He was what she needed.
And she needed more.
Her nails bit into the fabric of his shirt. Clenching it, pulling at it, she fought to get closer to him. The feel of his flesh stroking against hers, the heat of his skin warming her.
She’d been so cold. Brutally cold. She’d burned on the inside, frozen on the outside as she fought every instinct demanding that she find him.
“You’ve destroyed me,” she whispered as his lips slid from hers to take firm nips and stroking tastes of her jaw. The caresses had nerve endings screaming out in pleasure, the sexual tension ratcheting higher inside her as she still tried to fight the needs clawing at the flesh between her thighs.
Her pu**y was so swollen, so sensitive that the heat of his c**k could be felt even through the barrier of their clothing.
“The hell I have,” he growled, nipping at the upper curve of her breast as he tore the edges of the skimpy top apart. Buttons flew across the floor, and a snarl dragged from the depths of his chest voiced his satisfaction as her br**sts were revealed beneath the skimpy lace of her bra.
The bra didn’t last long. She was certain the front closure would never work again as he jerked it apart as well, filling one hand with the swollen curve of her breast.
Sensation tore past misgivings and distrust to ensure that there was no chance she could deny him. Instead, the demands tearing at her senses had her crying out at the fear of rejection instead.
The rough pad of his thumb brushed over her nipple, the pleasure spearing straight to her womb before lashing at her clit.
“Please.” The moan was a shocking plea.
Gypsy Rum McQuade didn’t beg a man for anything.
But she evidently had no problem begging this Breed for his touch.
Overwhelming, overpowering,
The hunger was riding her harder, faster, and his touch wasn’t keeping up. He was going too slow, pushing her too high, too fast, flooding her body with such pleasure that it bordered pain.
When his lips covered one hard, peaked nipple, drawing it into the heat of his mouth as he began to suckle firmly, Gypsy swore that a charge of pure, undiluted pleasure exploded in her womb.
Her pu**y wept in need, her clit throbbing with it as she fought to get closer to the heat and hardness pressing against it. Yet no matter how she fought to get closer, she couldn’t get close enough.
“Stop torturing me,” she cried out, her fists clenching on his shoulder as she ground her head against the door.
“You’ve tortured me.” The rough growl of his voice sent a shiver racing up her spine; unfortunately, it was a shiver of pleasure.
She bucked against him, her breath catching as he nipped at her nipple, an erotic little pain that had her gasping with the exquisite sensation. Gasping even as she tried to grit her teeth against the wild urge to give in to him, to submit to whatever he wanted.
She didn’t beg, and she didn’t submit. No matter how much she might want to, or how desperately she had begged moments before.
Her fingers slid into his hair, clenched, pulled hard.
Her nipple popped from his mouth with a slight sucking sound, his gaze moving to hers, narrowing.
There was a warning that she had no intention of heeding. A demand that she had no intention of obeying.
“Do not—”
“Let me go.” She had to force the demand into her voice rather than begging as she had moments ago.
“Gypsy—”
“I’m no toy,” she informed him, pushing at his chest. “You can’t throw me away one moment, then demand that I submit to you in the next. I won’t have it, Rule.”
Maniacal arousal throbbed through every vein, burned every nerve ending in her body. Talons of need clenched at her lower stomach, tightening in her womb as the sensitivity of her clit became painful.
She needed.