyone else, it was unreal. Fucking her wasn't about release for him. It went beyond that, so far beyond, he knew he'd never get enough. He could have her like this every day for the rest of his life, and he'd still crave her.

In that moment, he realized how completely and utterly fucked he was. Three months, six months… it didn't matter when she walked away from him, she was going to rip his heart out of his chest when she went. The line between what he wanted and what he knew damn well he couldn't have hummed like a piano string, blurring so fucking fast it shouldn't have been possible. But it was. Possible. Real.

He wanted to keep her, and not just for this either. Not because he felt like he was sinking into heaven every single time he pressed any part of himself inside of her, but for every other reason. He was falling for her, no doubts about it. Somewhere between approaching her at
Teplo
weeks ago and taking her back there tonight, he'd started the freefall.

"Do you know what you do to me?" he ground out as his speed increased, his hips thrusting back and forth while she moaned and squirmed and fisted the sheets in her hands. "You take me so fucking high, I can't think. I can't…
fuck
…" He groaned loudly as her walls clamped down around him without warning, a surprised cry breaking from her lips. His speed increased again as he fucked her through her orgasm, incapable of going slow when she cried out over and over as she climaxed.

"You're enough, beautiful. So fucking good, I can't… Christ," he groaned as his hips slammed into hers, the sound of flesh striking against flesh dragging him deeper and deeper into pure, undiluted ecstasy… something he'd only ever felt with her. And she worried that she couldn't do enough for him? That he would somehow be disappointed when she couldn't ride him into oblivion?

Well, fuck that.

He'd find a way to make her understand that what was between them was as perfect as it was consuming and terrifying. Whatever she thought she couldn't do, she'd do. Effortlessly. Painlessly. Until she believed wholeheartedly that she wasn't damaged or somehow less because of what had happened to her.

"Tristan!" She was sobbing his name now, her head thrashing back and forth as he fucked her relentlessly through the aftershocks of her orgasm, his own coming for him like a freight train. And he wasn't ready for it to hit. He wanted this to go on and on, for as long as she could stand it and as long as he could withstand it.

He gripped her hips tighter, thrust harder, got completely lost in the rhythm, in her, her sounds and her movements… in the way pleasure pulsed through him with every beat of his heart. His lungs burned, his arms ached, the muscles in his thighs were beginning to protest, but he kept on and on thrusting and grunting and drowning until her scream pierced the air and she exploded again.