Her eyes widened at the accusation. “I have no desire—”

“Don’t you?” Heavy, thickly lashed, his eyelids drifted over the hunger gleaming in his gaze, his attempt to hide it a forgotten exercise. “You have desire, Lyrica, and we both know it. You’ve been teasing me with those pretty emerald eyes since the first day we met six years ago.”

That first time. He’d been at the marina her cousin and his family owned, driving a wicked-fast ski boat, wearing nothing but cutoff jeans and dark glasses. Dawg had introduced them and Lyrica had fallen in love.

“That ended last winter.” It might have sounded more convincing if she hadn’t melted against him as pleasure ran through her body.

He was so warm. So strong.

His head lowered, the strong curve of his lips whispering over hers, the light rasp of the short beard, so bad boy and roguish, brushing against her flesh.

He was a rogue. A bad boy.

Dawg had been warning her about him for years and she couldn’t seem to make herself stay away from him.

“Don’t,” she whispered as strong teeth tugged at her lower lip. “I won’t be one of your women. You’ll break me if you try to turn me into one.”

She knew he would. She’d realized that during the blizzard, which had seemed to rage inside her soul as well as outside. A freezing, icy wasteland that had never thawed, never warmed without his touch. It was thawing now, though. Weeping, flowing from the needy depths of her body to slicken the bare flesh of her sex and her clenched thighs.

“Will I? Give me your kiss, Lyrica. Let’s see if you break or just melt around me like hot sugar.”

She was already melting.

Her lips parted for him, a moan whispering out as his covered them, his kiss hungry and mind-numbing.

Pleasure ricocheted through her system as languorous need built inside her. Straining toward him, her tongue met his, tasting him. She was drunk on the sensations rioting through her, becoming high on a pleasure she couldn’t resist.

He could be addictive.

He was addictive.

She had hurt for months after he’d held her during that snowstorm. Every cell in her body had ached for him, ached for the release that had been so close, that had teased and tempted only to be taken from her so quickly.

“Graham—” She strained against him, that ache intensifying now, tearing at her senses, heating her body.

Aching.

It hurt.

She needed him that desperately, ached for him that much. How much worse would it be after he had her? After she knew what she was missing, after the pleasure consumed her, burned through her, and left nothing but ash?

Could she bear it?

“No.” She couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t let it happen.

“No?” he whispered with wicked eroticism, his free hand gripping her hip, holding her still as the heavy length of his erection pressed into her stomach.

It was far too tempting.

The feel of it made her far too hungry for him.

“Graham,” she protested breathlessly.

Hell no, she didn’t really want him to stop—she simply had no choice.

“I don’t hear a lot of certainty in your tone.” His lips feathered from her jaw to her neck.

The feel of his mouth moving over the sensitive flesh, stroking it, sent a frisson of exquisite pleasure raking across her nerve endings, drawing a startled gasp of surprise from her at the extremity of it.

“You’re just playing with me,” she cried out weakly, even as her head tilted to the side to allow him free rein against the rioting nerve endings pulsing beneath the flesh of her neck. “You know you are, Graham. I won’t be your toy.”

A cry fell from her lips as his free hand pushed beneath the hem of the borrowed shirt, moving unerringly to the swollen curve of her breast. Immediately, one exquisitely hard nipple was caught between his thumb and forefinger, and he rolled it with wicked experience.

“Oh god . . .” Her knees weakened.

Sensation raced from the imprisoned tip to the swollen bud of her clit. Pleasure coursed through the heated nerve endings, sending flash fire strikes of clenching, painful pleasure whipping through her vagina.

It was so good. So good.

“You’re such a little liar,” he growled, continuing to hold her wrists to the wall above her head as his teeth raked over her collarbone. “You want this just as damned bad as I do.”

Probably more, she thought, dazed, immersed in her body’s rush to ecstasy.

Before she could process the move, he had the borrowed shirt lifted, his hands releasing her wrists to whip the material over her head as he turned her, pushing her face-first against the wall.

Palms flat against the barrier, her breathing short and choppy, she moaned as his hands caressed down her sides before gripping the curves of her ass firmly. Electric heat raced from where his lips pressed against her shoulder before trailing kisses to her nape, then moving slowly, with shudder-inducing sensations, down her spine.

What was he doing to her?

She’d never read about this. The romances she’d stolen from her sister Zoey had never described this. Or described how she was supposed to handle it.

“You have to stop,” she whispered, closing her eyes as she rolled her forehead against the wall.

He filled his hands with the curves of her ass, parting them.

Her eyes flew open, a gasp escaping her as the damp warmth of his tongue slid down the crevice, pausing only momentarily at the tight, dark entrance between them. She went to her tiptoes, wicked pleasure shocking her.

Just as quickly her thighs were spread by broad, strong hands, wide shoulders holding them apart as he turned her, sitting between her thighs as his hands gripped her hips and his tongue speared into the drenched entrance of her vagina.

Shock no longer applied.

Disbelief was long gone.

As quickly as Graham made the move and penetrated her with licking, hungry strokes of his tongue, her senses were flung into such fiery chaos that reality no longer existed. Fighting to breathe, her fingers outspread, with the pads pressing firmly into the wall, Lyrica found her eyes opening.

Looking down the line of her body, she met the golden gaze of the man devouring her, flecks of rich, deep gold gleaming in his eyes as he stared up at her. As he let her watch, let her see his tongue as it retreated from the clenched depths of her pussy to move with languid strokes to the throbbing bud of her clit.

“You’ll destroy me,” she cried out, one hand moving from the wall to spear into the damp waves of his hair as he gave her clit an erotic, luxurious kiss.

His lips tightened on the bundle of nerves, suckling at it heatedly as his tongue flicked over it before licking with a deeper pressure just to the side, where the firm strokes seemed to ignite a spark that burned hotter, deeper through her sex.

She couldn’t fight.

With one hand he urged her thighs farther apart, the pad of his thumb sliding against the narrow entrance before parting her flesh, stretching it slowly and slipping inside. There, the rasp of the callused pad stroked, caressed, moving inside her as more of the slick heat flowed from her and carnal need began beating at her senses.

With the stroke of his thumb, the fiery lash of his tongue at her clit, a wicked, tantalizing pleasure and decadent intensity rushed through her like a flaming wave. Heat built and spread, igniting, and in a split second exploded through her senses in fiery waves of ecstasy that she knew she’d never recover from. A pleasure that seemed never to end.

She shook, her body jerking at each slamming tide of rapture, and a distant part of her, an instinctive spark of self-preservation, warned her, screamed at her, demanded that she stop the headlong rush into her own destruction.

A destruction born of a pleasure she didn’t know if she could deny herself.