Page 100 of Watch Me Burn
“Huh?” He blinks as if I’m speaking a foreign language.
“Did you say we’re going upstairs to have more sex?”
“Yes.”
His dark eyes gleam as he tucks my hair behind my ear, a gentle touch that makes me shiver.
“No. I’m done for tonight. I have no more orgasms in me.”
“Is that a challenge?”
He sweeps my hands away with ease and pushes his cock inside me in one smooth stroke. He’s not fully erect again, but he’s thick enough to stretch me,to fill me in a way that forces a gasp from my throat. With his length and girth, even half-hard, this man could wreck me.
My body clenches around him involuntarily. Traitor.
“See?” His hips roll, grinding deeper. “Your body disagrees.”
I wrap my legs around him. “This doesn’t prove anything.”
“Doesn’t it?” He withdraws halfway, then drives back in. His cock hardens with each thrust, growing inside me.
I bite my lip, trying to stifle the moan building in my chest. It escapes anyway. My eyes trace over his face, wishing I could see under the mask. Wishing he would show me all of himself.
His shirt is still buttoned. It always is. He’s never removed it. Not once. The cotton might as well be armor for how it protects his secrets as fiercely as his mask.
I’m always fully naked, but he recently started removing his pants. The tattoos that peek out at his collar and beneath the hem of his shirt are hints of stories I can’t read. When I take him in my mouth, he lifts the fabric just enough to watch, but never enough for me to see what’s underneath.
His finger traces my clit, each circle timed to match his deep strokes. Slow waves of pleasure roll through me, building and cresting like the tide against the shore.
“Lay back, beautiful.”
I sink against the table without hesitation, my arms settling at my sides. He fucks me like this a lot now, my hands free but forbidden to wander. The table’s surface is hard against my spine as he moves inside me, each thrust sending tremors through my frame. His fingers trace patterns on my skin while his eyes devour my reactions. I drink in the sight of him above me, his jaw tight with control, lips parted, and eyes burning behind the mask.
“Wolf.”
His hands freeze against my skin, and his entire body goes rigid.
Shit. Did I say that out loud?
I keep that name locked in my head, a secret between me and my heart. My wolf. Mine in ways that transcend names and faces. And as much as I want to see beneath the mask, I’ve grown to love it.
“What did you just call me?”
His voice sounds different. Rougher, yes, but there’s a tremor underneath. Layers of emotion I’ve never heard before. Surprise? Vulnerability? I can’t tell with that damned mask hiding his face.
My heart slams against my ribs. The word sits there now, between us, impossible to take back.
“I called you wolf. That’s what you told me to call you that first night.”
“I thought you don’t like the animal I am.” His voice carries a new edge, raw and almost wounded.
“I never said that.”
“You don’t like it when I rut you like one.”
The crude words send heat spiraling low in my abdomen. Because God help me, I more than like it. I love it. I love the way he takes me—wild and desperate and completely consuming. But that’s not all I want.
“I never said that either. I just—” My voice falters beneath his intensity. “I don’t want you to always rut me from behind. I want to see you. Touch you. Feel you on top of me again.”
