Page 79 of Wicked Fury

“Tell me what you want,” I growl, fingers finding her clit, circling with precision.

“Harder,” she commands, her nails raking down my back in a delicious sting that etches her desire onto my skin. Each scratch is a mark of her possession. I oblige, the sound of our bodies coming together filling the room. Hard, fast, and wet.

“Fuck, angel.” My words are a ragged edge, raw emotion seeping through the layers of control I usually maintain. “You’re going to make me...”

“Come for me, baby,” she interrupts, and hearing the endearment spill from her lips is my undoing. I push as far into her as I can go and feel my cum spill out of me and take up home inside of her. Marking every inch of her it can.

I’m just catching my breath again when she pushes against my lower body, forcing me to pull out. Before I can react and ask why, her body is convulsing in waves, and I watch, fascinated, as she comes undone, squirting with abandon. The sight is visceral, raw—too much and not enough all at once. As it covers the both of us and if I hadn’t just come, I surely would have again. Dropping down, I lower my mouth to her center, tasting the climax off her skin, the flavor of us leaving me ravenous for more.

“Damn,” I breathe against her, the word barely a whisper before I’m shoving my half-hard cock inside her again, driven by a force that’s beyond rational thought.

I don’t think I can come a third time, but fuck if I want my dick to be anywhere else besides in her right now.

Silence stretches between us as I hold her to me and roll us over so she’s laying splayed across my chest with me still nestled in her.

“Yours,” she breathes out, a single word loaded with so much fucking meaning.

This.

This is all I fucking need.

Chapter 33

Iris

I’m gasping for air, heart pounding like it’s trying to escape my chest. The sheets twist around our slick bodies, and Lincoln’s breath fans over my damp skin, carrying the musk scent of our desire that seems to cling in the air.

I crane my neck to see his expression. Lincoln shifts, the bed creaking beneath us. His muscular arms, inked with stories and symbols from wrist to shoulder, circle me.

I can’t afford to get too comfortable here with him. The sex is phenomenal with Lincoln, but in the end the only one who’s going to get hurt is me. I shift to get out of bed. After we get everything settled with Nicole, I’m assuming Lincoln will let me move back to my dorm. There won’t be a threat anymore, and we’re not exactly enemies at this point, but there’s no reason for me to stay or for him to want me to.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His voice is gruff, laced with an edge of possession that he doesn’t bother to hide. Not that he ever does.

“Nowhere, apparently,” I retort, though I don’t make a move to leave the cage of his arms. My attempt at deflection does nothing to hide the truth—he knows exactly how much I crave this closeness. “Of all the ways you’ve surprised me, the fact that you like to cuddle has to be the biggest one.”

“It surprised me too,” he says, a hint of amusement coloring his tone. “I’ve found that I’m quite addicted to touching you, angel. Any part of you. I just need to have my hands on you.” Lincoln cups my breasts, squeezing softly, and then buries his face in my neck, breathing in my scent.

“Is that so?” There’s a challenge in my words, but the energy to follow through is lost somewhere between the sheets and his intoxicating hold.

“Damn straight.” Lincoln’s fingers trace invisible patterns on my arm, sending shivers down my spine. It’s a bold touch.

“Such confidence,” I breathe out, letting my body relax further into his protective circle. Lincoln Blackwood always plays to win. And right now, I’m his prize.

“Wrap your arms around me. I want you closer,” he murmurs, his hot breath caressing the shell of my ear. Every cell in my body responds, heat pooling low in my belly. The safety I find in his arms isn’t just about protection, I think it’s ultimately him. No one else could make me feel this way.

The world shrinks to the size of this bed, to the tangle of our limbs, and the sound of our breaths. His eyes, those dark orbs that usually command with an intensity that could start fires, now gaze at me with a softness that feels like a blanket woven from midnight whispers.

“Did you think when you saw me at the wedding that we’d end up like this?” I tease, my voice barely above a whisper, but it’s true. Lincoln in rest is a sight to behold, the wild edges smoothed out, if only for a moment.

He chuckles, a low sound that vibrates against my skin, but then he pulls up to look at me so seriously. “Yes. I always knew I’d have you in bed again.” I see the triumph in his eyes at my shocked expression, but I believe him. I can see it in the way he’s looking at me. It’s unsettling how my defenses crumble under his touch, leaving me feeling exposed, yet somehow free.

Lincoln rolls me over onto my stomach, and I feel absolutely boneless. His fingers drift across my back and down toward my ass, tracing the raised scars that I usually hide from him. Each one a mark of past battles, each one a story untold. His touch is curious, reverent even, decoding secrets I’ve never voiced aloud.

“Does it hurt?” The question breaks from him, the words tinged with something raw.

I confess, the admission scraping its way up my throat, “Not when it’s you.”

He presses a kiss to the nape of my neck, and I shiver, not from pain, but from the flood of warmth that spreads through me. His exploration is delicate, yet there’s a promise in his gentle probing—a silent vow that while he may not understand all my demons, he’s willing to take them on with me.

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