Page 23 of Burned
I turn my face against the quilt and whisper, “Don’t stop.”
His breath changes.
Then he draws my panties down slowly, over the heated curve of my ass, down my thighs, leaving me bare to the warmth of the room and the weight of his stare.
I feel exposed.
Claimed.
Wanted so badly I could cry from it.
His palm smooths over my skin now, nothing between us. The contact is softer than before, which somehow makes it worse. Better. Every nerve wakes for him.
“Still green?” he asks quietly.
My throat tightens. “Yes.”
The next smack lands bare.
I jolt, a sound breaking from me before I can catch it. The sting is brighter now, sharper, blooming fast beneath his palm. He rubs it away, slow circles, then grips me with both hands like he’s holding himself back from devouring me whole.
“Beautiful,” he says, voice rough.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Another. Then another.
Each one sends heat rippling through me, pain melting almost instantly into pleasure because it’s him. Because I trust the hand that punishes me to soothe me. Because I know he would stop the second I asked.
But I don’t ask. I push back into his touch.
Lucian goes still.
“Careful, Erin.”
I turn my head just enough to look at him over my shoulder. “Or what?”
His eyes darken. Then his palm comes down again, harder this time, and I gasp his name into the quilt. He bends over me, chestagainst my back, one hand sliding around my waist to hold me steady.
“Or I’ll remember exactly how much you like being punished,” he says against my ear.
My whole body shivers.
His mouth presses to my shoulder, tender after all that heat.
“There she is,” he murmurs. “My brave, reckless girl.”
And for one breathless moment, with his hand warm against my stinging skin and his body curved over mine like a shield, there is no Isobel.
No fire.
No ghosts.
Only Lucian.
Only me.
Only the terrible, beautiful truth that I am safe enough with him to fall apart.
He slides a strong arm under my belly, turning me over onto my back. I stare up at him, sliding my arms around his neck.
