She broke away with a horrified look. Then she slapped him, hard and stinging, her palm open against his face.
He sent her a ruthless smile that drained the color from her cheeks. He said, “You know what you need, baby girl?”
She stared at him, breathing erratically, her dark eyes huge.
His smile grew darker. “You need to fuck it out.”
She blinked, huffed a little astonished breath, and said, “I really hate you, you know that?”
“You hate me because I’m right.” He fisted a hand into her hair at the base of her neck and pulled her back to him. He kissed her again but she struggled, she pushed against his chest. He ignored it and deepened the kiss. It was hard and rough and greedy, their teeth clashing. She bit him on the lip, and he tasted the salty tang of his own blood.
“That’s it,” he whispered against her mouth, and kissed her again, deep and demanding.
She pulled back and stared at him for a beat, panting, a strand of blue-black hair caught at one corner of her mouth, a smear of his blood across her full lower lip.
Then she leapt on him.
He caught her around the waist as she locked her thighs and arms around him, kissing him with an unchecked hunger that took his breath away. He staggered, knocked into a table, the desk she’d broken the lamp over, until finally one leg hit the couch set in the nook of the bay window and he dropped them both to it.
She rolled on top of him, tore off her leather jacket, tore off his shirt, tossing it all to the floor in between frantic kisses. She was as starved as he was, heat and shadow above him, their ragged breathing matched. He shoved a hand beneath her shirt and cupped one breast in his hand, pinched her hard nipple, and thought he would come when she moaned into his mouth and rocked her pelvis against his. She sat up and moonlight from the paned window above them painted her ghostly pale, banded in checkerboard shadow. She looked down at him, her cheeks flushed, her lips red with his blood and swollen from his kisses, and his breath caught in his throat.
He’d never seen anything so lovely.
She lifted her arms and pulled her shirt over her head, dropping it to the floor. She wore a black lacy bra, delicate and feminine, which ripped apart like tissue paper when he took it between his teeth. He cupped her breasts in his hands and nuzzled them, reveling in her little mewls of pleasure as his lips closed over one nipple and he drew it into his mouth.
He was rock hard, throbbing, and she ground against him, her hips rocking in a rhythm that had his heart pounding. She bent down and took his earlobe between her teeth, and he thought his heart might fail when he heard the words he’d longed for so many years to hear.
“Yes,” she whispered, her lips against his ear. “Demetrius,
He flipped her over so her back was on the couch and she was stretched out beneath him, squirming. He shucked off her boots and peeled her out of her pants and then she was naked, gloriously naked except for a pair of panties. He leaned down and kissed her again, sucking on her lips, running his hands all over her heated skin. She felt like silk and velvet and nothing else he’d ever touched, and he was so greedy for her he didn’t know if he was bruising her or hurting her, and he couldn’t stop himself in any case.
He was on fire. Every cell, every muscle, every nerve. Every breath he took was fire.
He kissed her breasts, drew his tongue down to her stomach, bit her there because she was so tender, her flesh so soft. She shivered and arched against him, her hands at his shoulders, nails clawing into his skin. He put his face between her legs and inhaled deeply and she gasped, shocked.
She gasped even louder when he shoved aside her panties and slid his tongue inside her.
Musk and salt and woman, already soaking wet, she tasted incredible. They moaned at the same time. His erection twitched in his pants, aching to be set free.
He pressed her thighs apart and began to stroke her with his tongue, licking and sucking greedily, swallowing her taste, learning what made her twitch and what made her moan. He slid two fingers inside her, and she arched sharply against the couch and cried out.
“Not yet, baby girl,” he whispered, stroking his thumb where his tongue had just been. “You don’t get to come yet. Not until I say so.”
“No, no, no.” She squirmed beneath him, and he put his forearm over her stomach and pressed down. He lowered his mouth to her sex again and began, slowly, rhythmically, to lick her. He slid his fingers in and out, and his other hand fondled her breasts, pinched her nipples.
“Please, oh, please,” she gasped, arching. Her hands clutched at the couch, the back of his head.
He drew back and blew a breath over her swollen lips, smiling when she shuddered and called him a dirty name.
He freed himself from his pants and rose above her with his leathers falling open to his hips, balancing his weight on an elbow. He leaned down and kissed her, hard, letting her taste herself on his lips, teasing her with the head of his shaft which he held in one hand, stroking himself back and forth across the wet entrance to her sex. When he ignored the demands her hips were making, she reached down and grasped him herself.
He gasped, stilled, closed his eyes at the feel of her hand on him.
“You’re huge,” she breathed, running her thumb over his head. The shaft pulsed and strained in her hand. He leaned down and suckled her breast again, nudged himself against her, groaned when he felt her heat and tantalizing wetness against the most sensitive part of his body.
“Oh, baby girl, flattery will get you everywhere,” he whispered, and shoved inside her.
He did it hard and he did it fast because he wanted to shock her out of her head, he wanted her to forget, to focus only on him. She cried out and arched against him, her breasts crushed against his chest, her body a taut bow from the couch to his. Before she could recover from that, he began to thrust, long, slow rolls of his pelvis that sank him deep inside her, stretched her wide.
She moaned his name, guttural, her thighs tightening around his waist. He lowered his head again and bit her on the neck, drowning in the feel of her, his beautiful rebel bare and wild beneath him. Her hips met his every thrust. Her nails dug into his lower back.
He growled something in Latin, he didn’t know what, his immersion in her was so total.
“Please, please, please, oh, please,” she begged in a broken whisper, nearly sobbing.
He stilled, framed her face in his hands. “Not yet.” He was panting, biting her lips, her jaw, her throat, little nips that left a trail of pink behind on her skin. Her shoulder was a delicious heat against his tongue. “Not yet.”
She writhed beneath him, demanding, clawing at his back, but he put a hand on her hip to still her. “Open your eyes,” he whispered. “Look at me.”
She did as he commanded, and they lay like that for a moment that spun on and on, breathless, beautiful, their eyes locked together, noses inches apart, the only sound their labored breathing, their bodies drenched in moonlight.
He flexed his pelvis, once, and her lids fluttered. “Open,” he softly warned and ran his thumb across her lower lip. “Keep them open for me.” He reached down and hooked his thumb around the back of her knee, slid her leg up around his waist, and then thrust deep into her again, watching her face. She made a sound, a low moan of pleasure, and slid her hands up his back, but she kept her eyes trained on his, unwavering.
“Yes,” he whispered. “Like that, baby girl. Keep your eyes on me.”
She nodded and bit her lower lip as he thrust again, slow and deep, burying himself to the hilt. Still buried deep inside, he made a slow circle, grinding against her pelvic bone, and she gasped, then moved with him, matching his slow, small motions with her own, building the pleasure to a gathering, exquisite peak.
Looking into his eyes, she whispered his name. Her fingers dug into his shoulders.
He slowly righted himself to his knees, pulling her along by her hips, and then he took the leg hooked around his waist and slid it up over his shoulder. She opened to him even more, and he took advantage of it by sliding partly out of her and then slowly all the way back in; he could not go any deeper.
On the very edge of orgasm, she shuddered. Her chest rose and fell in short, uneven bursts.
He stilled because he knew how close she was, and he didn’t want this to end. Not yet. He knew as soon as she went over, he’d go over with her. So he ran his hands over her breasts, her hips, turned his face to her leg and kissed a trail up her calf to her ankle, resting against his shoulder, and all the while she kept her gaze on his,
