“Lou . . .” His voice quiets, a gentle whisper. “Please . . . I can’t just—”

“Yes. You can.” I inch toward him again, my voice shaking. “Make it go away. The fear. The emptiness. All of it. Just give me something more before I lose myself again. Give me you.” My head drops when he doesn’t respond, the desperation taking over, making my lips quiver. “Honestly, what do I have to do to get you to touch me? I mean, Jesus—”

The words are barely out before his hand is on my waist, the other cradling my neck, and his mouth crushes mine. My lips part, letting our tongues tangle together. His fingers dig into me, pulling me tighter against him. I let out a moan as relief and desire flood me. I’ve gone limp in his arms, letting him support my full weight, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He shifts the angle of his head so he can go deeper, the movement sending a wild rush through me. My hands curl into his hair and tug, and he responds by trapping my bottom lip between his teeth and giving a firm tug of his own.

Holy hell, yes. The adrenaline spike is just what I need, and I want more.

My right hand releases his hair and finds its way to the grip he has over my waist. I pry his grasp free and guide his open palm around and down, until it’s fixed on my behind. A growl sounds from somewhere deep in his throat as he presses my hips into him, allowing me to feel the full length of him. I swallow as he abandons my mouth for my neck, and my head falls back, giving him complete access.

Jesus.

His tongue. The bed. We need the bed.

But first . . . reluctantly, I pull my attention back to focus on his shirt, grappling for the material and shoving it up, up, until he has to break his lips away from me as I yank it over his arms, his head. It drops to the ground. My gaze flicks down, and I gasp.

The scar I’d glimpsed before by his collarbone is what catches my eye first, a severe roughness to it I hadn’t noticed before, but it’s the rest of him that has me speechless. I’ve never seen so many scars on one person. Marks of all shapes and sizes, on his chest, his torso, one etched over his ribcage. Most are so faded they almost blend in with his skin, but a few stand out enough for the pain to seep into my heart.

Oh, no. What happened to you? I lower myself slightly, using my fingertips to softly trace one that runs over his abs, and he takes in a sharp breath, every muscle tightening beneath my touch. I tilt my head to look up at him, and he swallows, staring down at me, heavy-lidded. My gaze wanders back to his body. Leaning forward, I slide the tip of my tongue higher, along another one of his scars. I hear that hitch in breathing again, then feel a groan as it vibrates from his chest to my tongue.

I pull away, straighten myself. My movements are sure and confident despite the butterflies swirling in my stomach; the nerves I revel in feeling, because it reminds me I am feeling. I inspect the man before me, the way his eyes dance with the most alluring combination of mesmerized wonder and pure hunger I’ve ever seen, and it sparks something raw inside me. I briefly think back to the fact he’s never touched a woman. He sure as hell kisses like he knows what he’s doing. There’s something primal about his touches, almost instinctive. Intuitive. Fluid.

I want it, I want it all. Yet somehow, that doesn’t seem to be enough. The emptiness takes advantage of our momentary silence, of our stillness, trying to lure me back into its sea of darkness. The constant reminder of my impending fate hangs over my head like a guillotine.

“Make me forget,” I whisper.

He closes the gap between us and scoops me up. He eases me onto the bed, then hovers over my body, his weight resting on his forearms on either side of me. He’s not touching me, but his heat wraps around me like a scarf, teasing my skin. His muscles are tight, shoulders tense and breathing ragged, revealing the control it takes to stay in place.

“Lou.” His voice is strained, bringing out the roughness in his tone. “I’m going to ask you one more time. Are you sure this is what you want? Because,” his eyes fall shut, a thick swallow passing through his throat, “because if I start touching you again I won’t be able to stop.”

He doesn’t even know this is already working. Just the sound of his voice, his own need and restraint seeping through, it makes the adrenaline rush back like a fire igniting in my veins. “Trust me. I won’t want you to stop.”

Something darkens in his eyes for a split second, then his lips are back on mine, forcing them open with his tongue and making my fingers curl into the blanket beneath me. His body lowers onto me, and his hand slips between the folds of my thin robe, grazing my bare stomach. I groan, biting down on his lip, and he grunts, low and rough. His fingertips scorch my skin in the best possible way, and I lean into them. Into him.

He breaks away from my lips and trails open kisses along my jaw, down my neck, making sure I feel every taste, every lick, every nip. His hands don’t stop either, sliding slowly, tauntingly, up my waist, my ribs. Just as his touch brushes along the bottom curve of my breast, he stops, centering his focus back on my neck and collarbone.

Now is not the time to be a gentleman.

I find his hand with mine, urging it higher until his heat cups my full breast, his thumb instantly caressing my hardened nipple. Something rough escapes his throat, and his teeth sink into my shoulder. The unexpected ripple of pain and pleasure sends a fresh shockwave through me. My eyelids flutter closed, and my head tilts back. The hand on my chest is firm, hot, and fervent in its strokes. I grip his shoulders and arch my hips, feeling the long, thick length of him rub against me between the fabric of our clothes. His breathing becomes heavier, faster, his own hips returning the movement as he presses himself into me.

More.

I reach down between us, fumbling with the buttons on his jeans and yanking down his zipper, my thumb brushing over the bulge in his underwear. His lips freeze, his head dropping until his forehead rests against my collarbone. A hot rush of breath pours from his mouth over my skin. I only falter for a second, letting the feel of his raw need sink in, then continue to tug the material down. He lifts his hips to help me, then uses his feet to kick them off the rest of the way.

He moves back to my mouth, reconnecting with my lips with a renewed sense of urgency. His hand comes down to pull at the string of my robe, then it falls open, revealing all of me. His lips remain on mine, his tongue continuing its caress. His hands, however, have a mind of their own, exploring everywhere from the shape of my breast to the flat of my stomach, the curve of my hips, to the slope of my thigh.

This time when I arch into him, my bare wetness rubs right against him, the sudden sensation taking us both by surprise and making the muscles in his back constrict beneath my hands. He goes still for a moment, his erection still pressed against me, but when I squirm impatiently, he sinks down further, the added pressure drawing a moan from my lips. A gentle roll of his hips and he’s grinding. Oh god. The natural, fiery heat that radiates from his body hits my center just right with each roll. He’s not even inside me yet, and the sensations are already teasing, building, rising, calling.

He tears himself away, making me whimper at the loss. His head pulls back, green eyes heavy and drugged when they lock onto mine. He just lingers there for a moment, like he’s drinking in the sight of me beneath him, memorizing every part of my expression. I know my eyes are just as clouded as his, my lips still parted, probably red and swollen. Breathing hard. Wanting more.

As though reading the thoughts swirling within me, his hand finds a spot low on my stomach. He’s still holding my gaze captive with his when his fingers travel downward, his warmth leaving a fiery trail on each part of skin he contacts.

He goes lower, and my breath hitches.

Just . . . a little . . . lower.

My fingernails scratch his back as he finds the area between my thighs. It’s tentative at first, the way he reaches between me, sliding over me and just slightly inside. My hips buck in response, and his Adam’s apple bobs up and down, his eyelids halfway shut, chest pounding. He moves up to the tender area just above, circling his fingers around it and watching intently as my head falls back, the blood inside me beginning to boil at his rhythmic touch. He keeps it going, the steady rhythm he’s built, another stroke drawing another moan.

Eyes closed, hips moving against his fingers, I reach down between us and find his arousal, hard and thick, and degrees hotter than the rest of him. A primitive groan rumbles from his throat, his fingers faltering between my thighs, and my lips quirk. I wrap my hand around him as best as I can, my thumb circling the head of his length before exploring the expanse of him, up and down. Another rough vibration roars through him, and his mouth is suddenly back on my throat, sucking, licking, biting. Just as I start to speed up, his hand comes down on mine, holding it firmly in place. He pulls away from my neck, but just barely.

“I can’t . . .” It’s a husky whisper, hot breaths against my skin. “I need to . . .”

“I want you inside me. Now.”

A low, guttural noise escapes him, and the fingers still pressed between my thighs slide into me as though by reflex, curling upward and making me cry out. “Goddamn, Lou,” he breathes, ragged. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

I’m panting now, unable to form a coherent thought while his fingers fill me up like this. “So . . . show . . . me.”

All at once his hand is gone, the sudden loss taking me by surprise, but then the tip of his erection is gently, barely, pressing inside me. He lifts his head to meet my gaze, a desperate, almost pained look on his face as he struggles not to plunge in all at once.

But that’s exactly what I need.

“You won’t break me,” I whisper, my eyes lowering to those lips that tease, taste, tantalize.

Slowly, I lift my hips, the slight movement bringing him inside just enough to give me a taste of his thickness, and it is his undoing. He drives his hips into mine, and my mouth falls open as the entire length of him pushes inside, stretching and filling me beyond anything I’ve ever felt. A strangled groan rips through him, his forehead softly connecting with mine as he squeezes his eyes shut. He holds himself like that, forearms propping up most of his weight, as my body tries to adjust to the size of him.

Then he’s moving. Grinding. Rolling. It starts as a lazy sort of rhythm, slow and steady. Ensuring I feel the full effect of each shift, each stroke, within me. I close my eyes and moan into it, letting the deep caress overtake me, reaching places I didn’t know existed. My hands are on his shoulders; the muscles tightening beneath my touch are like quiet ticks of a time bomb, his restraint about to cave in on itself.

I find the curve of his neck and press my lips to it, my tongue having a taste before I pull on his skin and gently suck. He draws in a shaky breath, his rhythm picking up, his strokes long and deep. Then his hand is on my breast as he rocks against me, squeezing and teasing and driving me insane.

Faster. Deeper. Harder.

Whatever thin thread was holding him together a moment ago snaps as he grabs my wrists and pins them against the headboard, my entire body trembling with pleasure in response.

He’s sucking just above my collarbone when his free hand slides down, landing on the inside of my upper thigh and spreading me wide open. The shift somehow allows him to go even deeper, and my cry is silenced by his mouth over mine. The kiss becomes sloppy, rough, and desperate as he relentlessly drives into me, my own hips rising to meet each thrust. The bed creaks beneath us, fast and urgent, mixing with the sounds of our heavy panting. Then his strong fingers are right on my clit, rubbing, circling, stroking.

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.

I turn my head and bite his shoulder, muffling my mewls. His growl is animalistic, his thrusts following suit, losing their tempo as he loses himself. He releases his grip on my wrists to take firm hold of my hips, pulling them up and grinding me into him. That’s all it takes to set me over the edge. All the buildup, the pleasure, hitting me hard at my core and rising higher and higher, until I tense. My lips part, my back arches, my toes curl into the sheets, and I cry out as it finally consumes every inch of me.

I’m still riding the shocks when the grip of his fingers digs into me. He gives one last, hard pump, a mangled, masculine sound vibrating through his body as his muscles contract. A shudder ripples through him after he stills above me, then a few quieter ones follow. After a moment, he collapses, his head dropping into the curve of my neck.

Panting. Sweating. Sighing.

Hot breath caresses my throat as I hear a husky, “Fuck.”

My lips curve. That’s two times now I’ve heard him say that word, both of them tonight.

And I decide I really like it.