“I don’t want it to end,” he said against my mouth. But then he canted his hips, hitting that spot that lit me up and made me scream.

There was no more finesse, no more drawing it out. Just basic rutting, fucking each other like we might die and not get another chance. And when he came, I stared up at him, at those muscles straining, his wintergreen eyes gleaming in lust and surprise, as though he couldn’t quite believe how good it was.

Neither could I. Because it had never been like this.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Emma

“God, I needed that.”

Lying against Lucian’s damp chest, I felt his body clench in surprise just before a hearty laugh burst out of him, shaking the bed. I smiled against his skin and cuddled closer. For having such a hard body, he was wonderfully comfortable to hold.

Smiling wide, he turned until we were facing. His winter eyes were warm now, and his smile grew. “Oh, you did, huh?”

Unable to stop touching him, I trailed my fingers across the elegant line of his collarbone. “You sound surprised. Did you doubt your ability to please me, Brick?”

Quick as a flash, he captured my hand and nipped my fingertips. I yelped, even though it didn’t hurt, and he grinned again. “If I had failed, I would have tried harder the next time.”

I edged closer, and my breasts brushing against his chest sent a luxuriant shiver along my body. “Such selfless dedication.”

Lucian’s gaze grew slumberous as his hand slid over my shoulder to cup my neck. “Give it your all, or go home.”

“Good motto.” I traced the rise of his biceps. Lord, but the man had nice arms—muscled without being obnoxious.

He hummed in agreement. “Practice makes perfect and all that.”

When I snickered, he pulled me completely against him. Skin to skin. His voice dipped a register. “I needed it too.” Light but lingering kisses peppered my temple, my cheek. He was all around me, warm and firm, the scent of burnt sugar and musky sex.

I closed my eyes, wrapped my arm around his neck. My tongue flicked over the hard cap of his shoulder to take a tiny taste of his salty skin. Lucian shivered, hummed deep within his throat.

“Give me five minutes,” he rasped, nuzzling my hair, “and we’ll practice some more.”

“Five minutes?” I teased, my voice slow like honey.

“Woman,” he complained into the hollow of my throat, “you had me three times in a row. Give a man some rest.”

I laughed, happiness bubbling within me. We were new lovers, but it felt as though we’d always been together. Not in the way of me wanting him—that felt so new and strong I wondered if I’d ever get enough of him to ease my thirst. But in how easy it was to be with him. How fun. I could not recall sex being fun. Feeling easy.

Maybe it was for other people. But I used to sink into my head and worry about how I looked, what I said. The true horror was I’d freaking act in bed. I hadn’t been myself.

But with Lucian, I couldn’t be anything but. Even if I wanted to, he’d notice. And he would draw me out of any shell I could hide behind.

Expression light, he nudged me onto my back and then rested his head in his hand as he lay at my side. His other hand settled gently between my breasts, as if to guard my heart. The action was so tender my chest constricted. He didn’t seem to notice but studied me with a pleased expression. “You thirsty?”

I hadn’t thought so until he asked. “I could go for some water.”

The laugh lines around his eyes deepened. “I’ll be right back.” He kissed my mouth, then, with that effortless grace of movement, rolled over and got out of bed.

I settled back and watched him walk utterly naked across the room. Nude Lucian’s swagger was a sight to behold, that insane butt flexing and squeezing with every step. Even the man’s calves were stunning. A sight gone too quickly as he went into the bathroom to wash up.

As soon as he was done, he ambled off to the kitchen. I resettled myself in bed, fluffing bunched and scattered pillows and straightening the sheets that had somehow managed to become a long twist. The rattle of a tray announced Lucian’s return. I flopped back against the pillows, breath short, and held up a hand.

“Slow down!” I pleaded. When he did, the dark wings of his brow lifting in amused confusion, I grinned. “Let me get a good look at you.”

A flush started along his neck and crept up to his ear. But he complied, his gait loose hipped and rolling. “This slow enough?”

“I think I need to film it for posterity. I don’t think I’ve ever appreciated a man’s legs more.”

That got a smile, though it seemed more of a “The woman is ridiculous, but I like it” one. “If you’re good”—he set the tray on the side table—“I’ll let you ride my thigh later.”

That should not have made my sex clench with anticipatory heat so very hard. But it did.

Lucian looked me over. “Although I have to say you didn’t do yourself any favors putting on that shirt.”

“Was that bad?”

“Very,” he said sternly. “You’ll be taking it off soon, or no thigh ride for you.”

“Yes, Lucian.”

Lips twitching, he handed me a glass of cool water with a twist of lemon. I smiled at it.

“What?” He sat on the edge of the bed.

“You. Putting a lemon slice in the water.” I took a sip.

“It makes it taste better,” he grumbled, still a bit pink around the ears.

“It does.” I drank some more, then handed it to him. “You’re adorable.”

He rolled his eyes and took a drink.

“You like taking care of people.”

Lucian offered me more water. “I like taking care of you.”

I took another long drink. “And I’m in true danger of letting you do it all the time. But it’s more than that. You have this innate sense of seeing something ordinary and making it extraordinary.”

“You’re trying to embarrass me, aren’t you?” He accepted the glass and drained it.

“No. I’m giving you a compliment.”

Lucian set the glass down, a bemused expression playing over his face. “I have no idea how to handle those.”

His honesty startled me. “You’re fawned over by almost everyone you meet. Even dickhead Greg was sucking up to you.”