Page 33 of Semi-Fallen

“Yes,” she whispered back. “Mine.”

His big body shuddered against hers, and she knew his self-control was at an all-time low. He was fighting to restrain himself, to do what he thought was right. What was best for her.

Well, fuck that.

She was an adult. She knew exactly what was best for her. And in this moment, Lucien was everything she needed.

He needed her, too. She could feel it in the tense set of his muscles, in the way his hand was tightening ever so slightly on her throat. He was hanging on by a very thin thread.

And it was time to cut it.

Lane slid his hand slowly from her throat down to her breast, letting him feel the way her heart hammered against her ribs. He hissed out a harsh breath that she felt stir her hair. She hissed out a harsh breath of her own when his hand flexed against her breast and he brushed his thumb lightly over her nipple.

It was worth noting, too, that her nipple was hard enough to be considered a weapon.

He pulled back just enough to let her read his lips when he said, “Tell me you don’t want me. Tell me no. Push me away.”

His eyes and his mouth were saying two very different things. His mouth was telling her to say no, but his eyes were telling her he might die if she did. So, she looked him in the eye and said, “Yes.”

Lucien’s eyes fluttered shut as he said, “Damn you,” he whispered. “Damn us both.”

Then he captured her lips with his and she knew there would be no more conversation.

And no turning back.

* * *

It was a dream. It had to be a dream. His reward for surviving the nightmare of his captivity in the hell dimension was this dream of Lane, barely clothed, smelling like heaven, tasting like sin, beneath him in his bed.

It had to be a dream because reality was never this good.

Lucien’s heart thundered harder and faster than it ever had. His senses were overloaded. The sweet, warm scent of her skin against his, the wet heat as she sucked his tongue into her mouth…it was too much.

There wasn’t any coming back from this.

His control was precarious, then damn near nonexistent when she reached below the sheet and found him naked, hard, and ready for her.

Suddenly her clothes were offensive to him. How dare they stand between him and his mate’s bare skin?

Well, he could certainly take care of that quickly enough.

She gasped into his mouth as he grabbed two fistfuls of her tank top and ripped it down the middle. Her pants put up a little more of a fight, but he managed to shred those, too.

“Sorry,” he murmured as he tossed what was left of her clothes to the floor.

She might not have seen the apology on his lips, but he didn’t care enough to repeat it. He’d buy her however many new tank tops and pajama pants as she wanted. All that mattered now was that he had her naked in his bed.

The need to bury himself in her tight, wet heat, to claim her as his own, nearly undid him. But Lane deserved better. She deserved more than some finesse-less rutting beast.

He had to slow down. Do better. Focus on her, not on his own needs and pleasure.

The smile that stretched across her wet, shiny lips as he nudged her legs apart with his knee and pinned her wrists above her head was full of joy and confidence and need. And her body was…damn.

Lucien had seen the finest art this dimension had to offer. But looking down at Lane’s body? Every sculpture, painting, and sketch by masters he’d ever seen paled in comparison.

Lane was tiny, but perfectly proportioned. High, firm breasts just large enough to fill his palms, a waist so trim he could span it with his hands, gently rounded hips, strong, toned legs…hell, she wasn’t just art. She was inspiration for art.

She squirmed under his scrutiny, but didn’t try to cover herself. “Now,” she whispered.

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