Page 26 of Burned

His mouth moves higher.

My fingers clench in his hair.

“Still jealous?”

I breathe out a sound that is not quite a word.

He looks up. “Answer me.”

“Yes,” I whisper.

He kisses me again, closer to the place already aching for him. “Good.”

I glare down at him through a haze of need. “Good?”

“Yes.” His breath warms my skin. “I like knowing you want me badly enough to hate the idea of sharing even my ghosts.”

That should not make me hotter.

It does.

“You’re twisted,” I say.

“Twisted for you.” His smile is brief and wicked.

Then his mouth is on me. Heat, wetness, cool air as he pushes my thighs apart to taste me. My head falls back.

The room tilts. He takes his time, the tip of his tongue circling, teasing, which is cruel. Which is perfect. He knows how to weaken my knees and fill me with shame. Each pass of his mouth drags me deeper underwater. I grip his hair, and he makes a rough sound against me, as if my desperation feeds his.

My body trembles. He stops. I lift my head. “Don’t you dare.”

His eyes flash. “There’s my girl.”

“Don’t stop?—”

“Bad girls don’t get what they want.”

I tremble.

He rises, slow and powerful, until he towers over me again. His mouth glistens with me. More shame.

He reaches out and grips my chin, forcing me to stare at him. Victorious, he smiles.

“Ask your next question.”

“Huh?” I’m caught somewhere between heaven and hell, confused.

“You wanted answers.” His thumb drags over my lower lip. “Ask.”

I stare at him.

He waits. He’s the patient one in this relationship. Which isn’t saying much.

I’m shaking. My skin is hot. I’m wet between my legs, slick with me and his mouth, and I’m painfully aware that he is still half-dressed and entirely in control.

Somehow, I get it together enough to think. I ask, voice unsteady. “Did you ever see her after the fire? Inside the building, or out?” Lucian’s expression darkens. I press on anyway. “Dead, alive, or otherwise?”

His jaw flexes. “No.”