I’d missed her.
Christ,I’d missed her.
Her tongue pushed against mine, and her gasp filled my mouth with that wonderful little whimper she always made when I pressed against her G-spot.
I knew her body as well as I knew my own.
I knew her soul because it was mine too.
Her every touch and rock made me feel like a god, not a prisoner.
My head swam with lust.
My body ached with need.
I couldn’t hold her. I couldn’t run my fingers through her hair or guide her hips to ride me.
I was at her mercy, and I surrendered every piece of myself.
Pieces I’d hidden from Victor. Pieces no one else would ever earn.
I gave every facet of my being to her, and she took it all as if she could hide them forever from this hellish place.
The sofa legs creaked against the stage as our pace increased.
Her thighs stuck to mine.
Sweat prickled beneath my bandages.
The numbing drugs Melanie Belford gave me shielded me from the constant needles in my back each time I thrust up.
No one stopped us.
No one wrenched us apart.
And I hated that I expected it.
Waited for it.
Feared that Victor would tear her away from me.
I kissed her harder than I should, all because terror made me harsh.
Our tongues tangled, and our hearts pounded. She ran her fingers along my imprisoned arms and held onto my cuffs. Her body stretched over me. Her breasts touched my bandaged chest, and I lost another element of myself.
My sanity slowly unravelled the longer she rode me.
I gasped and grunted as the fire between us gathered. We were nothing more than two mortal sticks, rubbing together, smoke kindling, heat warming, quicker and quicker toward combustion and that mind-melding flame.
Tingles and pressure gathered between my legs.
And for the first time since I’d stood over her in that godawful temple with a diamond-hilted dagger in my hand, I wanted to come.
I wanted to come so fucking badly.
“Ily…” I moaned into our kiss. “You’re going to make me—”
She kissed me harder, cutting me off. Rode me faster, pushing me higher.