Lawe's Justice - Lora Leigh [30]
Diane shivered at the thought. A wave of weakening hunger swept through her, causing her knees to dip at the very thought of having that primal male moving over her.
Moving in her.
Stretching her inner flesh—
Taking her—
Fucking her like a man possessed by the beast his genetics were derived from.
Oh yeah, she could so get into the pleasure.
It was the thought of that ultimate possession that had her completely freaking out, though.
It was the thought of being bound. Helpless. Watching death steal those she knew, those she loved, and being unable to stop it.
Her parents, because she had been too young.
Her uncle, because he hadn’t trusted her to help him.
And Padric. Padric with his smiling eyes, his devil-may-care grin and his love of poetry. She hadn’t been able to save him because neither he nor her uncle had heeded her warnings that the past would never completely go away.
Giving her head a hard shake, Diane stepped from the shower and quickly toweled dry before dressing in jeans, a white silk sleeveless camp shirt and the scuffed, worn leather half boots she preferred.
Fixing her hair was a simple matter of running her fingers through it as she spread a light gel and arranged the heavy waves as they fell to her shoulders.
The primping wasn’t exactly normal for her, but at the moment she needed all the feminine self-confidence she could steal. Facing Lawe at that meeting with Jonas was not going to be easy.
As a matter of fact, it was going to be killer arousing. It was going to flush her entire body with heat and cause every erogenous zone in her body to light up like the Fourth of July.
Dammit.
All she was going to be able to think about was riding that hard, powerful body. Moving above him. Taking him inside her. Feeling him working the engorged length of his cock into her—
Controlling all that exquisite, exceptional, male power—
She shivered again, glanced in the mirror then grimaced at the completely feminine image she saw in the mirror.
In the eyes of the men she fought with and commanded, there was a difference between being weak and feminine weakness. Just as there was a difference between being a woman and possessing a girlie side that had never affected her ability to lead them, and being a submissive woman. And submissive was something Diane knew she could never be. So it hadn’t affected their willingness to follow her.
A light application of makeup followed, just a dusting of a powder foundation. She spent more time on smoky hues of shadow applied to her eyes and a light application of mascara to lengthen and thicken her lashes. A coating of gloss to her lips, then a light misting of her favorite perfume.
The woman that stared back at her wasn’t the woman who had checked into the hotel the night before. Worn, exhausted and struggling to haul her bags to her room, she had felt as though she would never get enough rest.
This morning, rested, bright-eyed and approaching a clear mind, she drew in a deep breath and gave a brief nod to her image. Her determination to never allow his touch may have been compromised, but so far, she was dealing with the consequences of it.
Her pussy was wet and heated, longing for his touch.
Her nipples were tight and hard, aching for his lips, the stroke of his tongue, the sucking heat of his mouth and the rasp of his teeth.
Every cell in her body longed for the warmth of his, but it wasn’t agonizing. It was irritating. Damned irritating. It was close to a compulsion, but she was handling it.
And she would continue to handle it, she promised herself. Staring at the image in the mirror, she decided she was now ready to face the day.
Or Lawe.
A flush raced over her face and down her neck at the memory of the searing pleasure that had shot through her body at the culmination of his touch the night before. A pleasure that had suffused her entire body. It had been so unexpected, so hot, she’d been helpless against it.
It had weakened her, heated her, marked a part of her she couldn’t explain.
And the release . . .
Was that a moan that slipped