Page 122 of Bitter Secrets

Her hands fluttered at his sides before they dropped to the bed and wrapped in the sheets. She didn’t want to touch him more than was necessary, which was why her legs were splayed wide and not holding him to her. He didn’t move. He was long and hard inside her. She swore precum helped ease his passage, so what the hell was he waiting for?

His eyes tracked over her face before landing on her lips, making her realize he hadn’t even kissed her. He hadn’t done a damn thing to prime her, yet her body accepted his. She needed to see a therapist about her masochist issues.

His eyes came back to hers. What the hell was he looking for? As one minute passed and then another, she looked away, unable to bear the intimacy. Sex was one thing. Staring into each other’s eyes while their bodies were intertwined, feeling each other’s breath and flickering muscles as both of them fought an internal war against the other was another. He didn’t have to say a word to take her over. His animal magnetism drew her like a moth to a flame, and he knew it. Fucker.

She felt a tug on her hair as he sifted through the strands. She resisted the urge to order him to get this over with. The only thing that stopped her was the knowledge that it would only incite him to be even more perverse. What was he playing at? She let out a breath of relief when he rocked against her, but ground her teeth when he stopped again. She took her frustrations out on the bedsheets by clawing at them. He was such a dick.

He toyed with her, rubbing his beard against the oversensitive skin of her cheek and neck, as he rocked against her in shallow thrusts that weren’t doing a thing for her. She wanted to scream. When she couldn’t take anymore, she raked her nails down his back. He pinned her hands above her head and ignored her threats as he slowly drove her over the edge. When she was bucking savagely, impaling herself on him, he finally gave in. He sat up and slid his thighs beneath her ass, clasping her thighs to his chest. He fucked her brutally, banishing days of cheap orgasms and filling her with vivid, violent delight.

A hand collared her throat and pulled her up, so she was straddling him. She was still locked in her high. She wrapped her arms around his neck and rode him hard as she chased mindless delirium.

“Look at me.”

She obeyed his order and saw his pupils dilate and mouth open on a guttural groan as he came. He forced her to take all of him, wrapping his arms around her waist to keep her where he wanted her until he was completely spent. The whole time, his eyes stayed on hers. They were trembling, skin sticking as sweat sealed them together.

When he leaned toward her, she turned her face away. She wasn’t prepared for him to grip her chin and force her to look at him.

“You want to go another round?” he asked darkly.

“No,” she panted.

This time, she didn’t move when he pressed a kiss to her lips. It was that sexless peck she didn’t know what to do with. His hands moved over her as he kissed the curve of her jaw and then her collarbone.Washe going to go another round? She might not survive it. She was relieved when he eased her off him. She flopped on the bed and snarled when he tugged at her.

“What the hell do you want now?”

“Shower and then dinner,” he said as he dragged her off the bed and toted her to the bathroom.

“I’m not hungry,” she grumbled and shrieked when she got a blast of cold water before it began to warm. “You’re a sadist! What the hell is wrong with you?”

He didn’t respond to her barrage of insults, but shoved her under the hot spray and washed her. She didn’t bother fighting back. She was too goddamn tired.

He finished with her first. She staggered to a stool in front of the vanity and tried to get her equilibrium back as she toweled her hair dry. Her eyes repeatedly flicked to the dark figure in the steamy glass shower. It was times like this that she wondered if she had fallen into some alternate universe. This couldn’t be real life.Hecouldn’t be real. But he was. Her body could attest to that.

She went through the motions of blow-drying her hair, mind in a snowy daze. She was vaguely aware of Roth stepping out of the shower and briskly toweling himself off on his way out the door. She hadn’t finished drying one half of her head when he reappeared in slacks and a fresh white dress shirt. He stopped beside her to grab his comb and, with less than ten swipes, had his hair styled. Life wasn’t fair.

He leaned into her, so he could be heard over the roaring dryer. “I’ll be waiting.”

With that, he strode out with the scent of his cologne hovering in the air. She stared after him, perplexed by his behavior. If his goal was to keep her unbalanced, he was succeeding. She didn’t know what he was going to do next.

She shook her head and finished her hair. Despite his heavy hand, she was now starving. As she dug through her luggage, she paused. Was this a business dinner? Most likely. He didn’t take her out otherwise. She grimaced as she dug through her limited wardrobe and settled on black jeans, a cream-colored button-up blouse, and a blazer. It would have to do.

When she walked into the sitting room, she found Roth on the phone. Large windows framed by gauzy white curtains let in golden afternoon light. Double doors led out onto a narrow balcony, just wide enough for a café table and two chairs. Beyond that was a sea of terracotta rooftops and a shimmering blue waterfront. Lisbon, Portugal. Another country she had never visited, but had heard great things about. Her eyes moved around the room as if she had never seen it before, and she hadn’t. She’d been in a complete fog, uninterested in everything but the bed when they arrived. She’d blacked out the bedroom and was asleep before Roth changed into a fresh suit for his meeting.

“Yes.”

She glanced at Roth as he spoke his first word since she entered the room. He jerked his head at the door, and she followed him down the hallway to an elevator. When the doors opened, revealing two other couples inside, she hesitated, but Roth stepped in and placed her directly in front of him. She sucked in her belly as the doors closed.

“Yes,” Roth said into the awkward silence.

When the doors opened into the lobby, she rushed forward and was brought up short when he gripped her hip and ushered her to the side. She looked up and saw he was scanning the lobby in a way that made her tense. He squeezed her hip and nodded to someone before his hand fell away. She turned and saw Mo and Johann dressed casually in jeans and button-up shirts. It was at this moment that she realized Roth hadn’t put on a jacket and was still sporting his white dress shirt with the top button undone. A glance around the lobby confirmed that she had overdressed. Before she could suggest changing, Roth had a hold of her hand and was leading her out of the hotel, followed closely by Mo and Johan.

She registered the temperature immediately. It was downright balmy compared to the cold and wet she experienced in Bulgaria and Switzerland. It didn’t feel like winter here. Maybe the end of spring, edging into autumn. They walked along narrow sidewalks made of handcrafted limestone. As Roth navigated her along the congested pathway, she was struck by the warm colors. Red and orange were abundant with pops of bright pinks, blues, and yellows.

Roth ended his call with a, “Yeah, later,” before he turned her into the lobby of another hotel.

She looked around, but didn’t really have the chance to take it in, since Roth was on a mission. He led her to another elevator, forcing the other occupants to shuffle around to make room for them before selecting the top floor. When they stepped out onto a rooftop restaurant, she realized why it was so crowded. As they followed their host to their table, she grasped Roth’s hand with both of hers, excitement overpowering her reservations. A glass barrier didn’t detract from the breathtaking view of Lisbon’s skyline and the Tagus River. One long bench seat ran along one side of the terrace. She sat, shifting pillows aside with a grin as Roth settled across the table from her. She accepted the menu and tried to listen to the server who ran down a list of specials for the evening, but was distracted by the view and hustle and bustle around her. Roth ordered her Port, a Portuguese brandy for himself, and a cheese board to start. She turned to watch the sun set, and leapt on the cheese board the moment it landed on the table. She sipped wine as she poured over the menu and settled on Pica-Pau, traditional Portuguese beef strips in a pickle sauce, while Roth chose seared tuna.

As night fell, servers lit a candle at every table. Warm, relaxed, and content, she rested against the cushions and focused on Roth, who was on his phone. Her smile faded. Not even thirty minutes ago, he refused to let her break eye contact, but now that they were back in the real world, he reverted to his absent, distant self. Typical.

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