I felt him grin against my breast, and again that flash of pain shot through my body.
I was floating, and all time seemed to stop. No sound, no racing of my heart, no nothing.
This was death, and it was beautiful with my devil hovering over me.
The world came flooding back and my body shattered. “Lucas!” I trembled violently between him and the bed as heat rushed through me, my mouth opened with a silent moan.
He released my wrists only to press his forearm against my elbows, still effectively keeping my arms pinned to the bed for reasons I didn’t understand until the rush of pleasure became too much . . .
I bucked against him and whimpered in protest when his fingers continued their assault.
“No more,” I said weakly.
His eyes danced with that wicked grin. “You asked for more, Blackbird.”
My head shook sluggishly as I tried to close my legs over his hand. “No. Too much. Too much,” I complained, but every now and then another moan would slip from between my lips.
As some of the strength came back into my body, I bucked harder against him and tried with no avail to pull my arms out from under his. I groaned in frustration, and he laughed darkly as his lips brushed against mine. Close enough for mine to tingle from the contact and make me crave more, but far enough away that the more was out of reach.
My next aggravated cry tore from my throat, and he laughed louder. “There you are, Blackbird.” His lips met my ear, and he whispered, “Fight it, Briar.” This time it wasn’t a taunt. This time it was pure seduction wrapped up in that deep, hypnotic voice.
And I did.
Because it was still too much and not enough.
I needed to feel his lips that were now hovering just an inch over my own again.
I needed to run my hands through his hair and over his muscled body . . . and I couldn’t.
But the sensations that continued to pulse through my body from where he was touching me were far too much.
I arched off the bed as my body shattered again suddenly, and I experienced this feeling like it was new. Because it was. This was wholly different than the first time. The first had felt like a blissful death, and this was all-consuming.
Lucas freed my arms and crushed his mouth down onto mine, swallowing my moans. Rising to his knees, he pulled me into his arms and sat against the headboard with me tightly curled against his chest to try to calm my uncontrollable shaking.
I clung to his neck as the minutes wore on and the shaking subsided, leaving me exhausted and satisfied. Lucas didn’t let me go, he only moved me so he could look into my face for a few seconds, as if he was checking on me.
“Beautiful.”
Blood rushed to my cheeks, but I was too tired to respond or try to hide it.
“So fucking beautiful.” His eyes searched mine, and then his lips were on mine again, soft as a feather. “Sleep, Blackbird. We’ll talk in the morning.”
I only had a few seconds of peace when I woke the next morning before I was flooded with guilt, shame, and heartache.
I had willingly betrayed my relationship with Kyle. I had wanted that pleasure, had eagerly given in to the temptation of all that was Lucas. I was waking up in a bed that wasn’t Kyle’s, with a man I wanted to hate, but couldn’t after all he had told me the night before.
He’s just as trapped as I am . . .
But that didn’t excuse what we had done.
One of my legs was pinned between Lucas’s and my head was tucked into the crook of his arm. His other arm was draped heavily over my body, pinning me to him possessively even in sleep. I noted absently that he wasn’t wearing a shirt, and the material against my legs didn’t feel like the denim he’d been wearing the night before, but I didn’t care that he had left at some point in the night.
This was my room and my bed, not his, and even though I’d been anxious over his withdrawal from me the night before, I now wished he would leave again so I could deal with my grief alone.
My thoughts went back to Kyle and my chest tightened. If I ever got away and found my way back to him, what would he think of me? My eyes burned with unshed tears because I knew . . . I knew he would never forgive me, just as I didn’t know how to forgive myself.
How could I expect him to still want to marry me after what I’d done? How would I be able to hide that a demented part of my soul wanted the man currently holding me? How could I ever expect him to understand that I had craved the touch of a man who’d wanted me to think he was going to force himself on me on numerous occasions?