Chapter 15 Kya
KYA
Four days into Lee’s campaign to drive me insane, I’m ready to throw in the towel.
He’s on my couch, takeout containers scattered across the coffee table, looking completely at home in my space. He’s changed out of his cut into gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt that clings to every muscle.
If men had a slutty clothing equivalent, this would be it.
“You’re staring,” he says without looking up from his lo mein.
“I’m appreciating,” I correct, taking another bite of my orange chicken.
“There’s a difference?” He glances up, that dangerous smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “And what exactly are you appreciating?”
The way your shirt stretches across your chest. The way your throat moves when you swallow. The way you’ve been slowly, methodically driving me out of my mind for four straight days…
“Your chopstick skills,” I lie.
He snorts. “Really? That’s the bet you can come up with?”
“It’s the truth.”
“Uh-huh.” He sets down his container and shifts on the couch, angling his body toward mine. “Come here.”
“I’m perfectly fine where I am, thank you.”
“Kya.” His voice drops to that low, commanding tone that makes my stomach flip. “Come here.”
I should resist. I should stay exactly where I am, finish my dinner, and then go straight to bed. Instead, I find myself setting down my food and sliding across the couch until I’m close enough to feel his body heat.
“That’s better,” he murmurs, his arm coming around me to pull me against his side.
I fit perfectly there, my head on his shoulder, my hand resting on his chest. I can feel his heartbeat under my palm, steady and strong, and it takes everything I have not to trail my fingers lower.
“How was your day?” he asks, his fingers playing with my hair.
“Quiet. A few regulars, some paperwork. Nothing exciting.” I tilt my head to look at him. “What about you? More club stuff?”
His expression darkens slightly. “Just keeping an eye on things. Making sure Summit doesn’t try anything else.”
“They’ve been quiet since that text.”
“For now.” His fingers tighten in my hair, just enough to make me shiver. “But quiet doesn’t mean gone.”
I don’t want to think about Summit right now. I don’t want to think about threats or danger or anything that exists outside this moment, with Lee’s arm around me and his fingers in my hair.
“Lee?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad you’re here.”
“How glad?”
Our kiss is soft at first, but it quickly heats up.
I lose myself in the feel of his mouth, the way his tongue slides against mine, the soft sound he makes when I thread my fingers through his hair.
This is what I’ve been craving for days, this connection, this heat, this feeling like I might actually die if he stops touching me.
His hands are everywhere—my face, my hair, sliding down to grip my waist and pull me closer. I end up in his lap somehow, straddling his thighs, my chest pressed against his as we kiss like we’re drowning and this is our only source of air.
“Fuck,” he breathes against my lips. “Kya—”
“Don’t stop,” I whisper, grinding down against him just enough to feel how hard he is through his jeans. “Please don’t stop.”
His hands fist in my shirt, holding me still. “The bet—”
“I know.” I kiss along his jaw, tasting salt and something uniquely him. “I know, but just… We could lie…”
“You want to lie?” His voice is strained, like he’s barely holding on to his control.
“Just touch me. Please. I need… I need something.”
For a moment, I think he’s going to say no.
Instead, he says, “Fuck it,” and his mouth is on my neck, hot and hungry.
I gasp as he finds that sensitive spot just below my ear. His hands slide under my shirt, palms hot against my skin, and I arch into his touch.
“Is this okay?” he asks against my throat.
“More than okay,” I manage, tugging at his shirt. “Take this off.”
He pulls back just long enough to drag his shirt over his head, and I have to bite back a moan at the sight of him. Broad shoulders, defined chest, abs that look like they were carved from stone. But it’s the stories written on his skin that steal my breath.
A military tattoo covers his left shoulder surrounded by dates I know must mark deployments.
Below it, script in another language winds around his ribs.
There’s the Stoneheart MC logo across his right pec, and a jagged scar along his collarbone that looks like it came from a knife.
Another smaller one marks his hip that’s too precise to be anything but a bullet wound.
This is what his life has been, violence and danger and missions I can’t even imagine. The evidence is carved into his skin, permanent reminders of how volatile his world is.
I run my hands over his chest, feeling the way his muscles jump under my palms, tracing the raised edges of scars that could have taken him from me before I ever had the chance to have him. He’s warm and solid and perfect, and I want to map every inch of him with my mouth.
“Your turn,” he says, his hands already working at the hem of my shirt.
I let him pull it off, suddenly self-conscious as his gaze travels over my body. I’m not wearing anything special, just a simple black bra that’s more functional than sexy, but the way he looks at me makes me feel like I’m wearing the most beautiful lingerie in the world.
“Jesus,” he breathes. “You’re fucking gorgeous.”
Before I can respond, he’s kissing me again, deeper this time, his hands skimming over my bare skin like he’s memorizing every curve. When his thumb brushes over my nipple through the thin fabric of my bra, I cry out, the sound swallowed by his mouth.
“Sensitive,” he murmurs against my lips, doing it again just to hear me make that sound.
“Lee—”
“I know, baby. I know.” His hands are at my back, working at the clasp of my bra. “Let me see you.”
The bra falls away, and I should feel exposed, vulnerable. Instead, I feel powerful, desired, beautiful under his hungry gaze.
“Perfect,” he says, his voice rough with want. “Absolutely fucking perfect.”
Then his mouth is on me, hot and wet and perfect, and I lose all ability to think coherently. All I can do is arch into him, my hands fisted in his hair, as he worships my body with a devotion that makes my heart ache.
“I want more,” I gasp when he switches his attention to my other breast. “Lee, please—”
“What do you want?” he asks, pulling back to look at me. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with desire. “Tell me what you need.”
“You,” I whisper. “I need you.”
Something shifts in his expression, becomes more intense, more focused. “Lean back.”
I do as he says, settling back against the arm of the couch, and watch as he slides down my body. His hands are at the waistband of my leggings, fingers hooking under the elastic.
“These need to come off,” he says, already starting to work them down my legs.
“Lee, we said—”
“We said no sex,” he interrupts, pulling my leggings off completely and tossing them aside. “This isn’t sex.”
My underwear is next, black cotton that he removes with one swift jerk down my legs. And then I’m naked on my couch, Lee kneeling between my thighs, looking at me like I’m something holy.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, his hands stroking up my thighs. “So fucking beautiful.”
“Lee—”
“Shh.” His thumbs brush over my hip bones, making me shiver. “Let me take care of you, baby. Let me make you feel good.”
And then his mouth is on me. And my world shatters.
Lee licks me like he’s starving and has finally allowed himself to feast. His tongue flicks over my clit in firm, devastating strokes, dragging a gasp from my lips before I can even think.
“Oh fuck,” I cry, hips jerking as pleasure ignites low in my belly.
He growls against me, the sound sending vibrations through every nerve ending. “You taste like sin, baby. I could die between these thighs.”
His grip tightens on my hips, holding me down as I writhe beneath him. One hand slides up to splay over my stomach, pinning me open, claiming me. I’m exposed, vulnerable. And I love it.
“Lee—oh my god!”
“That’s it,” he murmurs, dragging his tongue flat and slow before teasing my clit again. “Let me make you come.”
He circles my clit, then sucks—hard—and I arch off the couch with a strangled cry.
“Good girl.”
He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t let up. He flicks, sucks, licks, all in an effort to get me off. Every sound I make just urges him on, until I’m panting, begging, hips rolling helplessly under his tongue.
“Please,” I sob. “Please, Lee—”
“What do you need, sweetheart?” His breath is hot, teasing. “Want me to lick some more? Want me to suck on this perfect little clit until you lose your fucking mind? Do you need some fingers to fill you up, sweetheart?”
“Yes! Yes—please, please.”
His fingers thrust inside me, slow and obscene, while his mouth presses perfectly to my clit. I can feel everything tightening, spiraling, winding higher—
I’m shaking. Gasping.
Teetering.
“Come for me,” he commands. “Right fucking now.”
That’s all it takes.
The orgasm hits like a tidal wave—violent, endless, all-consuming. I cry out, legs trembling, hands fisting in the couch cushions as he continues to devour me.
Even as I twitch and whimper and try to breathe again, he’s licking up every drop.
I can’t speak. Can’t think.
I’m boneless. Drenched. Ruined.
It’s not until I murmur a protest that he backs off, shifting to gently kiss my inner thigh and whisper praise against my flushed skin.
When I finally open my eyes, he’s watching me with an expression of pure male satisfaction.
“Holy shit,” I manage.
“Good?” he asks, though the smug smile on his face suggests he already knows the answer.
“Good is… that’s not even close to the right word.”
He chuckles, pressing one more kiss to my hip before sitting back on his heels.
I reach for him, wanting to return the favor, but he catches my hands.
“No,” he says firmly.
“But you didn’t—”
“This was for you.” He brings my hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to each palm.
“That’s not fair.”
“Life’s not fair, sweetheart.” He stands, reaching for his shirt. “But the wait will be worth it. I promise.”
I watch in disbelief as he pulls his shirt back on, like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just give me the most intense orgasm of my life and then stop.
“You’re really just going to… leave?”
“I’m going to go take a very cold shower,” he says, leaning down to kiss my forehead. “And then we’re going to bed. And while you sleep, I’ll no doubt lie beside you thinking about the sounds you just made and counting down the hours until I can taste your sweet cunt again.”
“You’re killing me,” I groan, pulling a throw pillow over my face.
“Nine more days,” he says, and I can hear the amusement in his voice. “Think you can handle it?”
I peek over the pillow to glare at him. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t. You love that I have enough self-control for both of us.”
“I really, really don’t.”
“Yes, you do. Because when we finally get to the 17th, you’re going to be so desperate for me that you won’t be able to see straight.” He leans down one more time, his lips brushing my ear. “And I’m going to spend hours taking you apart, piece by piece, until you’re screaming my name.”
A shiver runs through me at the promise in his voice. “Lee—”
“Nine more days, baby. Think you can last that long?”
I want to say no. I want to tell him to forget the bet, forget everything, and take me to bed right now. But there’s something in his eyes, a challenge and a promise all wrapped up together, that makes me bite back the words.
“We’ll see,” I manage.
“We will.” He’s headed for the shower before I can come up with a response, leaving me naked on my couch, boneless and satisfied and somehow more frustrated than ever.
Nine more days.
I’m never going to survive this.