Chapter 10 #2
My pulse kicked up, but not from danger. I followed the trail, each step building anticipation that mixed with the frustrated arousal I'd been carrying since Mia's interruption.
The petals led to her bedroom door, which stood slightly ajar.
Soft light flickered through the gap—candlelight, my brain catalogued automatically, even as other parts of me responded to what that meant.
She'd done this for me. For us. While I'd been lying to Duke and planning deceptions, she'd been creating something beautiful.
I pushed the door open and stopped breathing.
The room had been transformed into something from a fantasy I didn't know I had.
Candles covered every surface—dresser, nightstands, even the floor in safe corners.
Their golden light turned her normally chaotic space into something otherworldly.
The sheets had been changed to something silky and dark that caught the flickering light.
Rose petals scattered across the bed like promises.
And there, posed in the center like every wet dream I'd ever had made flesh, was Lena.
The lingerie was criminal. Worse than criminal—it was a declaration of war on my self-control.
Black lace that didn't so much cover as suggest, strategic cutouts that revealed the tattoos I'd traced with my tongue, delicate straps that begged to be snapped.
Her purple hair spilled across the dark sheets in waves I wanted to fist my hands in.
"Took you long enough," she said, voice pure sin wrapped in smoke. Her legs shifted, revealing more skin that made my mouth go dry. "I've been very patient."
"Lena." Her name came out strangled, caught between reverence and raw need. My cock went from interested to painful in seconds, straining against jeans that suddenly felt like a prison.
"I thought I'd be the one waiting." I couldn't move from the doorway, afraid if I got closer I'd pounce on her like an animal. "How long have you been—"
"Mia's thing was quick," she interrupted, stretching like a cat.
The movement did things to her breasts that should have been illegal.
"Mostly just confirming food and games. Which, by the way, are going to be hilarious.
But I've been waiting here for half an hour, thinking about all the things you didn't get to do to me earlier. "
Half an hour. She'd been lying here in that scrap of lace for half an hour, thinking about my mouth on her, my fingers inside her, the way she'd shattered apart before Mia's terrible timing.
My hands clenched at my sides, every muscle locked against the urge to cross the room and show her exactly what I'd wanted to do.
"We should talk," I managed, grasping for control like a drowning man reaching for driftwood. "About the party. Thor wants—"
"I don't care what Thor wants right now." She sat up slowly, the candlelight painting her skin gold and shadow. "I care about what you want. What you promised me before we were interrupted."
I took one step into the room, then forced myself to stop. "The party's going to be complicated. Joint bachelor-bachelorette, everyone together on a boat. Duke's already suspicious, asking about my bike at your place—"
"Tyson." The way she said my name should have been registered as a weapon.
"I've spent half an hour in this uncomfortable but very sexy lingerie, thinking about your hands on me.
I lit approximately a thousand candles, which is a fire hazard I'm ignoring for ambiance.
I scattered rose petals like some romance novel heroine I swore I'd never be.
" She fixed me with those hazel eyes that saw too much.
"So unless the building is actually on fire, stop thinking and get over here. "
"This is dangerous," I said, but I was already moving closer, drawn by forces stronger than gravity. "We're taking too many risks. What if Duke—"
"Duke won't find out." She caught my hand as I reached the bed, pulling me down to sit beside her.
The mattress dipped, bringing her scent—something floral from her bath, mixed with the arousal I could practically taste in the air.
"I know we have to be careful. I know this is complicated.
But right now? I need you to stop thinking and just . . . wreck me. Like you promised."
Her hand slid up my chest, finding the gap between shirt buttons she'd discovered on the bike. "You said you'd show me what you've been holding back. What you've been thinking about. I'm here, Tyson. I'm ready. Stop finding excuses to deny us both what we want."
She was right.
"You sure?" I asked one more time, needing to hear it. "Once I start, I don't know if I can hold back again."
Her answer was to pull me down for a kiss that incinerated my last rational thought.
Her tongue swept into my mouth like she was claiming territory, her hands fisting in my shirt hard enough to pop buttons.
I bit her lower lip, not quite gently, and she whimpered into my mouth as she surrendered to the inevitable.
"Wreck me," she whispered against my lips, and I felt something fundamental shift inside me. "Show me what happens when you stop being careful."
The candles flickered around us like witnesses to what was about to happen.
Rose petals crushed under our weight, releasing their perfume into air already thick with promise.
And Lena—my perfect, chaotic, patient girl—arched under me with a sound that said she'd been waiting for this as desperately as I had.
Time to deliver on my promises.
I yanked my shirt over my head, not bothering with the remaining buttons. Her eyes tracked every movement, pupils blown wide with want as she took in the scars, the ink, the evidence of a life lived in violence. But it was the hunger in my expression that made her breath catch.
I crashed into her, mouth claiming hers with bruising force.
No more careful exploration, no more tentative touches.
I kissed her like I wanted to consume her, tongue invading her mouth, teeth nipping at her lips when she moaned.
My hands tangled in that purple chaos of hair, angling her head so I could take more, taste deeper.
She gave as good as she got, nails raking down my back hard enough to leave marks. When I growled into her mouth, she did it again, harder. Testing me. Pushing to see how far I'd go.
I'd show her exactly how far.
I caught her wrists in one hand, pinning them above her head against the dark sheets. The position arched her back, pressing those perfect breasts up like an offering. She tugged against my grip, not really trying to escape, just needing to know she couldn't.
"That what you want?" My free hand traced the edge of black lace, fingertips barely grazing skin. "To be held down? Controlled?"
"Yes," she gasped, hips lifting, seeking contact I wouldn't give yet. "God, yes."
I transferred her wrists to my other hand, using the first to explore.
Not gentle touches now—firm, possessive, claiming.
I palmed her breast through the lace, squeezing just hard enough to make her arch.
When my thumb found her nipple through the fabric, already hard and begging, I pinched lightly.
The sound she made shot straight to my cock.
"Sensitive," I noted, filing the information away even as my control frayed. I did it again, harder this time, watching her face contort with pleasure. "What else, Lena? What else makes you lose that attitude?"
My hand traveled lower, over ribs that expanded with her ragged breathing, across the soft plane of her stomach. The lingerie had these strategic cutouts that revealed tantalizing glimpses of skin—her hip bone, the curve where waist became hip, the shadow between her thighs.
"Everything," she admitted, breathless. "Everything you do—fuck!"
I'd slipped my hand between her legs, finding her already soaked through the thin lace. The evidence of how much she wanted this, wanted me, nearly broke what was left of my control. I pressed the heel of my palm against her clit through the fabric, a firm pressure that made her whole body tense.
"So wet already," I growled against her throat, tasting the salt of her skin. "Been thinking about this while you waited? Touching yourself?"
"No," she gasped as I increased the pressure. "Wanted—wanted to wait for you. Wanted to be desperate."
Mission fucking accomplished. She writhed under me, trying to increase the friction, but I controlled the pace.
Slow, firm circles that built pressure without relief.
My tactical brain catalogued every response—the hitch in her breathing when I pressed harder, the way her thighs trembled when I lightened my touch, how her wrists flexed in my grip when pleasure spiked.
"Please," she whimpered, dignity abandoned. "Tyson, please, I need—"
"I know what you need." I released her wrists to hook my fingers in the lingerie. "Lift up."
She obeyed instantly, raising her hips so I could strip the lace away. It tore slightly in my haste, but neither of us cared. I tossed it somewhere into the candlelit darkness, focused only on her spread before me like a feast.
"Fucking perfect," I breathed, taking in smooth skin marked by ink, soft curves that begged for my hands. I traced the cherry blossoms on her shoulder, followed the vine that wrapped her ribs, discovered a small constellation of stars on her hip I'd never seen before.
"Stop cataloguing and start wrecking," she demanded, but her voice broke when I parted her thighs wider.
"Patience." But in truth, I was done with patience too. Done with careful control and measured responses. I needed to be inside her like I needed air.
My pants hit the floor with my boxer briefs, and her eyes went wide at the sight of my cock, fully hard and already leaking. The raw want in her expression nearly undid me.