Page 101 of Born for Lace

Concentration draws his brows in when he glances over his shoulder at me as he works on removing a tyre. “Lot to get through, little flower. Another car. Rooms full of boxes. We left The Bite early; we have time. We should stay a few extra days. Things might be raided by the time we pass through again.”

We.

Tomar and him.

Not me.

Not you, Dahlia.

That truth makes my stomach roll. He hasneeds, and I understand them better today, despite my entire Trade being about servicing said needs. Physical needs… The kind I didn’t really understand because I wasn’t supposed to. Lagos—my Lagos—has needs. When I’m safe, he is going to find someone else, like Beauty and Sweets, and the girls from the roadhouse that clearly knew him…

“Were you with any of those girls the other night?” The question cascades through my lips like spitting lemon. “I mean… at the roadhouse?”

He pivots on his haunches to face me, signature frown in place, but tighter with disapproval. “You kissed me that night,” he states, voice roughening.

I clear my throat, blushing at the memory. “Yeah. That one.”

“You kissed me,” he repeats, “but you still ask that question.”

Yes?I’m confused. I shrug, then roll one shoulder, hiding my scarlet-hued cheeks. “I wanted to kiss you.”

“Don’t do that.”

My shoulders flatten. “Do what?”

“Kiss a man who has been with other women the same night. You’re not a House Girl. You’re not an afterthought or a first choice. You’re the only choice.”

I beam, and the knot in my stomach tightens because the love and affection in my heart blooms further, spreading out and weaving through my insides. I look down at the barn floor and gather my emotions before quickly returning my gaze to him. “Is that a no?”

He pivots back to the car, back to work. “They are not my type.”

Right.I scoff, raising a brow at his back, dubious. “They knew you, Lagos.”

He pulls the tyre off and lays it on the floor beside him. “I didn’t know I had a type until recently. Until I was nose deep inside your pussy. That’ll change any man.”

His words make me hot all over, my nipples hardening, poking through my dress. I glance hesitantly at the barn door—closed. And listen to the howling wind outside, both things offering a sense of privacy.

“Lagos…” I say his name in a breathy way that causes him to stiffen with his back to me. I press my hand over my racing heart, feeling the frantic, nervous thudding. Looking at Lagos—all man—I am inundated with an urge… to move lower. First, to my nipple. Even beneath the fabric, it buzzes with sensitivity, so I rub the point in circles. Hairs on my arms lift, and wet heat gathers between my legs.

Lagos slowly edges around to face me, rising to his feet. “Careful, little flower.” He drinks me in. “That look will get you in all kinds of depraved trouble.”

“I can’t imagine doing depraved things with anyone else but you, Lagos,” I whisper, needier than intended.

He doesn’t move a muscle, but heated dark energy rolls from him. “You better not imagine doinganythingwith anyone but me, little flower.”

With even the slightest shift of his gaze up and down, my entire body shudders. “Keep going,” he demands, his tone raspy and depthless. “Lower.”

Slowly, I trace between my breasts down my trembling belly to between my thighs. I lean back, becoming limp, as I press my palm over my knickers to cradle that hot, wet place.

A dark, determined gaze tracks my movements.

Feeling every inch of his attention like tangible pulses through the air, I moan and begin to grind on my palm.

His eyes meet mine.

“I feel hot.” I pant. “Help me.” When he pauses, a wave of nerves flush through me, but he is striding toward me now.

I gasp when he scoops his hands between the bench and my backside, lifting me. I can feel the volatile strength he possesses in the effortless way he carries me, but he is so careful. Gentle.

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