Page 135 of Lethal Alliance

Oh, thank God.

Roman has taught me how much power there is in theater, so I don’t move quickly. I take my heel down, then walk slowly toward him, rolling my hips with each step, holding my breasts up toward his eyes. I halt just beyond his reach, knowing how insane it will drive him.

“Turn around.”

I do, slowly, loving his sudden, harsh intake of breath. I arch my back so my ass is thrust toward him.

“Spread your legs wider.”

Once I would have felt shy, knowing how I look, exposed like this. But Roman has changed all of that, made me revel in every aspect of our mutual arousal.

“Your pussy is stunning,” he says in a low voice. “Swollen and dripping wet. I can’t wait to get inside you.”

“Oh!” I groan, rotating my hips under his eyes, knowing how much he loves to watch me move like that.

“I’m going to lick every part of you until you’re screaming. And then I’m going to fuck you so hard you forget your own name.”

“Yes.” I’m panting now, my knees bent as I thrust my ass toward him, begging for him to take me. My hands are on my breasts, gripping my nipples. It’s only when I open my eyes that I realize he’s staring at me in the mirror opposite, his jaw clenched fiercely, his eyes flashing hellfire.

He’s close to losing it, and I love it.

“Come to me now.”

I turn on shaking legs and cover the last distance to him. His legs are spread, cock pounding hard against his belly, his Scotch glass discarded on the table beside him. I stand between his thighs, waiting.

“Knees either side of me,” he rasps, and I place my dripping core wide over him, knees on each of the large armrests. He stares at me for a moment, then his one good hand comes under my ass, his large, scarred palm cradling my entire body weight, and he covers me with his mouth.

“Aaaahhhhhh!”

I hope the suite is as soundproof as the penthouse, because I just screamed loud enough to bring the entire London police force down on our heads.

He licks me with a slow, deliberate precision that is mind-blowing, considering the clearly desperate state of his own arousal. I shake as I try not to grind onto his tongue, knowing that will only result in longer torture. My world is reduced entirely to the delicate, lazy ministrations of his tongue, my breath caught in my throat as he expertly strokes me inexorably toward release, but never quite granting me that final explosion.

“God, Roman. Please,” I pant.

He doesn’t answer, just licks me until I’m shuddering, my breath hitching and my hips jerking uncontrollably.

Just when I think I can’t take it a moment longer, he raises me slightly, then drops me back down—directly onto his cock.

I scream again as he fills me completely.

“Don’t move,” he growls. For a moment we just stay there, me with my legs spread impossibly wide, him completely still inside me.

Then his hand slips between us. He thrusts up into me so deeply I feel speared and spread, and then his thumb presses my clit.

I explode around him.

My orgasm takes me by surprise, a wrenching, almost vicious release, so all-encompassing it wracks my whole body. I clench around the iron thickness of his cock, my orgasm crashing against him like waves on a lighthouse, and he holds me in place and rides it in complete stillness.

When I finally open my eyes, he’s white-faced with the effort of restraint, staring at me, his lips a thin line. I’m still grinding against him when he stands up, bringing me with him.

“You can’t,” I gasp, struggling against his grip. “You can’t lift me one-handed—”

“The fuck I can’t.” He throws us both down on the bed and kicks off his pants, still inside me.

“My boots—”

“Leave them on.” He surges into me then, all restraint gone, his mouth on mine full of all the demand he’s kept under rein this entire time. He takes me with the battle rage and fierce desperation of near death, with the wild edge lent by fear and fury.

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