Eyes wide she stared across the room at the vision of pure male outrage, black eyes burning, his hair sensually tousled and laying around his face and shoulders like course midnight.
He moved across the room, stalking, predatory, the loose white pants he wore laying low on his hips, his c**k jutting beneath it, thick and long, as he moved to the bed.
Paige stared back at him, her breathing harsh, the need so spike sharp now that fingers of hunger struck at her pu**y with daggerlike intensity.
Abram’s jaw clenched as he stopped at the side of the bed.
His fingers tightened, released, tightened again.
“Lie back.” His voice was like an animal’s growl.
“Go to hell,” she tried to snap, but her voice weakened, the anger, pain, and desperation mixing to create a sound between a plea and a hoarse, broken demand.
“I return there soon enough,” he shot back, his voice sharp. “For this moment though, I will touch paradise no matter the curse to my soul for the trespass.”
And before she could move, protest, or whimper an objection he gripped her legs, pulled her down along the bed and within a breath, he was stretching his long, powerful frame between her legs
There was no time to argue, to protest, or to push him away. There was no will to reject whatever touch, whatever pleasure he would give her.
His arms looped around her legs, pulling her thighs apart as his head lowered and his lips buried in her pu**y.
“Abram.” Shocked, uncertain, the hard, burning waves of arousal began to pour over her and pleasure struck with fiery bursts through her system.
“Fuck, yes,” he whispered against the sensitive folds.
“Oh God, yes. Lick me!” The words were torn from her lips. “Abram. Abram please, make me come. Just make me come.”
His lips surrounded her clit, sucking it into the liquid heat of his mouth with a firm, almost hard pressure that had her entire sensory system overloading.
Her knees bent, lifting, her heels digging into the mattress as waves of burning sensation began to tear through her. It was a pleasure that bordered pain, pouring through her body with a strength and a speed that she had no hope of depending her heart against.
Abram didn’t ease her into it. He wasn’t gentle and seductive. He wasn’t teasing and tender. It was almost angry, an uncontrolled hunger that imprinted itself on the act with an eroticism that had her fighting for breath. His tongue flicking at the tiny bud, his mouth sucking it, wet heat and shocking, sharp pleasure tearing through the ultrasensitive bud until the rapture of it ripped through her with an explosion of such ecstatic pleasure Paige was certain somehow, she was lost. A part of her was no longer hers alone. A part of her now belonged to Abram, and that wouldn’t be a good thing, because that part of her would now never be content with another man’s touch.
As she drifted back to earth her lashes opened slowly, warily as she felt him drag himself from the bed.
He was still hard, his c**k straining against the cloth of his pants, the tip damp, the flared crest clearly outlined.
His expression was enflamed, with anger or lust, she wasn’t entirely certain.
“Stay away from me.” He came down, his hands going on each side of her shoulders as his face came within inches of her, the pure fury lighting his gaze unmistakable now.
Paige flinched, her breath catching.
“Abram,” she whispered his name. “I didn’t mean…”
“Stay the f**k away from me,” he snarled. “I don’t care that you didn’t mean to. I don’t care that you burn with the same f**king hunger that’s ripping my guts to shreds, stay the f**k away from me, Paige. If you care for your brother, if you have so much as a moment’s drop of affection for me, then I beg of you, never tempt me to this length again.”
There was such fury, such rage in his face that Paige could only stare back at him in bemusement.
There was no fear. She knew in the deepest recesses of her soul that Abram would never hurt her. He would never lift a hand to threaten her. But there was something in his gaze that warned her to beware, that there were far worse things to be frightened of than his anger.
But she also heard, felt, and saw the hunger in his gaze that assured her that he hadn’t been lying about burning just as she did. He wanted her. He was aching for her.
“Do the other women make the need any less sharp?” she whispered painfully. “Tell me, Abram. Does taking another lover ease that hunger?”
Would it ease hers? Would it stop the fantasies and make the restless need go away. Would finding her own lover help to stop each impulse of hunger that had her teasing him at every opportunity.
“Don’t.” There was no lessening of the anger, or the iron-hard determination in his expression. But what did change was the addition of painful knowledge that crossed his expression.