Page 87 of Black Castle

His breath fans against the back of her neck, a ghost of sensation that sends a shiver running down her spine. And without warning, a strong chest presses into her back, and then his arms—hesitant at first, then grows a sudden courage—curling around her waist, strong, possessive, yet unhurried.

A low gasp escapes her lips.

His face buries into her hair, his nose skimming along the curve of her neck, as if breathing her in.

Vivienne’s fingers curl into fist. The air thickens, charged with something inevitable.

She’s sure this is not Zev. There’s nothing gentle about Zev. And Lucan holds her like she’s fragile, like she is a treasure that must be handled with care. But he has never been this touchy with her. They have never shared a hug before, let alone a kiss. What’s going on? What changed? Why are his hands and lips all over her?

“You’re a little tense.” His breath fans her neck, sending a shiver down her spine. “I can sense your irritation.”

Her bare skin is alight with anticipation, her nipples hardening from the ghost of his touch. And she finds herself aching for more—for his hands, for his mouth, anything.

“Are you okay?” he murmurs.

“Mhmm.” She nods, her body tilting toward him, desperate for contact. She has been confused all morning, tense, just like he said, trying to wrap her head around what she should do next. “I’m just exhausted.”

His hands release from her waist, resting on her shoulders, his nose tracing the curve of her neck, low and deliberate, like he’s savoring the moment. Her eyes flutter shut as heat blooms in her stomach.

“Do you want me to go so you can sleep?” The question is a taunt, his voice a low rasp that snakes down her spine.

His fingers drift down her arms, barely touching, leaving goosebumps and fire in the wake. She knows what he’s doing. And she wonders why she never knew this side of him. He’s teasing her, giving her a glimpse of what she will miss if she let him walk out that door.

“Do you want to go?” she whispers, opening her eyes enough to meet his gaze in the mirror—molten gold, darkened with lust. A slow-burning fire.

“No.” His lips graze her ear, his hand slipping around her waist again, palm splaying over her stomach. Heat pulls between her thighs.

“Then stay.” Her voice is barely a whisper, but her body is screaming, pressing into him, silently begging. And any lingering doubt vanishes the moment his hand cups her breasts, his thumb circling the hardened peak.

“What do you want me to do?” His voice is rough against her ear. And she trembles beneath him.

She wonders, will he be gentle? Will he ask permission for every touch, every kiss? Or will he be like Zev, taking what he wants and leaving her wrecked, breathless, undone?

She doesn’t know which versions she craves more.

His fingers tighten, teasing her nipple between them and she gasps. Then his lips are at her neck, tongue flicking, teeth grazing, heat searing through her veins.

“What can I do to make you feel better?”

She whimpers, pressing her back into his chest, feeling the rigid lines of his body—especially the hard length pushing against her lower back. Her pulse stutters.

“Tell me.” His lips move against her skin, his hand greedily exploring her.

“I—” she yelps when his free hand tugs her second nipple, her breath hitching. “I—fuck, I need you to fuck me.”

A low growl rumbles in his chest. Then, in one fluid motion, he spins her around, his hand gripping her waist as he lifts her onto the vanity table.

Impatience thrums in her blood. Her legs fall open instinctively, drawing him closer. She fists his collar, yanking him until there’s nothing between them but heat and desperation.

One hand remains at her waists, the other cradling her jaw. His eyes flicker to her lips, the air between them thick, buzzing with electricity.

Then, he kisses her. For the first time, he kisses her. It starts featherlight, a slow test, a tease. But the second her lips part for him, the dam breaks.

His hot mouth claims hers, each movement deliberate, each second stretching into eternity. He’s slow, achingly so, because he is being cautious, trying to do it right, but she likes it, because she gets to feel it—everything. The warmth of his touch, the heat of his tongue. The way he tastes—dangerous, intoxicating, a drug she wants to overdose on.

Her fingers tangle in his hair that falls down his shoulders, pulling him closer, harder. She is drowning in him, burning from the inside out. He deepens the kiss, devouring her like she’s the only thing keeping him alive.

And she loves it.

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