Page 63 of Fired at the Heart

I try. I really do. But I can’t force the lie past my lips. Instead, a whimper escapes as his fingers thrust deeper.

“That’s what I thought.” The satisfaction oozing from him should infuriate me, but all it does is send another wave of feverish heat through my body.

His fingers find my prostate again, and my back arches off the bed. I’m close, so close, but after being denied once, I refuse to give in again. I think of anything else: gun shipments, business deals, anything to stave off the pleasure building inside me.

“Stop trying to hold back.” Raphael slows his movements to a torturous pace. “It won’t work.”

“It’s working fine,” I bite out through clenched teeth.

His hand leaves my throat, traveling back down my body to wrap around my erection. The dual stimulation of his fingers inside me and his hand stroking me becomes too much, and my control slips, moans spilling from my lips.

“There you go,” he purrs as my hips buck. “Give in to it.”

“No,” I gasp, even as I lose the battle.

My body stopped being mine to command long ago, and we both know it.

He leans down, his lips brushing my ear. “You’re so wet for me. So tight around my fingers. So perfect. Come for me.”

And damn him, I do, release tearing through me with such force a scream rips from my throat. My vision whites out, my body convulsing with waves of pleasure so intense they border on pain.

Raphael doesn’t stop, his fingers continuing to work inside me, carrying me through the orgasm and beyond, until I’m trembling with oversensitivity.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, slowing his movements. “But we’re just getting started.”

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Igasp for breath, tears blurring my vision. The release should have provided relief, but the heat inside me only intensifies, a furnace burning beneath my skin that no amount of release can cool.

Cum slides off either side of my stomach, my dick still hard, and my entrance clenches around nothing, desperate to be filled as slick pools beneath me on the bed.

“Please,” I whisper, hating myself for begging but unable to stop.

Raphael’s eyes darken with desire. “Please what?”

“I need—” I can’t finish the sentence. My pride won’t let me.

His hand returns to my throat, squeezing hard enough to make breathing a conscious effort. “Say it, baby. Tell me what you need.”

“Touch me,” I gasp. “Please.”

He rewards me by sliding his fingers back inside me, adding a fourth this time. The stretch burns in the most delicious way, and I cry out.

“Is this what you need?” he asks, his voice rough with arousal.

“Yes,” I moan, beyond caring about anything but the pleasure building inside me again.

He works his fingers deeper, harder, his thumb massaging the sensitive ring of muscles at my entrance. My hips move of their own accord, trying to take him deeper.

“Look at you.” His hand strokes down my chest and stomach. “So desperate for me.”

I should be embarrassed by how wantonly I’m responding, but the Heat has burned away my inhibitions. All that matters is the pleasure, the need, the emptiness only Raphael can fill.

His hand tightens around my throat again as his fingers find that spot inside me. “Tell me you’re mine.”

The demand cuts through the haze of desire. Even in the grip of approaching Heat, part of me still resists giving everything to him a second time.

“No,” I choke out.

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