Lyrica stared up at him, dazed, drunk on the pleasure racing through her as Graham gripped her hands and lifted them to the armrest above her head, holding them securely with one hand.

“So damned pretty,” he muttered, his lips moving to the line of her neck as she tilted her head back to accommodate the caress.

Every muscle in her body tightened at the sensations tearing through her as he licked, kissed, and rasped the slender column of her neck. His teeth raked over it, the sound of his harsh breathing meeting her panting breaths as he released her lips and helped her from the robe. At the same time, the slender straps of her gown were pushed down, her arms sliding from them as the material was removed and tossed aside.

A broken moan of need escaped her lips, though she fought to still it to ensure Kye didn’t hear if she came to check on her. It was impossible to hold back as Graham’s lips moved to the swollen curves of her breasts.

Pushing the sensitive curves together, he licked, nibbled, his lips kissing as they moved from one tight nipple to the other.

Lyrica fought just to remember how to breathe past the pleasure. She’d never known such heated, electric sensations. Had never known hunger could rise so hot, so fast through her body.

Then his lips covered one tight, beaded nipple, suckling it hungrily into his mouth as his hips moved between her thighs. The hard denim-covered wedge of his erection pressed against bare, slick flesh, ground against it, sending pleasure to mix with diabolical greed at the distended bud of her clit.

Mewls of need fell from her lips as she bit at them to hold back her cries. She couldn’t let them escape. She had to hold back. If Kye heard them, she’d never forgive Lyrica. She hated it when her friends became fixated on her brother.

A low, desperate whimper escaped as Graham’s hand moved from the curve of her breast to her thigh. His fingers moved up to grip the curve of her hip.

“Oh god, Lyrica,” he groaned, the dark rasp of his voice sensual and filled with lust. “You’ll be the death of me.”

Lyrica trembled, and her eyes opened to watch as he levered his body back to stare down at the bare, glistening flesh of her sex.

Slowly, he spread her thighs farther apart and pushed the knee resting against the back cushions into the upholstery as he lifted her other leg until her calf rested over his shoulder.

“Graham.” Her voice shook, hunger and the fear of the unknown, need and uncertainty, rushing through her as he drew his hand along her inner thigh.

“Shh, just for a moment,” he crooned, his voice like dark velvet gliding across her senses. “I’ve dreamed of this, Lyrica. Let me have it, just for a moment.”

His head lowered.

Lyrica’s eyes widened at the first lick of his tongue across her sensitive flesh. Her hips arched, a moan slipping past her lips, her fingers sliding into his hair to grip the heavy strands.

Fiery, intense pleasure rushed through her system with furious intent, tearing through her, drowning any fear that might have been growing inside her.

There was no fear now. There was pleasure. Exquisite, heated, drugging pleasure she couldn’t have resisted even if she wanted to.

He pursed his lips as he kissed the hard bud of her clit, drawing a rapturous flare of sensation from the tender flesh as her hips jerked against his lips.

“Graham. Oh god, Graham.”

His tongue licked over, around the swollen bundle of nerves. Pleasure whipped and built through Lyrica as he tasted her, kissed the saturated flesh, then with a greedy tongue delved into the swollen folds to find the aching center of her body.

His tongue flicked over the narrow entrance, spreading heated, electric ecstasy with the quick, hungry licks and shallow penetrations that never seemed enough. With each touch, each taste he took, she needed more. Ached and begged for more.

“Damn you,” he groaned, spreading the folds apart with the fingers of one hand to deliver another hungry kiss to her clit.

But this one lingered.

His tongue flicked over her and sensation slashed through her as she drew her hips up to meet his kiss once again.

Each touch, each lick pushed steadily increasing waves of pleasure through her system. She was lost in a blinding sea of sensation and desperate to sink deeper. Desperate for more as she felt the pad of his thumb slide against her entrance, pressing into it, spreading her flesh open as the waves began to tighten, to build.

She was so close.

Clenched, aching, her hips lifted to him, trembling, shuddering with each driving surge of sensation as she gave herself to the storm pounding at her senses.

“Graham, where the hell are you!” Strident and filled with ire, the feminine voice of Graham’s current conquest filtered through the living room doors as Lyrica froze, her eyes flashing open to stare at Graham as betrayal tore through her.

Graham’s head jerked up, shock and guilt reflecting in his eyes as Lyrica began struggling beneath him, desperate now to be free of him.

“Stay!” he hissed, pushing her back to the couch, leaning over her, one hand over her lips as the door opened.

The couch hid them. The fire had burned down, the weakened flames and glowing embers casting an intimate glow over the room.

“Graham, are you in here?” the irate woman called out again.

Lyrica was dying inside. She could feel the pain tearing through her, the knowledge that he had just left his lover’s bed and had dared to touch her. Dared to show her everything she couldn’t have—

Her heart was ripping in two. The pain was blinding, agonizing as her eyes remained locked with his.

Let him see. Let him see how it hurt, let him see that he had just destroyed something she now knew that he ached for just as much as she did. Because she would make damned sure he never had a chance to touch her again.

Because another chance would end the same way. With the knowledge that she was no more than a stolen, forbidden moment. Something he could throw away whenever his latest lover came calling his name again.

“Dammit, I’m getting tired of this,” the other woman muttered angrily, fury vibrating in each word.

A second later, the door snapped shut again.

Lyrica didn’t take her eyes off his. Pain washed through her in waves, making her breathing choppy, the fight to hold back her tears iffy.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his thumb lifting to brush back an escaping tear. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

His hand lifted from her lips.

“Get off me!” She kept her voice low, quiet, despite the need to scream, to rage.

She struggled against him again, pushing at his shoulders, ragged gasps tearing from her throat as she fought to be free of him.

“Lyrica, wait,” he growled.

“Get off me before I start screaming,” she demanded, her voice rough, low.

She didn’t want his skanky little bunny to know about what he’d just done any more than he did.

“We need to talk—”

“Fuck you!” she cried out furiously. Her voice was still low, still quiet, but the rage tearing through her was only rising. “Get off me, Graham, or I swear to god, you’ll regret it. I promise you . . .” Kicking, pushing, she fought to be free of him.

She had to be free of him.

Oh god, she hated him. She hated what he was doing to her, hated what he was making her feel. She hated this pain. Hated the need still tearing through her body, the inner anger and hunger to stay right where she was.

Suddenly, she was free.

Graham jumped from her, pushing his fingers through his hair as a brutal curse hissed from his lips.

“Stay here, dammit,” he snarled, catching her before she could leave the room.

“Why? So she won’t see me and fuck your little party up?” she demanded harshly.

“No,” he whispered, holding her in front of him, staring down at her. The regret she saw in his face made her hate him, hate herself. “So you won’t be hurt any more than I’ve already hurt you. Just stay here, Lyrica. Give me three minutes. Just three minutes . . .”