Page 93 of Lured By Shadows

I felt—more than saw—the grin that brushed against my cheek: dark, confident, and amused.

“I have to be thorough,” he murmured, his voice grazing my ear, each word vibrating low and warm against my skin. “It would defeat the purpose if I were not.”

His hands continued their slow exploration, mapping every inch of my torso with infuriating patience, like he was taking his time to really get to know me, turning each touch into a quiet claim that echoed mine, mine, mine through my skin and into my bones.

When his hands finally slid upward and cupped both of my breasts, it happened so smoothly I barely had time to react before his palms pressed in, lifting the soft flesh with a reverence that made my nipples tighten painfully beneath my shirt.

His fingers kneaded gently, then more firmly, thumbs brushing over the stiff peaks straining against the damp cotton, dragging tight spirals of pleasure down my spine.

My back arched, my breath catching in a small, humiliating gasp that escaped before I could swallow it down.

The fact that I wasn't wearing a bra made the thin shirt feel like nothing at all. Every brush of his thumbs and squeeze of his fingers hit me hard through the fabric.

Culver’s cock slid along the crack of my ass, courtesy of the hot pants, making me wiggle in his hold at the feeling.

“He didn’t touch my tits like that,” I whispered, a breathy moan slipping out, the confession tumbling in a broken rasp. “You friggin’ perverted wolf.”

His breath hitched, lips brushing the shell of my ear as he spoke.

“I know,” he whispered, amusement threading through his voice. “I intend to be… exceptionally thorough.”

His thumbs rolled over my nipples again, circling the sensitive peaks in slow, deliberate strokes.

My back arched harder, a soft moan catching in my throat. Sweat slicked the cotton of my shirt and clung to me, making every pass of his fingers feel more intimate, more indecent, like my body was made for his hands alone. My thighs pressed together instinctively, chasing friction, chasing relief. My palms pushed against his stomach from behind as if I meant to create distance, but my fingers curled into the fabric instead while I leaned into him.

“Culver…” I breathed, my voice wrecked and needy, shame and want bleeding together as my nipples strained against his thumbs.

He squeezed once more before releasing me, letting my breasts fall back against my shirt, my nipples aching and peaked. Cold air hit the damp fabric and made me shiver, a subtle tremor running down my spine. My hips rolled forward against his cock, searching for pressure, my pussy clenching around emptiness hard enough to hurt.

“He barely touched my nipples,” I admitted under my breath, the confession small and too honest, like admitting it granted Culver permission to keep going, to claim what Carter had never reached for.

“I apologize,” he murmured, his tone quiet but threaded with dark satisfaction flickering in his eyes. “They were so tempting that I lost all resistance.”

His hand slid back down my torso, slowing at my waist as if savoring the lines of my body, his thumb dipping low toward the heat radiating beneath my shorts. The praise flooded me with warmth and irritation all at once, my cheeks hot as I looked away. I felt flattered and frustrated at the same time because part of me wanted to believe him, while another part braced for the letdown.

“They’re tiny,” I muttered, my voice catching. “Flattery about my tits gets you nowhere.”

“Flattery?” he echoed, sounding genuinely offended enough to make the heat coil tighter in my belly.

He leaned in, his lips brushing the tender skin below my ear, teeth grazing just enough to make my breath stutter. “Ira, you are perfect. Every aspect of you.”

It was too much, too dangerous. It hit me square in the chest and made my heart stumble, no matter how hard I tried to brush it off with a weak laugh. “Are you almost done?”

“Just a bit longer,” he muttered, breath strained and low against my neck, the desperation in it making my nipples throb all over again. “He touched here, too.”

His hands delved lower, naturally cupping my ass. His fingernails squeezed into the flesh, and I arched my back slowly, tilting my hips so my ass dragged across his erection. The friction made him groan—deep, guttural, and feral, like the noise clawed its way out of his lungs.

“Ira…” he breathed, my name sounding half warning, half prayer.

Culver’s hands spread my ass open, fingers sinking into the flesh like he could mold me into the shape he wanted. He tugged gently, spreading me wider, and even through the thin barrier of my shorts, I felt air brush against the damp fabric stretched over my folds and hole.

A hot wave of humiliation and desire flooded my chest, my thighs trembling.

“Almost finished,” he said, though the strain in his voice betrayed the lie.

His hands dragged lower, tracing the bruises Carter had left as if he could undo them through touch alone. When his fingers pushed between my thighs and brushed the soaked seam of my shorts—directly over my swollen clit—my hips jerked back against him in a helpless grind.

“S-shit,” I whispered, the word breaking on a moan I didn’t mean to let out.