“Then this would probably be better.” He lowers his mouth to my breast. The wet warmth is fresh torture, his long, gentle pulls inflaming the ache between my legs. I clutch at his neck, wanting to keep him put but desperate for him everywhere at the same time, not wanting to deny any part of my body his adoration. He kisses along my chest to the other breast, pulling down the bra cup quickly. The edge of my pastie catches on the material, tugging sharply enough that I yelp, then—oh—moan.

Darcy’s brows go high, and I open my mouth to assure him I’m fine, but nothing comes out. The foreign mix of pain and pleasure mingles with my desire, and I swallow hard, weighing my response. “That was . . . good.”

Understanding lights in his eyes. Watching me, he moves to the pastie, kissing and nibbling his way, drawing his teeth along the underside of my breast until I gasp. He maneuvers up, then eases his teeth to get a grip on one of the points of the starburst.

I take in a long breath, steadying myself. Then another. “Do it,” I command, though it comes out a rasp.

He jerks his head and the pastie wrenches free with a sharp, clarifying pain that has me arching my back. I let out a gasping cry. My pulse throbs in my raw nipple, the beat there almost as insistent as the one between my legs, and Darcy’s mouth closes on me, his tongue laving my aching bud. I lose my words on another rasp of pleasure as Darcy grips my hips, tongue and lips soothing the buzz of pain from my breast. One of his hands slides between my shoulders, unhooking my bra, and I pull my arms free of the straps.

His fingers press at the inside of my thigh. The responding surge of desire is so extreme, I flinch. He lifts his head from my chest, fingers pulling away, but I catch his hand. “No, it’s not—” I can’t complete a sentence. “Yes. Please. More.”

He searches me for any hesitation as his hand drifts along the inside of my thigh to the corner of my panties with painful slowness. The heel of his palm presses against my sex, and I cry out his name. I angle myself against him, feeling him hard against my thigh. “Please,” I pant. “I want you.”

His eyes lock on mine. He’s breathing hard, too. “Say it again.” An echo of our fight last week, the counterpoint to every ugly thing I’ve ever said or thought about him.

“I want you.” I guide his hand from my inner thigh to press against the seamless waist of my panties. “I want you, Darcy.” My voice breaks.