Page 90 of Can't Stop Watching
"If you stop again," I warn breathlessly as his fingers find my swollen clit, "I swear to God I'll find a way to murder you with these handcuffs."
His eyes darken with something primal. "That's a risk I'm willing to take."
Dane drops to his knees again, and I can barely hold myself upright as his mouth finds me. His tongue is relentless, circling my clit and then sucking. After so many times being brought to the edge, my body responds instantly, rocketing toward release.
"Oh god, I'm—" The tension builds with frightening speed, my entire body tightening like a bowstring.
And then he stops.
I'm about to unleash every obscenity I've ever learned bartending in New York when Dane surges to his feet. In one fluid motion, he grips my thighs, lifts me , and thrusts into me with such force that my scream of frustration transforms into a cry of pure ecstasy.
"Holy fuck!" My legs instinctively wrap around his waist as he fills me completely, stretching me to the point of almost-pain.The handcuffs rattle against the bar, the metal cutting into my wrists as my body absorbs the impact of his thrust.
"This what you needed?" he growls, his fingers digging into my thighs as he holds me pinned against his body.
"Yes—Jesus—don't stop," I gasp, my head falling back.
He doesn't. He pounds into me with a primal intensity that should terrify me but instead has me spiraling toward the most intense orgasm of my life. Each thrust hits places inside me I didn't know existed, sending shockwaves of pleasure through my entire body.
"Been wanting to fuck you like this," he pants against my neck, "since the first time I saw you."
I can't speak, can't think. I'm nothing but sensation—the fullness of him inside me, the bite of metal at my wrists, the slick heat where our bodies connect. After being edged so many times, my nerves are live wires, every touch amplified to unbearable heights.
"Come for me, Lila," he commands, adjusting his angle to hit my clit with each thrust.
That's all it takes. The orgasm crashes through me with tsunami force, obliterating everything in its path. My vision whites out as wave after wave of pleasure pounds through my body. I'm vaguely aware I'm half-screaming, half-sobbing—as my inner muscles clamp down on him with bruising force.
"That's it," he growls, driving deeper. "Fuck, you feel amazing."
If this is death, just put it on my tombstone: Died getting railed by Dane Wolfe. Worth it.
DANE
I carry Lila to my bed, her body limp as a rag doll in my arms. Fuck, I might have broken her. The thought brings a satisfied smirk to my face as I lay her down on my sheets. Her wrists are marked from the cuffs—red bracelets of submission that make something primitive in me growl with approval.
"You still alive in there?" I ask, sliding in beside her.
She makes an unintelligible sound, something between a moan and a laugh. "Not sure. I think my soul left my body somewhere around orgasm number three."
I grab the small bottle of aloe lotion I stashed in my nightstand drawer. Preparation isn't just for military ops. It's for everything that matters. And she matter more than anything in the world.
"Give me your hands." My voice comes out gruffer than intended.
She extends both arms, wrists up, completely trusting. The marks are deeper than I'd planned. Something twists in my chest at the sight—not regret, but responsibility. I squeeze cool lotion onto my fingertips and work it gently into her irritated skin.
"Didn't think the big bad wolf came with aftercare," she teases, voice still breathless.
"There's a reason wolves lick their wounds." I bring her right wrist to my mouth, pressing my lips to each finger, tasting the sweetness of her skin mixed with the herbal bitterness of the aloe. "Every predator knows damage control."
I repeat the process on her left hand, methodical, deliberate. Her fingers are delicate against my lips, a stark contrast to how roughly I'd handled the rest of her minutes ago. The duality isn't lost on me... how we're all just savagery and tenderness wrapped in skin, waiting for someone who can handle both.
I pull her against me, feeling the dampness of sweat on her skin. Her hair spills across my chest like liquid copper, and Ifind myself stroking it without thinking. It's silky between my fingers, nothing like the rough world I usually inhabit.
The silence between us feels different now. Not empty, but full—like the calm after a storm when the air is charged with leftover electricity. I've never been a post-sex talker, but with Lila, I don't mind the quiet. It doesn't need filling.
"You promised to tell me about Juliet," she says finally, her voice careful, as if she's testing thin ice.
Something tightens in my chest. Juliet. My sister's name still feels like a knife between my ribs, even now.
