Escaping Reality (The Secret Life of Amy Bensen #1)(45)

There is only the growing ache of need inside me.

His lips leave mine, and I reach for his mouth, only to be denied.

“Untie me. I need to touch you.”

He frames my face with his hands and I need them to be other places. Lots of other places. “You’re not ready to be untied.”

I laugh without humor. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

“What are you thinking about right now?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“The first thing that comes into your head. Don’t censor, just speak.

Say it. Now. What are you thinking of now?”

“Your tattoo.”

“Anything else?”

“Touching you.”

“And?”

“Ripping the tie off my arms.”

He lowers his forehead to mine and his hands brush my breasts, tease my nipples. “And now?”

“How much I don’t want you to stop.”

“That’s the idea. Escape, baby. The lack of control i s control. When you’re hanging on each moment, anticipating what comes next, it leaves room for nothing else. That’s what I want to do for you.”

I think of his comment about sharks and the certainty there is more to his story than I know. “And who helps you escape, Liam?”

“We’re going to the same place, Amy. I’m not standing outside watching.” He dips his head low and his lips find my neck and then my ear.

“I’m right here with you.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, lavishing in the deep stroke of his hand down my back and the seductive reply of his words in my mind. Right here with you. That phrase shimmers down my spine and settles deep inside me. Liam is with me. In a tiny window of time, he has slipped past every wall I’ve erected.

“Look at me, Amy.”

I pry my lashes open at his soft command and I feel a punch in my chest when my eyes meet his. I am going to fall hard for this man. I already have.

He leans in and kisses me, pressing my breasts together before dragging to tease my

nipples, then dragging his mouth down my chin, to my neck and chest until his tongue laves one of my nipples, fulfilling a wish I so desired. I suck in a breath at the rough, wet heat suckling me, moving from one swollen tip to the next, mercilessly licking, nipping, teasing, and I can take no more.

“Liam, enough. Please. I need—”

“What I say you need,” he finishes, his hands cupping my backside, lifting my belly to his mouth, dipping his tongue in my belly button, and then licking all the way to my hipbone.

Nipping the sensitive flesh, licking again.

“Liam, damn it,” I pant, and I never curse, but then I am never this undone. “You are making me insane.”

He smiles against my belly. “That’s the idea.”

My quaking body disagrees. “No. No, it’s not. Pleasure is the idea.”

“Pleasure,” he repeats, his eyes dancing with way too much male satisfaction for me to hope he’s done tormenting me. “I thought that’s what I was providing. Let’s see. How about this?” He lowers his head and licks my clit, and I gasp, then whimper as he swirls his tongue around me several times, then teasingly asks, “Is that pleasure?”

I squeeze my thighs around his shoulders. “Stop tormenting me.”

He blows on my clit. “It’s called foreplay.”

My lashes flutter but I manage to glare at him. “No, it’s—”

His mouth closes down on me, and waves of pleasure ripple through me. I tug at my hands, desperate to hold his head, to make sure he doesn’t stop this time. His fingers slide inside me, stretching me, caressing me. And his tongue, his amazing tongue, is both sandpaper and silk, stroking me to the edge, then masterfully soothing the ache. Over and over he licks me to the shadow of bliss, and pulls it back.

“Liam,” I gasp, unable to take it anymore. I am trembling with how close I am and how far at the same time. Needing him to give me relief, but he does not. His mouth leaves my clit and he slides up my body, shifting our hips and settling his cock thickly between my thighs, his searing stare meeting mine. “We come together,” he says, and then presses inside me, stretching me, filling me, and I can barely breathe for the pleasure. I’d thought I’d wanted the sweet bliss his tongue had promised but in this moment, I know I did not. This is what I want. Together. He is where I need him but he does not move. He holds us there, his hands firmly on my hips, his shaft deep in my sex, and challenges me with, “What do you want, Amy?”

“Everything,” I pant. “You. I want you.”

His eyes darken, and he leans in, bringing our mouths a breath apart.

“Everything?”

It is a question and a demand, and in this moment, perhaps in every moment since I met him, there is only one answer. “And more.”

He does not move. We do not move. There is a spike of energy between us, a shift that I have never experienced, and do not understand, but it is like a wicked burn in my body, a craving unsatisfied. “More,” he echoes a moment before he kisses me, and I taste the same burn in him, the same need. He molds me closer, arching into me, and begins to pump his hips. Time falls away. There is just the wild passion consuming us, and he is touching me, moving inside me, and I am going crazy with my hands tied. I want to touch him. I need to touch him.