Then his tongue was on her, licking her in the most lewd, shameless way as she worked herself on his fingers. Every tether inside her broke loose and she screamed, the orgasm too much and just right all at the same time. Her wrists pulled tight against the bindings and she lost her sense of where she was on the bed. But he kept her where he wanted her and stroked and licked until she was vibrating and squirming and she couldn’t bear it anymore.
As if sensing everything had become too much for her, he shifted back, his hands leaving her for a few breaths, and then returning to her waist before she could settle. She heard the tear of the condom packet. His big palms gripped her hips. “My turn.”
“I can’t,” she gasped. “Need a minute…”
“No, you don’t.” The tip of his cock pressed against her sex. “You want to find your control.”
He was exactly right. Her thoughts were shattered, any shred of pride in a tattered heap on the floor. She’d begged, for God’s sake. “I—”
His fingers dug into her, grounding her. “Am I hurting you, Elle? Tell me now if I am and I’ll stop.”
The words were strained to her ears. He was fighting to get them out.
Hurting her? “No.”
The word was the truth but she hadn’t meant for it to slip out so easily.
“Good.” He pushed forward, burying his cock inside her and making her body clench hard around him.
“Oh, God,” she groaned, her face pressing into the pillow again. She had a word that would stop him, but suddenly she had no interest in using it. His weight on her, the feel of him sliding deep, were all she could think about.
He pumped into her with long, determined strokes—the ragged sound of his breath an erotic soundtrack. And then his thumb was back, pressing against her asshole. The lubricant eased his way and he stretched her as his cock glided against sensitive flesh and his thumb added more fullness. “One day, I’ll take you here. Fill you up everywhere and show you how good I can make you feel, how much you’ll crave the things we do. You won’t be able to go to sleep without thinking about it. You’ll touch yourself imagining me here with you. And you won’t be able to stop it. I’ll be in your head, Elle, and you won’t be able to get rid of me.”
The words were painting fears in her brain, but she couldn’t process them the right way. Instead, all those threats only ratcheted up the sensation more. She got off on a little show of force, on roughness. That wasn’t news to her. But never before had a guy threatened to force his way into her head, to leave a mark on her thoughts, on her fantasies. She didn’t want any man invading that territory, but the threat added a layer of danger. And when Lane angled just right inside her and whispered a few words in her ear, she came so hard she saw colored light behind her eyelids.
He came along with her, gripping her hard enough to leave bruises. But those marks weren’t going to be what she remembered tomorrow or the next day.
No, what would stay with her longer were the words he’d whispered next.
“You can’t escape me, Elle. Even if you make me leave, I’ve already got you.”
Chapter 12
“You’re a pompous asshole. You know that, right?”
Lane, who’d been rubbing his hair dry after a shower, lowered the towel to look at Elle in the steam-filled bathroom. “What?”
“What you said to me. That’s such a dude thing to say. Like you can own my fantasies or invade my head if I don’t want you there. Don’t flatter yourself.” She stuck her chin out and wrapped a fluffy, white terry-cloth robe around herself, the bathroom version of her doctor’s coat. Her armor. “If women said half the things guys do in bed, we’d be laughed right out of it.”
He smirked. “Cupcake, if some woman told me she was going to invade my fantasies and make me think about her when I jerk off, I may get on my knee and propose right there. I don’t know about other guys, but I like a woman with a filthy mind and dirty mouth. Bring it on.”
She sniffed, back in Elle McCray mode already. “My fantasies are my own. You’re not invited.”
He tossed the towel aside, not bothering to cover up. He could tell Elle was trying to pull herself together, slide that mask back in place, but her poker face was on the fritz. His naked presence in her bathroom was affecting her. Her quick, stolen glances down his body gave him no small amount of satisfaction. He liked knowing that she was as attracted to him as he was to her. And he wasn’t going to let her shut down. “Oh really, I’m not welcome? Who’s invited to that party then? What celebrity is lucky enough to get a starring role in the great Dr. McCray’s fantasy montage?”
She opened her mouth to respond then frowned.
“What?” he asked, leaning against the sink, amused. “Too embarrassing? Is it a guy who plays one of the superheroes? No, that’s probably too generic for you. Maybe some actor from a brainy British miniseries or something.”
The line was back between her brows. Always deep in thought, his Elle.
Wait—his Elle? Maybe she wasn’t the only one who needed to get her armor on. He picked up the towel and wrapped it around his waist.
She shook her head. “No, no one like that. I guess I never really thought about it. Any fantasies I have, the guys are usually faceless.”
Faceless. The idea struck him as sad. But who was he to judge? Men objectified women and reduced them to faceless sexual objects all the time. If that was what she did to guys in her fantasies, that was her business. “Guys? More than one in there at the same time?”
She tilted her head, almost coquettish if not for the wry expression. “So what if there are? Maybe there are whole orgies of men in my head granting my every wish.”