Could I have prayed for her to say anything better?

Could I have dreaded she say anything worse?

Show me.

She has no idea what she’s asking for. Fuck. I have no idea what she’s asking for, though I can claim the advantage of an educated guess. My four-women-a-month life is a distant memory now, but my dick hasn’t forgotten that playboy’s needs. Fine-tuning the art of a worthy jerk off has brought some revelations—like the fact that I can now see my jizz, glowing like nuclear waste, as it swirls down the shower drain.

Christ.

How am I standing here, even thinking of exposing this magnificent creature to that danger?

I’m not thinking. At least not about her. Because once again, it’s all about me. Guess the saying is true. Once an asshole…

“No.” It’s a scream in my brain but a grate on my lips as I twist in conflict. The woman at my feet interprets the sound differently. Her raised stare, huge and dreamy and lusty, confirms it. I’m a fucking wreck and she’s an aroused rabbit, thinking I’m opting for some coy bid at nobility. I don’t know whether to laugh or rage—until both options are ripped away by the woman herself as she reaches to unfasten my pants.

One quick release of my top button and my cock takes full advantage of the extra breathing space. As new blood rushes to my groin, harsh air grunts into my throat. It becomes a full growl as she drags her fingers down the seam of my crotch.

“Fuck.”

Velvet rabbit? What the hell was I thinking? She’s a seductress, those big blue eyes just the gateway to her temptation, softness and light beckoning me to give up, give in, give over. It’s all right, she seems to whisper to me. It’s all good. It’s so good. It’s going to be even better once you’re inside me.

No.

Yes.

No.

A gust of wind whumps the windows at my back. A blast of lust fills my cock, turning every motion into torture…and her warm breaths into unbearable teases. With limp surrender, she releases the papers in her grip. They smack to the floor and fan apart, forming a crisp bleached carpet for our dirty, debauched acts.

Corruption I need to end. A goddess I need to let go.

But I can’t. I can’t. Her desire is like a new drug. Her surrender is my new sanity.

I hang on tighter—to bring her face even closer.

She parts her lips and then runs them up and down my hardening ridge. Not a trace of hesitation in her movements. Not a single waver in her low, needy moan. She’s a gift. My gift…

Which is why I have to make her stop.

Which is why I can’t.

“Unzip it,” I command in a soft growl.

I won’t let her go too far. I’ll give her just a taste. I’ll stop before she swallows anything. I’ll let her lick until the pre-come returns and then I’ll pull out and—

“Wow.”

Her rasp, so sincere, is joined by her wondering stare as she palms the bulge beneath my briefs. It comes close to being the goddamned sight of the century—close because that honor goes to what she gives me in the next second. With a sweet little sigh, she dips in close enough to nuzzle me again. To inhale me…

“Mr. Richards?”

I’m grateful for her soft query. It forces me to focus. To coalesce brain matter into words. “Yes, Miss Crist?”

“You’re wet.”

Fuck the hell out of me.

Which is so not going to happen, even if the effort kills me.

And wouldn’t that be Karma’s ultimate joke? The player turned freak, throwing himself at petty thieves and thugs in the hopes of taking a stray bullet to his gut, instead put down by his wayward dick. Step right up, folks. Come and get your poetic justice riiigght heeere.

But for now, I’m alive. And that means forming words. Remember those, moron? Get the words out. Keep the come in.

“And are you?”

She narrows her gaze. Breathes harder. For an incredible second, I can see down her blouse. She’s wearing a dark-pink bra under the matching satin blouse. I wonder if the nipples under it are a similar hue. Are they tight from my demand? Have they become erect berries centered in puckered areolas?

“Am…I…?”

“Wet.” I all but snarl it out. Maybe if I talk like a monster, she’ll begin to believe I am one. “Are you wet too, Miss Crist?”

She shivers. I prepare to watch the fear creep into her gaze, but only clear blue curiosity returns my scrutiny. “I…I think I am.”

“And that surprises you?”

She furrows her brow. “I suppose it does.”

And just like that, my dick fills with new lightning. What the hell? All she’s done is touch me through my underwear—but it’s enough. Holy fuck, more than enough. I’m so goddamned hard, it hurts.

“You should check.”

Her gaze widens. “I should…what?”

“Check.” I nod curtly, enforcing the mandate. “You heard me. Do it, Emmalina. Pull your skirt to your waist, drop your panties to your knees, and put a finger in your pussy. Then tell me if you’re wet.”

For the first time, uncertainty clouds her face. Perhaps a little fear. Has she finally grabbed the clue? Realized I’m not the lonely Heathcliff up in the tower? That Neeta, Wade, and Fershan are right to be freaked out by me? That she should be freaked out by me? But I search her face again and see none of that. I think she’s just hesitant about obeying me—about seeking her pleasure in front of me. But I remain implacable. She will obey.

“You… You want me to—”

“Touch yourself.” I massage her scalp. “Yes.”

“While you watch?”

“Every fucking moment.”

She twists her lips. “Said the Big Bad Wolf to Red Riding Hood?”

A growling chuckle spills out. “What big eyes I have?”

“What beautiful eyes you have.”

My laughter fades. The reverence in her voice… Fuck. Now I’m just as awestruck, wildly wondering where the hell this amazing creature has come from—and why the fuck that even matters right now. Not when all I care about is her obedience to my demand.

“You’re stalling, bunny.” I splay my fingers wider against her scalp. “Do it now. Your finger in your pussy. Watching you will bring so much pleasure to my dick. You’re going to make me so fucking hard.”

My filthy narrative is the right flip to her switch. She even kicks up a playful smile while bunching her skirt north of her waist, though it vanishes the moment her panties drop the other direction. With one more glance to ensure I’m still serious about my order, she slides one hand south…

Bringing heaven to the seventieth floor.

Heaven, in her guttural gasp of sheer arousal… In the soft drop of her head against my fingers… In the heady musk of her on the air…

Arousal I need her to tell me about.

Heaven I can experience through her.

If just for a moment…

“Tell me.” Focusing on the words helps me keep control—at least in the parts where it matters. I focus on their syntax, along with how it aches to push them from my locked teeth, but even that’s barely enough. Witnessing her arousal brings on more of my own. It’s fucking near intolerable…

“You… You were right.”

Her voice, now husky as whiskey, rolls through me in the same way. She brings torment and salvation together, a pleasure-pain I crave but resist. “About what?” I jerk on her hair, forcing her to stare up at me. “Say it, Emmalina.”

She swallows. Dear fuck, so gorgeous. “I’m…wet,” she stammers. “So damn wet.”

“Good girl.” At my praise, her skin flushes, her lips fall open, and she drags in heavy air. Dear fuck. This is my undoing. The freedom of how she looks at me, offering herself to me… It’s like a bolt cutter on some lock inside, a shackle that’s been so heavy for so long, I’m not even aware of it anymore. Not until this moment of getting to throw it free, celebrating with a new command for her.

“Now show me.”

For a moment, she’s confused again. “Show…you…?”

“How wet you are.” I dip my head toward her fingers, which still massage between her creamy thighs. In the same instant, inspiration hits. I push down the front of my briefs far enough for my balls and shaft to spring free. If she only gets a taste, I’ll make sure it’s a damn good one. “Drench your finger with your arousal, and spread it over me—here.”

I watch without restraint as she obeys without question. Her touch is full of fascination and adoration as she slicks her juices along my flesh, even taking time to trace over the larger veins, which pulse as if they’re going to explode right off my shaft. I’m just as spellbound. Her hair turns into a glowing halo under my fingertips. Her gaze all but worships my cock. And the perfect O of her lips reaches for my tip like a choirgirl about to take communion.

And holy God, do I want to give it to her.

But she gives before I can. Takes me in, surrounding me with her mouth, displaying the whole fucking universe to my senses in one stroke of heat and warmth and wetness. She sucks me deeper, tightening and expanding that cosmos at once, filling it with the echoes of my mindless moans.

Mindless. That says it all. My thoughts have vanished. Logic, or whatever I thought I possessed of it, is gone. I’m nothing but desire and ache and need, every electron of my body zooming to the crux of my thighs, the length of my cock, the perfection of her mouth.

A groan careens through my head. It’s edged in conflict, and for a second I wonder why.

You can’t do this.

You could kill her. This could kill her. She’s not the one who’s supposed to die.

It’s me. I’m the one. And I am dying already, my chest locking down air with every new effort at restraint. Before I can control it, a spurt of pre-come erupts out. I force my eyes open, watching her throat convulse on it, praying like hell I haven’t scalded her for life…

Her gaze goes wide.

She keens in shock.

Shit. Damn. Fuck.

She goes down on my dick like a kid given candy for the first time. Confirms I’m not imagining it by lifting a stare full of brilliant blue arousal before going back to work as if it’s fucking Godiva.

“Holy sssshhh…” It’s all I’m able to get out before she pulls me in so hard my balls collide with her chin. I’m not hung like an elephant, but my cock is built like the rest of me, length instead of girth, meaning that despite the number of women I’ve known biblically in my life, getting deep-throated has been a rare and incredible treat.

And never, never, as good as this.

No. Forget good.

This is…transformative. An all-access pass to another dimension. My blood converts into light ropes. My consciousness blares. My senses blaze. I fist my hands in her hair until I drive her harder, fucking her deeper, rejoicing in the sweet compliance of her deep, needy moan.

I can’t stop.

I can’t think.

I can only feed her hunger. Sate my lust. Lunge and push and fuck and need…

And need…

Until my balls squeeze tight. My lungs seize on air. My brain turns to toast.

And my universe becomes her.

My life pours into her.

It’s the best orgasm I’ve known. And the worst agony I’ve ever felt.

I’m killing her. I’m killing her.

“Fuck.” I finish with a helpless choke, a mix of ecstasy and remorse—who knew I’d ever be putting those two in a mental test tube—as the heat keeps sizzling through my cock and spurting into her. She answers every drop with a wanton moan, even grabbing my hips when I try to pull away. She’s a creature possessed, and I’m ripped to shreds about stopping her. The last meal of her life is a throat full of my come, and the woman is damn near thanking me for the experience.

I will never leave the depths of hell after I die.

Which may be sooner than I think, because she keeps sucking my dick as if her erotic buffet won’t end until she has my blood as well as my seed.

At last, with a harsh hiss, she releases me.

At once, my knees give out.

I plummet next to her, still gripping her head. Damn good thing, because I can force her to look at me. To see the apology, too late to do any good, in my eyes.

“I’m sorry.” I kiss her desperately, hating myself more as my dick jerks from the taste of myself on her lips. A snarl rips up my throat as I yank away. “I’m so damn sorry.”

Her forehead crumples. “Why?”

I struggle for the right words. Because you sucked my cock so well, I forgot my own damn name. And, oh yeah, I also forgot about the band of lunatic scientists who turned my blood into electricity a year ago, meaning I just turned you into—

What?

What the hell have I done to her?

I have no answer for that—just as I have no words for what starts to happen to the woman in my arms. Only now do I realize I’ve harbored some dark fears about what to expect if this ever happened—and the reality before me doesn’t match any of them. The lightning fire in her eyes, the ruby tint of her lips, and the sensual flare across her cheeks aren’t anything close to the horror of a woman in the last moments of her life.

“Emmalina,” I croak in place of kissing her again. “Emma,” I revise, daring to stroke her cheek. After the climax, my glowing fingertips have returned to normal. “What can I do? How can I—”

Her high gasp cuts me off. Her body jerks, and she falls against me. I lower to my haunches, letting her sag sideways into my arms. She slides a hand under my shirt, scoring my abdomen in time to her spasms. The second her bare ass lands atop my spent cock, she turns into a ball of sensual slithers. I’m beyond baffled. Is this really what death throes look like?

“What can you do?” She laughs, taking me from mystified to disturbed—especially as she grinds her backside harder atop my cock. “Haven’t you already done it?”

I rest my forehead against hers. “Fuck. I’m so—”

“Proud of your handiwork?” She ropes both hands around my back and digs her nails into my shoulders. Her eyes dilate, the pupils huge islands in cyan seas. “Well, you should be.”

I narrow my own gaze. “I…”

“You want to hear me say it, Mr. Richards? Fine.” She gulps hard. “I never thought it could be like this. I never thought anything could be like this. Happy now?”

I guess I would be—if I knew what the hell she’s talking about.

Like a physical punch, comprehension hits.

As soon as I shove aside my guilt long enough to look at her. Really look at her.

The pulse in her neck, throbbing wildly. The needy huffs of her breaths. The subtle swivels of her hips…and the light dew of sweat along their inner curves.

Holy fuck.

My jizz isn’t killing her.

It’s getting her off. In an insane way. From the inside out.

“Oh, aren’t you clever?” She stabs the words at me with a turned-on grin, though the look fades as more arousal jolts her.

I preface my reply with a smirk that feels so fucking good. “Clever?” I drawl. Yeah, I’m dicking with her. Because I can. Because I’m so full of joy right now and can’t dance on the ceiling about it. I much prefer watching her pleasure from this prime front row seat. “Miss Crist, I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“The hell you don’t,” she retorts, laughing, until the invisible arousal stabs her again, arching her hips higher. “Ohhh!” Her nails burrow deeper into my shoulders. I let out a dark snarl, welcoming the pain.

“Tell me,” I order. “Don’t hold back, Velvet.” Because you just turned my hell into complete heaven. “I want to hear it all.”

She responds with an extended cry, coinciding with her new contortion. “Lower,” she finally gasps. “It’s… It’s flowing lower.”

“Toward your pussy?” When she nods, I dictate, “Tell me, Emma.”

“Y-Yes. T-Toward my pussy. So hot. So intense. V-Vibrating.”

“Yessss.” I tuck a hand under the roll of her skirt and press my fingers over her abdomen, picking up on the movement she’s describing. Her skin is hot, tingling. Her body is alive, trembling.

“There,” she confirms, arching up toward me again. “Now there…and there. Oh, shit. It feels so—”

“Words, Emma.” I need them. I need to know every damn detail about this. I’m a caveman who’s just discovered fire but now needs the instruction book for the blowtorch.

Her head thrashes against my arm. “C-Can’t. Just…feeling. So much. So m-m-m-m…”

“Then you’ll show me.” I run a hand down, pushing against her inner thigh until her most wicked fruit is visible. “Yeah. Just like that.”

She breathes harder, the coral and pink layers between her thighs like a rose in a rainstorm, fluttering as lightning strikes their core. I’ve never witnessed anything more incredible. What guy gets to see every moment of a woman’s climax from a viewpoint like this? The clenches of her ass. Her glistening pussy lips clutching around her tight dark slit. The sweet swell of her clit, all but glowing like her hottest ember.

I lean in, gripping one hand into the valley between her torso and thigh, and spread her a little farther. I can see every shimmering drop of the cream she squeezes from her trembling core—now blended with the milk she just drank out of my cock.

“Holy. Fuck.”

I rasp it.

She screams it.

I watch, entranced, as she falls apart in my arms—again and again and again.

And again…

Every time more of my fluid hits her tunnel and her clit, she’s flooded with fresh ecstasy, taking her through wave after wave of wordless pleasure. Every time, I’m taken to a new high by the incredible creature in my arms. How all of this hasn’t Tasered her trust and passion is beyond my comprehension, but not my gratitude. She may be the one on her fifteenth climax, but I’m the fucker celebrating the biggest win of the night. I’m holding a gorgeous woman in my arms, watching her lose her shit because of me. I’m mindless, weightless, infinite… A feeling I never dreamed I’d know again. A nirvana I’d written off a long damn time ago.

But now isn’t the time for that morose mental path.

Now is about a lightning strike named Emmalina Crist and learning more ways to make her feel good. After what I’ve just witnessed, I’m not exactly sure how that miracle will be accomplished but am open to exploring the possibilities.

Wait a second. Open? No. Open is for trying new food or looking at a new avenue of auxiliary revenue for the hotel. I’m not open.

I’m obsessed.

I follow the path of her sated sighs, soon learning she likes circling caresses along the length of her arm. Her groans deepen as I curl my other hand to comb her brilliant blond hair.

After a few minutes filled with nothing but her soft groans, she murmurs, “Mmmm. That feels so good.”

I lean over and kiss her forehead. It feels so good, so right. I do it again. Then question myself. Was that right? I’ve never been a post-coital cuddle muffin or whatever the fuck they call it. It’s always been easier to live up to the infamy of my media nicknames, all serving as convenient red carpets to roll out before ushering my bedmates right out the door.

But the carpets are still rolled up. The excuses, all gone. No. They’ve been blasted into obliteration—though not by the force of the lightning in my veins. They’ve been turned to dust by the woman in my arms. By her artless passion, her captivating honesty… This astounding blend of her and me for which the word chemistry feels like a goddamned insult.

She feels right.

Better than right.

She feels fucking great.

And no way in hell do I want her anywhere near the door.

Which is why I inhale with determined meaning and answer her with what sounds like sappy pillow talk, but for once I truly mean it. “A lot more where that came from, little bunny.”

She snaps open her eyes and a giggle spills off her delectable lips. “Now I know I must be dreaming.”

I frown. “Why?”

“Because the mighty and mysterious Reece Richards just called me bunny—after getting me off so many times, I lost count.”

I quirk my lips. “So, I assume it’s a good dream?”

She smacks at my chest before sighing again. That sound. If Guinevere and Cleopatra sighed like that, no wonder Lancelot and Mark Antony went willingly to their ruin. “Hmmm. If you must know…”

“Yeah.” I kiss her forehead. “I must.”

“It was very good.” She curls closer, looking languid and gorgeous. “I just don’t want to wake up.”

“Then don’t.”

“Not an option.” Her forehead furrows. “I mean, with all due respect, Mr.—ermmm…”

I’d laugh if her uncertainty wasn’t so damn palpable. “Why don’t you just call me Reece?”

She blinks. Then again. Clearly, she’s wondering if this is the point where she wakes up from her dream. Her quixotic smile returns once I dip down and take her lips in a lingering kiss. Damn. She still tastes like passion, mixed with a lot of silken woman. I want to sample her deeper, so I do. Once the soft, slow tangle of our tongues comes to a reluctant end, I realize my face is tight with confusion. I’m nearly thirty years old and only now I am experiencing the best kiss of my life. Some worldly golden boy.

“Hey.” Her gentle prompt breaks me out of my funk. “Are you okay?”

I twist a sarcastic smirk. “Isn’t that my line?”

Her smirk mimics mine, only she’s a lot more adorable. Those champagne-colored pillows mellow into a soft pout as I finger-comb her hair again. The stuff is incredible, strands of gossamer glowing even without the help of my penlight fingers. I could run my touch through them all night.

Her sleepy grumble tells me I might have the chance.

“Reece?”

I grunt in approval. That’s so much better than “Mr. Richards.”

“Hmmm?”

“You need to stop that.”

“Stop what?” It’s tinged with a tease.

“That.” She scowls, weakly trying to bat my hand away. “I have to get up. I have to…go back.”

“Back where?”

“Work.” She whimpers, attempting another drowsy protest. “The… The work people. They’ll be—”

“Fine.” I turn it into a gentle dictate. “They’ll be just fine without you for a while, Emmalina.”

“But—”

“I said they’ll be fine.” I embed it into her mind by speaking it into the perfect plane of her forehead. After another brush of a kiss—I can’t keep my lips off her and don’t even want to try—I stress, “I’ll take care of it, Velvet bunny.”

Little tremors shake her form, the motions of a giggle without the sound. “Velvet bunny,” she whispers, her face drooping against my chest.

I don’t say a word until her breaths lengthen and her body slips into the lazy curves of sleep. Only then, as I lift her from the floor and carry her into the bedroom, do I let my mind echo with her whispered word, letting it part the curtains of my memory. A new passage from my treasured childhood book filters to my conscious—and slices into my chest.

Once you are real, you cannot become unreal again. It lasts for always.

Always.

It resounds so deep, I rub my chest after sliding Emma beneath the comforter.

Always.

Fuck. I’m weaving way too much symbolism into this shit. It’s just a stupid childhood memory of a word that never meant much to me—not that it should have, in my world of all-for-me-all-right-now gratification. After Angelique and The Consortium got their hands on me, I compelled it to mean even less. A concept I couldn’t and wouldn’t accept.

Monsters don’t get to have always.

And nothing has changed about the monster I really am.

That means this gets to be my always. Moonlit peace. Depths of midnight. A starscape and a cityscape, their silent beams radiating the room. But none of it as beautiful as the person at my side, sleeping through satiation from our passion.

She consumes my attention as I stretch beside her, tracing fingertips along her collarbone and shoulder. She tremors a little and turns toward me.

“Sleep, bunny,” I murmur. “I’ll watch over you, sweetheart.”

For as long as this always will let me.