Page 130 of Born for Lace

We are restless hands.

Gripping and desperate.

Removing our clothes.

Unwilling to part our bodies, or break our lips from sucking flesh, or open our eyes, or wait a moment longer to be together.

And he isrough, pinning me beneath him, heavier than he has ever been before. He brackets my head with his forearms, his body covering me entirely.

“Lagos…”

“Is this mine?” His tongue rims the shell of my ear, and his hand spans out over the firm mound between my hips.

“Yes,” I whisper.

Unwelcome fear pours down my spine when he slides two fingers between my thighs—too fast. And he doesn’t prepare me further, dragging his thick, hard dick up between my slick folds.

He thrusts into me.

He practically snarls as he drives in deep, hitting the end inside me, beating a yelp through my mouth.

“Lagos!” I gasp for air.

Then his fingers curl in my hair, tangling the red strands, and his hot breath blows down over me. “Call me Six.”

I don’t understand.

Tears spring to my eyes; he has suffered something… terrible. Something that is manifesting right now. His usual pulsing energy is darker, a palpable need, greedy, and vicious.

He groans. “So tight, little Lace Girl.”

Helpless yelps beat from me. I curl away from the severe fullness, the painful friction that fringes on too much.

“Fuck,yes,” he hisses, grabbing my thigh in a bruising hold, yanking my hips up to meet his hard pounding. His balls slap the private place beneath where he enters me, sending pleasure through my core.

I moan, long and hard, trying to hold on as hetakesme. I paw at his flanks. Unlike before, he doesn’t consider my fragility, or small muscles, or tiny bones. My body absorbs his devastating pumps.

My head spins with sensation as he takes me from full to empty. Over and over again. I try to keep up with him, my hands pawing at the thick, rippling muscles at his sides, my legs pulsing behind his.

“I missed you.” I sob into his chest. “It was real.Wewere real.” All my emotions—loss, grief, need—burn at the front of my mind as I let him use me the way he needs, the way he demands.

I don’t know what he has been through, but it’s dark presence fills the room. Even though it is punishing, the motion, speed, and power, my climax rushes through me before I realise it, gasping his name. “Lagos.”

His fist tightens in my hair.

“Six,” he demands.

No.“I don’t want to call you that.” I shake my head, trying to bury the terror creeping into the room and circling me, warning me.

“Say it!” he growls, hammering his hips into me, knocking me up the mattress.

I’m in the most vulnerable position, naked, being taken, when a profound sense of dread swallows me whole.

Am I in danger?

His knuckles bite at my scalp, so I relent and sobthename, “Six.”

That sets him off.

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