Chapter 12
His mouth crashed down on hers, and Emily stopped thinking.
Just literally upped and stopped thinking. One second, her brain ran its usual background chatter—holy shit, we locked the door… this is insane… is he going to—and then his tongue slid against hers and everything just... went quiet.
She made a sound. Something needy, a whimper, her hands fisting in the leather of his jacket, dragging him closer.
God, he was so big, a wall of heat and muscle blocking out the rest of the universe.
Good. She didn't want the rest of the universe right now.
He cupped the back of her neck and tilted her head, and the kiss went from desperate to devastating. He kissed like he was trying to memorize her, like this might be the only chance he'd ever get. Which, a distant part of her brain noted, might actually be true.
She told that part to shut up and bit his lower lip.
He groaned. The sound rumbled through his chest and straight down her spine, pooling hot and liquid between her thighs. His hips pressed forward and—
Oh… Oh. My. God.
She felt him through the leather. Hard and thick, pressed against her stomach. Her brain helpfully supplied the information that Lathar was proportional and he was seven feet tall and—
"Raaevik." His name came out strangled.
"I know." He walked her backward. Not asking, just moving her, one hand still tangled in her hair and the other splayed across her lower back. Her feet slipped on the polished floor, but it didn't matter. He had her. Held safe against the larger, harder heat of his body. "I know."
Her back hit the mirror.
The glass was cold compared to the heat of his body. The contrast made her gasp, and she arched into him. The music still played, that stupid formal arrangement swelling around them.
She yanked at his jacket. "Off. Take this off."
He pulled back just far enough to tear at it, and she used the space to drag her practice top over her head. No bra underneath, and the cool air hit her bare skin a half-second before his hands did.
His palms were callused. Rough and warm, they slid up her ribs to cup her breasts. A perfect fit, like they were made for his hands. His thumbs dragged across her nipples, and she sucked in a breath, her head falling back against the mirror.
“Oh fuck," she whispered.
He made a sound that wasn't quite a word as his mouth found her throat, then down to explore the line of her collarbone… the curve of her breast. He kissed as if he were worshipping her. Like she was something precious he'd been denied his whole life.
She grabbed his hair. Those pale braids she'd been watching for days, wanting to touch, and now they slid through her fingers like silk as she pulled him closer. His teeth grazed her nipple, and she gasped, hips jerking forward against nothing.
"More." She didn't recognize her own voice. "I need—"
He dropped to his knees, hooking his hands into the waistband of her pants and dragging them down her thighs, taking her underwear with them. This was his breath hot against her hip as he lifted one of her legs over his shoulder.
"Oh god." When had she started shaking? "Raaevik, you don't have to—"
He looked up at her, his violet eyes burning. “Oh. I do. I’ve wanted to taste you since the moment I saw you."
Then his mouth was on her, and nothing mattered but the slide of his tongue as he found her clit and circled it, slow and deliberate. She cried out, her hands scrabbling for purchase against the mirror behind her. Pleasure coursed through her.
Oh god, she was going to die. Absolutely going to die right here in this dance studio with her leg over an alien warrior's shoulder, and honestly? Not the worst way to go.
"Please—" She didn't know what she was asking for. "Please, I can't—"
He added a finger. Slid it inside her while his tongue kept working, and the dual sensation made her see stars as the pressure built and built and—
The orgasm crashed through her, wave after wave, and he didn't stop. Kept his mouth on her, working her through it until she gasped, oversensitive, her legs threatening to give out.
He caught her. Rising to his feet in one fluid motion, he gathered her against his chest, holding her up while she remembered how to breathe.
"Okay," she managed. "Okay, that was—you're really good at that."
His laugh was a low rumble against her temple. "I have imagined it many times."
"Have you?” She pulled back enough to look at him. His lips were wet. From her. The thought sent another pulse of heat through her. "What else have you imagined?"
Something shifted in his eyes. Darker. Hungrier.
"Turn around."
The command sent a shiver straight down her spine, and she turned.
The mirror showed her everything. Herself, naked and flushed, dark hair wild around her face. Him behind her, still half-dressed, leather pants unlaced now, and—
Yeah. Proportional. Oh God… definitely proportional.
She watched in the mirror as he pressed against her back. Felt the heat of him, the hard length of his cock nudging against her ass. His hands came around to cup her breasts, thumbs brushing her nipples, and she pushed back into him with a moan.
"I need you to be certain." His voice was strained, barely controlled. "Once we do this—"
"I've been certain since you knelt in my suite." Reaching back, she found his hip, dug her nails in. "Stop being noble and fuck me."
He made a sound like something breaking.
One hand slid down her stomach while the other pressed between her shoulder blades, bending her forward until her palms hit the glass. She felt him position himself, blunt and hot against her entrance, and for a moment neither of them moved.
Then his fingers found her clit.
She jerked, a gasp escaping her as he circled her with those rough, callused fingers while the thick head of his cock pressed forward. Just the tip. Just enough to make her aware of how big he was… how much she'd have to stretch to take him.
"Breathe," he murmured against her shoulder.
She breathed. And he pushed deeper.
The stretch burned, right on the edge of too much, but his fingers never stopped. Circling, stroking… his clever touch sent sparks up her spine that blurred the line between discomfort and pleasure. She rocked against him, caught between pulling away and pushing back
"That's it." His voice was wrecked, barely more than a rasp. "Take me. You can take me. You can take all of me.”
Another inch. Then another. His fingers pressed harder on her clit, rubbing in tight circles that made her clench around him. He groaned, his forehead dropping to her shoulder, and she felt the tremor run through his whole body.
"More," she heard herself say. "I want—I need—"
He gave her more. Slid deeper while his fingers worked her, and the dual sensation short-circuited her brain. She watched herself in the mirror, her mouth parted as his hand moved between her thighs while he filled her inch by impossible inch.
And then he was fully inside her.
She felt him everywhere. The stretch of him, the heat, the weight of his body curved over hers. His heartbeat pounded against her back, and his breath came ragged against her neck.
"Okay?" His voice was low, little more than a growl.
"Yes." She pushed back against him, testing, and they both groaned. "God, yes. Move. Please move."
He did.
Slow at first, long strokes that dragged against something inside her that made her gasp. She put her palms flat on the mirror and braced herself, watching his face over her shoulder. His eyes were half-closed, jaw tight, like he was holding himself back with everything he had.
"Harder," she said.
He looked up, his gaze colliding with hers.
"I'm not fragile." She rolled her hips back to meet his thrust and watched his control crack. "Stop treating me like I'll break."
He growled something she couldn’t make out, and his grip tightened on her hips. The next thrust punched the air from her lungs.
Yes. She groaned. That was what she wanted, what she needed.
He set a rhythm that made her toes curl against the polished floor.
Deep strokes, hard enough to rock her forward, and she stopped trying to stay quiet.
Stopped trying to do anything except feel.
The slap of skin on skin filled the air.
The drag of him inside her, hitting spots she didn't know she had, made her gasp.
His fingers bruised her hips where he gripped her.
"Fuck." The word tore out of her. “Oh fuck, fuck, fuck… Right there, don't stop, don't—"
He didn't stop. Drove into her at that same angle, again and again, until she was making sounds she'd never made in her life.
Until her arms shook from bracing against the mirror, and her thighs burned, and she didn't care about any of it because the pleasure was building like a wave about to crest.
"I'm going to—" She couldn't finish the sentence.
"Yes." He bent over her, chest to her back, mouth against her ear. "Come for me. I want to feel it. I want to hear it.”
She shattered.
This one was different. Deeper, rolling through her in waves that seemed to go on forever. She felt herself clench around him, heard him groan, felt his rhythm stutter, and then he followed her over, burying himself deep as he came with her name on his lips.
Silence.
Just breathing and the fog of their breath on the mirror. The music had ended at some point, and the studio was quiet except for the sound of their ragged exhales.
His forehead dropped to her shoulder. He was still inside her, still holding her up. Leaning back against his chest, she let herself feel the heat of him inside her.
"We are so fucked," she said.
He barked a laugh. An actual laugh, surprised out of him, and it was the best sound she'd ever heard.
"Yes." He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, right over the mark his teeth had left earlier. "We are."
* * *
Emily hadn't slept. Again.
She stood under the shower, letting the water pound against her shoulders, when the chime sounded at her door. She jumped, nearly slipping on the wet floor.