Page 48 of Burn

He shakes his head, and I can see the war he’s waging with himself over it, but I want what I want, and I know I can’t hesitate. I say a silent prayer to the god of lungs that mine keep their shit together, and I reach for his shirt, pulling him toward me. He feigns resistance, and honestly, it’s adorable. I push onto my tippy toes, and when he pulls his head back slightly, my words are a breathy whisper, “But maybe I want to be broken.”

He moves so fast, catching me off guard as he pushes me backward, and as my back collides with the wall of mirrors, he groans, “Fuck it,” and I know I’ve won.

There’s no hesitation this time as his resolve splinters. I reach for the long shirt, but he’s faster, grabbing the hem and pulling it over my head in one swift movement, leaving me naked from the waist up. His hands are hot and rough when they find my breasts, kneading and squeezing them as his mouth nips at my neck. When he rolls my nipple between his fingers, I gasp and brace myself for my lungs to argue, but it doesn’t happen. Momentary relief is cut short when his other hand drops to my shorts, pushes past the waistband, and his fingers make contact with my clit.

Jesus Christ. The man must have fucking radar.

My back arches, pushing my chest up. He trails hot kisses down, sucking a nipple into his mouth, and I grind into his hand. My body feels wound tight, like I’ve been spinning and could snap at any moment. Soft moans escape my lips, and my hands search for something to hold on to, but there’s nothing here besides him and me. His hand drops lower, and he pushes two fingers inside of me, curving them forward against my G-spot. I gasp and moan, but it’s not enough. I need more.

It’s like he reads my mind, because he rises to his full height, pulls his hand out of my shorts, and pops his fingers into his mouth. No man has ever made my knees go weak, but when hedoesthat,I lose all sense of equilibrium and my world shifts. His lips quirk up into that devastating smirk, and he leans closer, his voice low and rough as he instructs, “Hold on tight, babe,” then drops to his knees before me, taking my shorts with him.

When his tongue connects with my clit, I see fucking stars. His calloused hand scrapes the soft skin of my thigh as he lifts and slings it over his shoulder, pulling me into him. I’m not ashamed to admit that the sounds that come out of me are akin to a feral animal. He sucks my swollen clit into his mouth at the same time he pushes his fingers back inside and thank God the music is still blaring because I fucking scream out, feeling myself wind even closer to collapse. I want more, I want it all, and he has it all, pulling me closer and closer with his unrelenting movements.

My eyes flick to the wall of windows, and when I realize someone could walk by at any second and see us, I fall apart. Waves of pleasure crash through my body, lighting every nerve ending on fire. I try to wriggle free, but he pulls me in tighter, pushing my orgasm out further, deeper. Sweat coats my skin, and now it’s my chest that heaves, fire burning through me.

Don’t. Fucking. Cough.

My body goes slack, and my muscles feel like Jell-O. He slowly pulls his fingers from me and presses a soft kiss onto the apex of my thighs before rising to full height, a satisfied and accomplished smirk on his face.

“Good girl,” he whispers. He releases my leg and takes a few steps back, lowering himself onto a bench and beckoning me toward him. I was completely unaware I had a praise kink, but holy hell.

I take a shaky step forward and pause to collect myself, giggling a little, “You’re going to be the death of me.” My voiceis breathy, sultry, and something else. Another step, and the room tilts on its axis.

Oh no.

I shake my head, trying to clear the static that creeps in at the edges of my vision, but it’s no use. The first cough fights its way out of my chest.

Shit.

I see the second he realizes what’s happening. His eyes go wide, and he springs to his feet just as the lights turnout.

Restless

Adrian

I lick my tongue across my bottom lip, tasting her as I slowly step back to the bench and sit. I watch the way her chest moves, rising and falling as she tries to catch her breath. Her cheeks are flushed the prettiest color of pink, and her eyes are slightly unfocused. My dick strains painfully in my shorts, so I lift my hand, curling my finger, calling her to me. The sweetest smirk spreads across her lips as she pushes herself off the wall and stumbles a little.

My momentary pride over tongue-fucking this girl dizzy is cut short when she giggles and says, “You’re going to be the death of me.”

It’s not the words. It’s the way she says them, the way her voice falters at the same time she pales, that pretty pink draining from her face. I try to deny what’s coming, but when her hand moves to her forehead, my stomach drops. I’m up on my feet when she sways, and there’s no denying she’s going down. I shoot forward, wrapping her in my arms as her knees buckle.

Her skin feels cool and clammy; her breathing is shallow and rapid. I press two fingers into the skin of her neck, find her pulse, and count the beats against the clock on the wall. It’s too fast. Without letting her go, I grab the shirt she was wearing off the floor and pull it over her head to cover her body.

This was so fucking stupid.

My movements feel rough and choppy as I try to get her arms into the sleeves, only now realizing that she’s wearing my work shirt. Drawers full of clothes that I bought for her, and she pulled a dirty work shirt from the hamper. I grab the shortsfrom the floor, and as I’m sliding them up her legs, she moans softly. Not the needy sounds she made as I worked her clit, but an exhausted, confused moan. My heart pounds anxiously. I’ve been a First Responder for years, keeping my shit together is something I pride myself in, but when it comes to her, I’m a wreck. My hands shake as I return my attention to her, gently touching her face and tilting it toward me.

“Lex,” my voice screams how scared I am.

I fucking did this.

Fuck. Fuck!

Her eyes flutter, trying to open, and she attempts to push herself onto her feet, but struggles to find stability, so I lower us to the cool gym mats. I’m barely breathing as I brush strands of hair out of her face, again saying, “Lex?”

She registers my voice, opening her eyes. They’re glassy, and again her hand comes to her head. She groans, “Ugh, my head. I’m okay. I think — just. Don’t freak out. I can get up.”

She pushes her hand into the mat, but I place my hand on the center of her chest, stopping her, and say, “Don’t. You’re not okay, Lex. You just passed out.”

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