Dalia's mind had dissolved into impure sensation. In mere minutes, Luke had unraveled her completely—his hands, his mouth, his wicked fingers had mapped every secret place on her body until she no longer recognized her own limits.
Her chest rose and fell in frantic, uneven bursts. Sweat shimmered across her flushed skin, catching the low light and making her look like she had been oiled for worship.
Her nipples stood painfully tight, aching with every shallow breath. She had already shattered twice, thighs trembling, inner walls still fluttering around nothing, and he had barely even tasted her properly.
Her body had simply betrayed her, too sensitive and too desperate for more.
He knew her better than she knew herself. Every stroke, every pinch, every slow circle of his thumb had been perfectly meant to hurl her over the edge and then leave her dangling there, whimpering for the next fall.
