Page 345 of Wild Mustang Security Firm

“Why would I?” She smacked his hand out from under her chin. “Obviously, I can’t do that any better than I can do anything else.”

Before she was done, he had the phone out of her hand. Cramped as the bathroom was, he heaved her off the sink, turned her around, and once more, she found herself shoved against the sink. Only this time, she was facing it, helpless to do anything but stare at their reflections as he pinned her to the tiny counter with his own hard body.

He glared at her reflection, minor notes of irritation joining the amusement she could see openly dancing in his eyes as he looked at her, first in the mirror, then directly. Shivers trembled her as she watched his gaze moving from her head to follow the falls of her hair down her shoulders to her back.

“Bare yourself,” he ordered.

Her nipples became instant pebbles, thrusting against the front of the sheet toga. Her jaw locked on the refusal that sprang up inside her, but not only could she not make herself say ‘no,’ in the end, she couldn’t stop her hands from obeying. She felt stupid, beyond ridiculous, a tiny bit wanton, and utterly desired from the moment she reluctantly pulled her sheet open and saw his gaze heat in the mirror.

Sweeping her long hair off her back and over her shoulder, he bent to press the softest kiss to her newly bared skin.

“You don’t have to do that.” She didn’t know how he could stand to. She couldn’t see her back, but she could feel it. Worse, she’d smelled it when she’d been stripped for the doctor to attend her. He’d given her a shot of antibiotics, and Fariqhad ordered one of his men to scrub her back with alcohol and antiseptic, but that didn’t make her better. She was cut, a combination of raw and scabbed, a mottle of plum, blue, and yellow bruising, judging by what she could see of the marks Fariq’s belt had left where it had wrapped around her front. Her hair was unbrushed, and she needed a bath. There was nothing erotic in the way she looked, naked or not.

He kissed her again.

“You don’t have to,” she protested louder, her shoulder wanting to rise into the press of his lips while the rest of her tried to flinch away.

Combing his fingers through her hair, he caught a fistful of tangled blackness, forcing her head to the side, so she couldn’t help but watch when, without a word, he bent and kissed her shoulder again.

“Stop.” She sounded breathless. Embarrassed, she tried to take back control of her head, but the minute she tried to pull from him, he reached around her and shoved his other hand down between her legs.

Her body stiffened with a jolt when he caught her clit between his fingers. Clamping her lips, she choked on the inadvertent gasp that tried to escape. Arching onto her tiptoes did nothing to relieve the intensity of his hold, and her squirming attempt died the instant her backside came into grinding contact with the bulge standing out strong against the thin sheet still wrapped around his waist.

His grip on her clit shifted, and she grabbed his wrist, trying to still the stroking of his fingers as he sought out the wetness of her body, redistributing it all over and the throbbing nub hidden within her folds.

“Stop,” she gasped, suddenly painfully aware of how tiny this bathroom was, how thin pocket doors could be, and how manymen just outside knew they were in here together. The helicopter was loud—she was terrified she might be louder.

Drawing his hand back, he nipped the nape of her neck, even as he gave her pussy a gentle slap.

“Do you tell me to stop?”

“N-No.” She panted. The wetness of her body flowed, flooding heat and slick arousal to saturate his fingers as he combed through her folds to sink twin fingers inside her. Her hips flinched, grinding her bottom back against him, desperate circling flinches that only kicked the heat up hotter—in her back, her womb, the tips of her aching nipples—as every other part of her ached and pulsed to gain some of the same attention he was laving on her pussy. Her clit was under his thumb, his fingers were inside her, stroking her in slow, deep caresses, while his fist in her hair prevented her from pulling away, and his teeth and lips nibbled a gentle path to the lobe of her exposed ear.

He was going to go to prison.

Aliya began to cry.

The phone on the counter by her hip buzzed to the ring of an incoming phone call, but she couldn’t have cared less. The minute Christian let go of her hair, she squeezed around in the tiny space, throwing her arms around his neck, desperate to meet the heat and hunger of his mouth as he kissed her.

He stripped away his sheet, grabbing her ass and lifting her to sit on the counter once more. Her legs wrapped around his hips. Nothing felt more natural or more necessary than his heat and hardness pressing against all of her.

Her gasp filled the bathroom when he entered her, filling her so hard and so completely, she couldn’t breathe.

He stilled, his body tense as hers throbbed around him, the minute pain of his entry already washing away beneath her need to feel him moving inside her.

“More,” she begged.

“Did I hurt you?”

Releasing his shoulders, she grabbed his ass cheeks, digging into him with her fingernails to force him to move.

“More!”

Growling into her mouth, he grabbed her wrists and pinned them behind her back, holding them in one iron-fast fist. Hooking his arm under her left knee, he hiked her leg up, giving himself the access he needed to fuck her as hard as he desired.

He was winding her up, filling her beyond her ability to take silently, and far, far beyond her ability to hold still. She squirmed in the confines of his arms, fighting to meet him halfway with each pump of his hips.

“More…” she panted. “More!”

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