AN EXPLOSION OF FIRE BURST inside me, spreading from my stomach to the tips of my fingers. My blood sizzled. My body tingled. I couldn’t breathe.
The press of his lips against mine hit me with such intensity my first response was to push him away. I brought my palms up to his chest to shove him as hard as I could, but when he nipped at my bottom lip and then licked it, soothing the sharp sting with his tongue, want filled my veins with boiling water. A moan traveled up my throat. My fingers curled, and I scraped my nails down his stomach, stopping at his belt buckle.
He hissed against my lips and then slid his tongue inside my mouth. I felt that wet glide between my legs. Just the knowledge that his hands were on me sent a tremble through me, but the feel of them—the palm sliding over my hip to the curve of my ass; the gentle yet unyielding grasp on my throat—incinerated any of the resistance left in me. I swayed toward him, my body melting against his.
His lips left mine after I’d only had a single taste of him, and protest flooded my veins. I suddenly wondered how many women he’d kissed in Seattle, but the thought was only fleeting as he moved a hand into my wet hair, grabbing a fistful and tilting my head. He nipped a line down my neck, pulling the skin between his teeth and lightly sucking. My heartbeat dropped like a weight between my legs.
The heat of his body, the force of his presence, the anger in his movements—it stole my breath. With my palms resting on his stomach, I could only pant like some kind of pliant doll while he nipped and sucked at my throat, my collarbone, the tops of my breasts.
His fingers glided up the outsides of my legs, drawing my dress upward until a glimpse of my white thong showed at the junction of my thighs. He dropped his gaze, and the warmth of it seared through the material, brushing my clit as strongly as if he’d touched me there. Heat tugged in my lower stomach. I rolled my hips, closing the small distance between us, trying to find some relief from the ache inside.
A car alarm sounded from somewhere on the street, but the noise barely registered as his eyes followed his hands over my body. He wasn’t kissing me anymore. Just touching me, in the soft sound of our breaths and the patter of rain.
He was rough yet meticulous in his movements, as if he was infatuated with every curve and dip but hated himself for it. He slid a palm lower to grab a handful of my ass, and then he placed a slap on my cheek, caressing the sting with a rough palm.
A low moan traveled up my throat, and I lightly bit down on his chest to keep it in. My insides liquefied, my limbs light as air, while I let this man touch my body without even kissing me in return. There was something so filthy about it, so far from romantic—it was making me hotter than I’d ever been.
He rubbed the string between my cheeks, up and down, pausing just before reaching the wet material between my thighs. I couldn’t breathe as every nerve in my body waited in anticipation for how low he would go. Desperation was eating away at me, burning and clawing at my insides. I couldn’t take it any longer.
“Christian . . .”
His eyes were dark enough to emanate one of my nightmares. They fell to my mouth. He braced his hands on the car on either side of me and leaned in. I was so sure he was going to kiss me, I shook with the anticipation of it, but instead of meeting my lips, he placed a single kiss on my neck.
“If you ran, Gianna . . .” The words were malicious yet somehow as soft and desperate as sex in a war-torn field. He pressed his lips to my ear. “I would find you.”
I broke out in shivers.
And drag me back? was what I wanted to ask, but I couldn’t find the voice.
At this point, I didn’t care what he said. I wanted him so badly I trembled. I could attribute it to the fact it had been too long since I’d had sex or even been touched for that matter, but I knew that wasn’t the only reason. No matter how much I hated him, this man had always done something for me.
Cupping his erection, I slid my hand up and down his length, from base to tip.
He drew in a rough breath between his teeth, dropping his gaze to watch me rub him off through his pants.
I’d never thought another man’s hard-on was so hot in my life. Just the weight of it filling my palm sent a hazy wave of lust through my blood.
While he was distracted watching the movement of my hand, I rose to my toes and kissed him. A rumble resounded in his chest, half-groan, half-growl, as my tongue met his only once—a hot, wet sweep—and then I pulled away before he could.
I came back breathless. And a bit delirious.
The urge hit me so strongly my mouth watered. I didn’t care that it was two o’clock in the afternoon on a Sunday, or that we stood in a public parking garage. I wanted him in my mouth, even if it was all I could get. I worked on his belt buckle with every intention of dropping to my knees right here.
He made a tortured noise and muttered some thick Russian word. Before I could lower myself, he spun me around and pushed my front against the trunk of his car. I gasped but swallowed it as the heat of his body met my back.
He pulled my hair to one side and pressed his face into my neck. A shudder erupted beneath my skin, warm from his soft touch and cold from the volatile energy emanating from him.
“I thought you were done with me, Gianna.”
Oh.
I was. I am, I wanted to say, but the press of his lips against the hollow of my ear stole my breath and voice. All I could do was shake my head because I couldn’t bear to let this end, not yet.
“Say it.”
I shook my head again, but my mouth betrayed me. “I’m not.”
“You’re not, what?” he murmured, tracing the edge of my ear with his tongue.
Goosebumps ran down my arms.
“I’m not done with you,” I breathed. I’d always known it wouldn’t be that easy.
A growl of satisfaction against the nape of my neck, and then a little nip.
“Back seat.”
I listened to the command without a single thought, but before I could get far, a snag caught my sleeve and ripped the jacket off me in one smooth move. I turned my head just in time to see it landing in a puddle on the ground.
His gaze was on me, dry and caustic, but it quickly filled with heat when his attention dropped down my body. My dress was still pulled up indecently, baring the smooth curves of my ass. My skin tingled, and heat bloomed inside me. Letting this man see my naked body was more thrilling than it should have ever been. He was so formal and uptight, anything remotely sexual felt so much dirtier with him.
As soon as he pulled the door closed, shutting us in the back seat of his car, I straddled his hips. He let out a rough breath, watching me lazily, as I ran my hands up his chest, over his neck, into his thick hair, and then down his biceps.
His suit jacket was only in the way, and he let me push it off his shoulders and toss it to the floor. The white dress shirt fit him like a second skin, highlighting his strength, his utter masculinity, and I was infatuated with every inch of him. He tensed as I ran my nails down his arms, wanting to sink my teeth into them.
Grabbing my hips, he pulled me closer to sit me on his erection. The hardness lined up with the damp material of my panties, and a wave of lust blurred my vision. I couldn’t stop myself from rocking against him. Riding him just like I did my pillow while secretly pretending it was him late at night.
My eyes, half-lidded and hazy, met his.
He traced my lips with a thumb, pulling the bottom one down before releasing it.
I leaned in to kiss him but he held me back.
His voice was dark. “No more Vincent Monroe, Gianna.”
“You threatened him.”
“Hardly.”
I should be angry—angry that he approached Vincent, angry that he thought he held some authority in my life, but at the time, I could only think about how he’d taken me home when I was drunk, took off my shoes, and left a glass of water on my nightstand.
“There is no Vincent Monroe,” I breathed.
When he released me, I didn’t hesitate to press my mouth to his. This time, he kissed me, lazy and sweet, before pulling back with a long, deep lick that wasn’t much of a kiss at all.
Fisting the string of my thong, he ripped the material at my hip, leaving a sharp sting behind. My panties fell down one thigh, baring me to his eyes completely.
He ran a thumb down my landing strip, voice hoarse. “I’ve wondered if this was still here.”
A smile touched my lips. “You’ve been thinking about me, huh?” I’d only been teasing him by repeating something he’d once said to me and certainly didn’t expect his response.
“Only when I need to come.”
My smile fell, and my breathing shallowed.
I met his eyes to see he was owning what he’d said completely, and something about the admission was so incredibly hot, it brought a rush of honesty from me.
“Ditto,” I whispered.
A groan resounded in his chest, and then he kissed me. Slipped his tongue into my mouth. Pulled my bottom lip between his teeth. Kissing Christian Allister made me feel more alive than any drug ever could.
I tried to undo the buttons on his shirt, but he grabbed my wrists and stopped me. Something cold settled in my stomach. I worked myself free from his grip, and as if he hadn’t already denied me once, I tried again, only to get the same result.
“It’s staying on,” he said harshly against my lips.
He wouldn’t let me touch him, not really. And sitting here with my body on shameless display, it suddenly felt . . . humiliating. I pulled away, tugged my dress down, and reached for the door handle.
“Fuck no,” he growled, grabbing my wrist. “You got me this hard, Gianna. You’re gonna stick around and fix it.”
“Fix it yourself, stronzo.”
“You’re an attention-seeker, sure, but not a fucking tease.”
“And you’re a selfish bastard who takes and doesn’t give anything in return,” I snapped.
“Selfish?” He laughed. “I ate your pussy for so long last time I can still taste you three years later.”
My eyes narrowed. “You’re crude.”
“Don’t play the innocent virgin with me, Gianna. I haven’t seen you blush a single time in my life.”
I let out a little growl. “I don’t like you at all. Let me out.”
Why had I thought this was a good idea? There were so many ups and downs with this man it made my head spin.
We stared at each other in a silent battle of wills.
His jaw ticked. And then he pulled his dress shirt from his pants, grabbed my hand, and slid it over his stomach and up his chest. He was compromising with me, allowing me to touch him without taking off his shirt.
I should have left, gone home and finished myself off while fantasizing about his good twin. But, as my hands traveled over skin hotter than it ever should be, that hazy rush of lust pooled in my lower stomach, pulling at my muscles and stretching me thin.
“How many women did you kiss in Seattle?” The quiet question escaped me as I ran my fingers through the grooves in his abs.
His eyes were steady pools of dark blue.
He didn’t answer me, but he didn’t have to.
He didn’t kiss.
A heady sense of satisfaction filled me. Then why, oh why, Officer, do you kiss me?
His gaze grew half-lidded as I pressed my fingers into his skin, scraping my nails down his chest. I shifted on his erection, slowly rocking my hips and grinding against him while we stared into each other’s eyes. A fire lit inside me, growing hotter and brighter, until I was so close to release I could taste it.
I gasped as he slid his hand into my hair and yanked my head back, pressing the rough words against my ear. “You’ll get off with me inside you, Gianna, no sooner.”
A shaky breath escaped me, but it came out like a needy whimper with the angle of my head.
He cursed in Russian, tightened his grip in my hair.
I could only stare at the roof of the car, my chest moving in and out with harsh breaths, as he pushed the straps off my shoulders and tugged my dress down to my waist. Pulled the cups of my bra down to bare my breasts. And then he just looked at me with an intensity that licked at my skin.
When he captured a nipple in his mouth, white light shot behind my eyes. His hand released my hair to squeeze one breast while he licked and sucked the other. He switched to give them equal attention. Slapped the side of one to watch it jiggle. With a rough sound, he nipped at it like he was angry, like he was trying to imprint himself on my skin forever.
My eyes rolled back into my head, my pulse throbbing between my legs. If he didn’t stop, I thought I could come just like this.
He played with my breasts until I was so far gone I would do anything to feel him inside me—anything. I worked on his belt buckle, pulling him out. He was hot and heavy in my hand, and so hard I couldn’t resist pumping him in my fist once. He hissed against my throat, and before I could even get a good look at him, he gripped my hips and pushed me down until I’d sunk halfway onto his length.
He groaned.
I gasped.
It hurt. It really hurt. It’d been too long for me, and the bastard was well-endowed. I panted, my thighs quivering as I tried to adjust.
His grip tightened on my hips, and I rested my hands on top of his to try and stop him from shoving me down all the way. I shook my head, as if I’d done my best but it wasn’t going to work out in the end.
“All of it, malyshka,” he commanded.
The warmth in his voice drifted straight between my legs, soothing the sting and filling my stomach with heat.
One of his hands slipped out from mine to trace my landing strip until he found my clit. He rubbed it in a circular motion, and then his mouth found my breasts again, licking and sucking. I moaned, every touch feeding the hot buzz in my core, until, slowly, I slid down, taking him all the way inside me.
“Fuck,” he gritted, looking down at where we were connected. He gripped my hips tight enough to bruise, tension radiating from him, every muscle in his body pulled taut. “Fuck, you’re so tight, malyshka.”
The feeling of him inside me was so intense, my body trembled. The backs of my eyes burned, and I pressed my face into his neck.
His heartbeat raced against mine.
He was shaking.
“Fuck me, Gianna.” He sounded on the brink of control, like if I didn’t start moving then I was going to get fucked, hard. That quickly set me in motion; I didn’t think I could handle him unleashed yet.
I moved slowly, rocking my hips in a circular motion, grinding my clit against him, shuddering with the intensity.
“You’re so goddamned lucky we’re in a car right now.” He pressed the threat against my ear, his words heavy with a Russian accent that was beginning to drive me crazy. Evoking such a lack of control from the cold fed was addictive. I wanted so much more.
His hands moved everywhere—down my spine, grabbing fistfuls of my hair to angle my head the way he wanted it, gripping my hips to grind me harder against him. He slapped my ass, nipped my neck and throat, sucked my nipples—the feeling of him inside me, the way he was everywhere, the way he was holding back and letting me grind on him, it was all too much.
I came so hard spots flew behind my eyes. The fire inside me burst, spreading a warm, tingling sensation throughout my body.
“I’ve dreamed of that sound,” he rasped, nipping at my earlobe.
Warmth filled me like sunlight. I shouldn’t take what he said to heart—he was often rude as hell—but, God, when he was sweet, it made me feel on top of the world.
I wanted to please him.
I wanted to make him lose his mind.
Reaching back, I rested my hands on his knees and rode him so he could see everything. His gaze caught fire, trailing from my parted lips, to my bouncing breasts, to where he slid in and out of me. I was so wet it was dripping down my thighs and filling the car with an obscene erotic noise.
He suddenly stilled me. Ran his tongue across his teeth.
“You’ve adjusted, malyshka?”
With half-lidded eyes, I nodded.
“Good.”
He gripped my hips, pulled us chest-to-chest and bounced me on his erection. Hard. Up and down, not giving me a single break from the assault. My moans and whimpers trembled in my throat with the force. My fingers splayed on the window as I searched for something to hold onto that wasn’t so consuming. So devastating. So him.
“Oh, God, oh, God.”
When I climaxed the second time, he swallowed the noise in his mouth. And, with a punishing last thrust and a shudder, he finished inside me. Then, he softly nipped my neck in a rough sort of appreciation.
Our heavy breaths filled the silence. I was so full of contentment, high on a languid post-coital bliss, as I rested my face in the crook of his neck. Curled my fingers in his hair.
“Say something in Russian.”
“Ty samaya krasivaya zhenshchina kotoruyu ya kogda-libo videl.”
“What did you say?”
“You’re annoying.”
“I would hate to be Russian if it takes that many words to say something so simple,” I mused. I didn’t believe for a second that was what he’d said.
Something thick and wet slid down my thigh. My sex-high liquefied and turned to ice in my stomach. Had I really just had unprotected sex—so unprotected, by the way his come was leaking out of me—with Allister? I did frantic mental calculations in my head, trying to calculate when I ovulated. Which was, of course, now.
He must have felt the tension in me because his hand stopped its caress down my back. “You’re not on the pill.” It was more of an assumption than a question.
I never had sex—why would I need to be?
Pushing away from him, I pulled a bra strap back onto my shoulder as an icy trickle of panic crawled up my spine. “No.”
I could only imagine if I got pregnant while my husband was on his deathbed and couldn’t conceive with a helper and a bottle of Viagra.
Nothing but a whore.
Whore.
Whore.
My lungs squeezed, tightening and tightening with a band that wouldn’t release. Tears burned the backs of my eyes.
Two rough hands grasped my face. “Breathe.”
His touch dimmed my papà’s voice in my mind. I was suddenly envious of Allister; my nightmares were terrified of him. I shut my eyes, focusing on the breathing techniques my therapist taught me.
“We’ll get a Plan B.” His thumb brushed away the tear running down my cheek.
I nodded, shaky.
He let me go, and as he put himself back together—zipping his pants and fixing his hair that I’d thoroughly mussed—something frigid settled in the air. It felt suspiciously like regret. His warmth disappeared, ice coming back to his eyes and shoulders.
If he didn’t know the extent of the baggage I carried around before, he knew now. Mortification felt heavy in my chest. Maybe this had been necessary—to make it easy not to speak to him again. Simply because I’d be too humiliated to acknowledge this had ever happened.
The panic attack soon ebbed, but it was still so cold between us. Even as he helped me adjust my dress and then used a napkin from the glovebox to wipe the come from my thighs.
