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Even though this feels like heaven on fucking earth, there’s an underlying desire that is impossible to fully push out of my mind. My palm skates down her rib cage and below her waist. I press my thumb into her, gripping just long enough to exhibit my restraint. Anna notices and exhales a small noise. She prods a little more firmly, and this time she uses her sharp nails rather than the soft pads of her fingertips to graze over my flesh. Christ.

We’ve spent the last several hours lying in bed naked, talking, touching, kissing, laughing, and occasionally that led to my dick growing hard, because even in a casual setting, she’s sexy as hell. Especially earlier when she shimmied out of her panties. I followed suit because I’m not a fucking idiot.

This time, the tension between us feels more determined to take it further.

Based on the way she’s responding, it’s mutual.

She shifts against me, barely anything, but when she glances up, her gaze spears deep enough to reveal her sensual thoughts. Fuck, I want her. Her teasing scratch travels to my neck and I wrap a hand around her forearm, bringing her wrist to my mouth. I lick over her thrumming pulse and delight in the sharp inhale.

When I release her, she reaches for me instantly—like instinct.

My fingers are fanned out at her side, holding her there like that’s all I can do to not flip her on her back and take her rough. I let the moment linger, savoring every subtle change of pressure in her touch, the way her breaths quicken. Her featherlight grazes evolve into claiming rakes—deliberate, slow, and taunting.

I close my eyes briefly, swallowing and clenching my jaw as I resist grabbing her tighter and ending this torture right now. Because I could, easily . . . Except the anticipation feels so fucking good, I don’t want to. Not yet.

She’s watching me, I can feel her stare, hungry and attention seeking. This woman knows how bad she’s got me. My thumb trails slowly up her side, just enough to provoke a reaction. Higher until it’s skimming the side of her breast.

The tension grows, pulsing and pulling taut. Like something I want to sink my teeth into.

When our gazes lock again she doesn’t look away, and neither do I—our exchanged glances are having a whole conversation in the stretched silence.

We’re flirting on the edge of restraint. I groan low in my throat and our illusion of control fractures. This was inevitable. She makes the first move, rolling to her back and allowing me to take my time appreciating her full tits and soft stomach. I untangle us from the sheets, throwing them off so I can see all of her. Her creamy thighs rub together, betraying where she needs me most.

I force the breath out slowly, attempting not to snap, keeping my touch firm and steady, even though my fingers itch to squeeze and grope. I graze my flat palm over her stomach, traveling between her breasts and back down, rolling over the crest of her pelvis. She parts her legs, revealing just how soaked she’s become. Her pink, swollen pussy glistens and I’m fucking starving.

My hands slide to her inner thighs, roving upward toward the mouthwatering mess between her legs, and withdrawing at the last moment. Every restless squirm, hitch in her breath, and strained second of pleading eye contact is evidence of how affected she is. But there’s something addictive about making her wait, stroking everywhere except where she wants me most and watching her fight to withstand it. My curiosity is a ravenous entity now, hungry to discover which touch makes her gasp, which makes her plead, and which one will finally snap that pretty restraint in half.

Settling at the delicate column of her neck, I wrap my fingers around her throat, just enough to appreciate the rapid tic under my thumb. She moans and tilts her head to the side, giving me access. I drag my mouth across her exposed collarbone, smiling when she shivers beneath me.

Our stubbornness grows thinner and thinner, distended like a rubber band about to snap. Watching her writhe under me, feeling her like this, right on the edge of giving in—it’s exhilarating.

“Casper . . . Please? Don’t make me wait.” She sounds so fucking breathless and it causes my control to slip.

Dipping my head, I suck one of her nipples into my mouth and she arches into it; hearing that needy cry break the silence has pre-cum dripping from the tip of my frustrated cock. There’s a steady hum of arousal vibrating through me. I can’t get enough of her. My lips caress her chest and I watch her brows furrow together when I suck the other into my mouth. I knead her hard nipples, one with my tongue, the other with my hand, before kissing down her stomach and settling between her legs.

I groan when I get a look at her puffy engorged clit—her cunt is begging for me to fill her. I slide in a finger, and she practically starts fucking herself on me. I press a hand to her pelvis and hold her still.

“Not your hand.”

“What’s the matter? I thought you liked it when I did this,” I say with a chuckle. She raises her hips for more, and I curl my finger inside her, massaging the spot she likes. Each stroke elicits filthy, slick little sounds from her body. “Do you hear how wet you are?”

“I can’t take it anymore.”

“You will, Duchess. You will take every piercing, every thick fucking inch of me.”

“Prove it,” she snarls.

Damn.

Her eyes light up as she gazes at my length from base to tip, biting her lip like she can’t wait to feel it stretch her out when I push inside. I withdraw my soaked fingers. “Your tight pussy is desperate to be filled up and fucked, isn’t it?”

Pre-cum drips down the side of my cock, and I sit up between her thighs, admiring her eager pink cunt.

“I’m on birth control,” she pants. “I’ve been tested, and haven’t been with anyone in three years.”

Jesus Christ, three years. I mean, I assumed it had been some time, but to hear her say it . . .

With a palm on each of her knees, I push them apart, lean in, and spit on her entrance. “We can stop whenever you want.”