Luc #2
“Optimistic.” I trail the rosemary travels over her chin, shifting language again. “You’ve brought spring to places that I thought were stuck in winter.”
I trace the sprigs lower, down between her breasts, ignoring the visible pebbling of her nipples. She inhales as I slide them under her T-shirt. As I glide the greenery back and forth, her breath becomes shallow, and her hips subtly tip.
“Lift your skirt.”
Her lashes flutter. “Say that again.”
“You heard me.” My hand loosens from her wrists. “Be brave, little flower. Lift it.”
She inhales in a shivery, uncertain way, and dieu, I do love that. But perhaps not quite as much as watching as her fingers curl under the hemline. She drags the soft fabric higher until it’s bunched in her fist at her waist.
What a sight. Lips kiss swollen, nipples hard, her skirt in her fist and her panties, gossamer thin, barely concealing her heat of femininity.
“Fresh and clean and green.” She trembles as I swipe the sprigs up the inside of her thigh, then gives a soft moan as I twirl the woody stems between her legs. “And ready for tasting.”
“You mean for the plucking.”
But I don’t have an answer for her witticism as something voracious bursts inside me. I shove my thumb under the elastic at my hip, yanking down one side of the lace, and then the other.
She gasps at the violence of the motion, and I hardly know what I’m saying as this thing inside me grows and expands. I want to cover her body with mine. Press her against the wall and fuck her until she moans my name.
“You look almost undone, but I swear I’m the one who might never recover.” I hardly know which language I’m speaking, I only know it’s the truth. “I want to fuck you and taste you all at once.”
I drop to my heels, and she makes an animal noise, bucking against me when my tongue finds her clit.
“Please!” Her chest rises and falls with tight little breaths, her hands slipping down the wall and into my hair.
“Little flower,” I groan, peeling her pussy open. “Look at what you made me do.” My gaze slides upward as I administer one long lustful lick.
“Oh, f-fuck!”
I watch her as she watches me, as her she cries build into something urgent and agony filled. And then she crests—fuck, yes—and see it and I feel it everywhere, the tremors running through us both as her fingers tighten in my hair.
I don’t wait for the aftershocks, pushing to stand. I feed my greedy tongue into her mouth. and we devour each other, hands grasping, kisses that are a war.
“Primevère,” I warn when she settles her hand over my aching cock.
She plucks at the button. “Please, let me.”
As much as I want the pleasure of seeing her on her knees, my need is greater. I put my hand over hers. “If you open my pants, I’m fucking you right here.”
There isn’t ounce of repentance in her expression as she pops the button open. “I hope you weren’t expecting a complaint.”
“What happened to regretting reckless?” I quirk a brow, but her gaze has already dropped.
“You’re clean, and I’m protected. It’ll be night soon enough.”
I swallow back a moan as her dainty hand curls around my length, sliding to caress the crown. A seismic ripple of want rushes through me.
“You will kill me,” I whisper, putting my lips to hers again.
“Quickly.” The word falls on a taut breath. She tilts her hips, then swipes me along the wet ribbon of her flesh.
“Tell me you need this,” I demand, covering her hand with mine. “Tell me you need me.”
“Luc, please. I need you.” The hungry longing in her eyes seems to intensify the ache in my chest.
I lift her knee to my hip. God, she’s so lovely as I press my hand to her cheek. I know this is wrong, that it’s dangerous, but nothing else matters but the breath she holds as I push myself slowly inside.
The hot velvet heat of her—I didn’t imagine it before. The way her body holds me feels like the start of a new addiction. I’ll never experience a feeling so exquisite if I live to be a hundred years old.
“I can’t…”
“Believe we’re here,” I finish for us both.
I hold us there, giving her a moment to adjust as she throbs around me. “Good?”
She nods, and we both give a taut moan as I begin to withdraw when her foot presses the back of my thigh.
“Wait,” she whimpers, her hips trying to follow mine.
I find myself biting back a grin. “Ma belle, you know you can take all the time you need.”
“Shut up.” Her answer shimmers with laughter as she puts her forehead to my shoulder. She breathes me in. “I can’t believe we couldn’t wait until tonight.”
“We could’ve been doing this for weeks.” I groan as she flutters around me.
“We—”
I cut off her words with a greedy kiss, and the tide of her body pulls me back in. The slick of her acceptance. The hot grip of her walls.
“Oh God,” she whimpers as I bottom out. “You’re so big.”
“Feel free to tell me that anytime.” Dieu, the feel of her against me. Around me. I can’t express what it does. This woman is a wildflower, not a common or garden one.
“Big head,” she moans as I undulate, grinding a little over her clit.
“More compliments.” This feels too intimate, too real for our plan.
I don’t hold the thought long as I brace my knees, fighting the urge to drive myself inside her.
Hard and unforgiving, again and again, to fucking wreck her as my body demands.
Instead, I slide my hands behind her to keep her back from the rough wall. “Next time we do this in a bed.”
She presses her finger to my lips. I bite it.
“Say it again,” I rasp, my mouth, hot and wet against her neck.
“Oh God, you vain, vain man. Okay, have an enormous—”
I scrape my teeth over her pulse. “Say my name again, Primevère.”
“Sir.” The guttural sound bursts from her with my shallow thrust.
“Little flower,” I warn as something hot and heady floods my veins. “You will say my name while you take my cock so, so well.”
“Luc.” She feathers it across my lips, her hands slipping to the back of my head to cradle it. Her eyes, they seem to see right into my soul.
With a snap of my hips, I drive back inside her, my curse a counterpoint to her cry.
“Oh God,” she whimpers as I withdraw, her eyes fluttering closed.
I kiss her once—hard—then slide my hands under her ass, burying my mouth in the crook of her neck as I begins to fuck her in earnest then. Deep thrusts, drive us both to the edge, my fingers gripping her so tightly, I can only hope she’ll bruise.
Moments later, she turns languid in my arms, her face tilting to the sun.
She looks like a fucking angel.
“You feel so good. So fucking good. In my house. In my arms. In my fucking head.”
So cries my name again and again, her attention turning inward as her body begins to milk me for all that I’m worth.
Done for, I brace one hand against the wall and begin to fuck her like I mean to break her apart—like I have that right. Like I’ll be the one who always puts her back together again.
Pleasure barrels down my spine, the heat pulsing though me threatening to take my legs from under me. Light splinters, and shards of Luc fall away. Then, like a vortex of sensation, I’m made whole again.