Page 67 of Burned

Her breath catches. “Safe word.”

“Red.”

“Slow?”

“Yellow.”

“Do you want this?”

Her eyes soften for half a second.

Then burn.

“Yes.”

The answer breaks the last of my restraint.

I kiss her again, harder, deeper, swallowing the sound she makes as I hold her wrists above her head with one hand and work the other under her sweater. Her skin is warm beneath my palm. Too warm after the cold glass at her back.

She arches into my touch.

Always fighting.

Always offering.

I drag her sweater up, and she helps me only enough to be defiant, glaring as I release her wrists to pull it over her head. She is bare beneath it.

No bra. My mind goes blank. Despite myself, I moan. “God damn, girl.”

Erin sees my face and smiles, wicked and heated.

I stare at her breasts, cupping them and teasing her nipples till her back arches. She moans my name. “Lucian.”

“I’m remembering why I should never let you out of our bedroom.” I take her nipple in my mouth. Sucking till she cries out. I pop my mouth off her, murmuring, “Now, I’m wondering why I ever let you put on clothes at all.”

“That sounds impractical.”

“Which means you could never, ever leave the room again. Because I’d have to slay every man who saw you naked.”

She laughs. “That’s seriously impractical.”

Then I have my mouth on her breast again, and the laugh chokes to a gasp.

Her legs part, and I step between them, pulling her hips to the edge.

Her hands tear at my shirt.

Buttons scatter.

“Impatient,” I say against her skin.

“Old news.”

I bite gently at the curve of her breast.

She shudders.

“Lucian.”