Page 5 of Stricken

A chuckle leaves my mouth. "Seems like we are at an impasse now, Romeo."

"Indeed."

"Do you still want to do this?"

That devious tongue appears again. A quick, teasing brush over his lips. "May the best man win."

In an instant, we collide. His mouth crashes against mine, hungry and demanding. I match his fervor, teeth grazing his seductive lower lip. A growl that escapes him ignites something feral inside me, something I hardly ever allow to come out until I need to kill or… fuck.

My hands roam his body, desperate to claim every inch. His scent fills my senses and I'm drowning in this sensation, months of repressed desire surging to the surface. I can't remember the last time I did this—picked up a stranger at the bar for fun. Between being hunted and doing the hunting, there is never time for myself.

We break apart, panting, mostly because we need air. His eyes, dark with lust, challenge me. "Think you can handle what comes next, Hot Shot?"

I respond by shoving him against the wall, pinning his wrists above his head. "I don't think. I know, Romeo." I like this name for him. It goes along with the traces of accent I finally figured out. Italian. It's the name he'll have tonight because I don't need to know the real one.

The stranger smirks, then twists suddenly, reversing our positions. His thigh presses between my legs, eliciting an involuntary groan. "We'll see about that."

We grapple, a tangle of muscled limbs and half-shed clothing. Buttons fly as shirts are torn open. Slacks hit the floor. Shoes discarded. The air crackles with electricity, each touch a jolt to my system.

I manage to steer us toward the bed, my hands exploring the planes of his muscled back. With a final push, he topples onto the mattress, boxers riding low on his hips revealing that tantalizing V that tells me he favors the gym several times a week. And those hard abs and firm chest dusted by fine dark hair. Delicious.

"Like what you see?" He smirks up at me again from below while I hover above him, drinking in the sight.

"Very much so," I say. There is no need to beat around the bush. It's clear as day what this is.

I fall forward, our legs tangling again, touching, pressing, struggling. Both hands on either side of him, I lean in. For a moment, when our glances connect again, I'm lost in the forbidden thrill of it all. My cock is hard and ready.

He seizes the opportunity, flipping us over in one fluid motion. Now he looms over me, a predatory glint in his eye, and I realize it's my undoing. I'm seriously liking this power struggle. Most of my past encounters were simple. I was the one in charge. Tonight, it's not quite that black and white. The suite is mine, and I was the one who invited him, but he walked in here like he owns everything inside the room, including me.

"My turn, Hot Shot," he breathes into my cheek. And then his hand slips down to my cock. He palms me through the fabric of my briefs and gives it a light squeeze. "Ah, eager. Aren't we?"

I fight against the moan threatening to escape, but it has a mind of its own. It slides past my lips and into the heated air between me and him. A sound barely audible.

"Tell me you like this," the stranger says, rubbing me.

"I do." My hand darts out, grasping his length through the thin fabric of his boxers. He's hard too, just like me. And he's impressively big. "Now lose these," I demand, voice rough with desire.

He hisses, eyes narrowing. "Make me," he taunts, rolling his hips into my grip.

Challenge accepted. Quickly, before he realizes what's going on, I roll us across the bed to be on top again. Then I plunge my hand beneath the waistband, wrapping my fingers around his hot, hard flesh. His stifled groan is music to my ears, a symphony of pleasure I'm desperate to conduct.

As I stroke him, he retaliates, finding his way into my underwear. The sensation of another man's touch after so long is electrifying. I buck involuntarily, losing control.

It's all he needs. In a flash, he's on top again, grinding against me with delicious friction. "Fuck," I groan, head spinning. I just can't with him and his desire to lead this.

"All you have to do is tell me if you want it," he whispers, catching my lower lip with his teeth and pulling on it.

"Like I said. I do the fucking."

"You stole my line,caro."

My cock jerks in his grasp at the word. He smiles. "You like it, don't you? When I call youdarlingin Italian? Makes your dick even harder."

"Fuck you." I reach up for a handful of his hair and tangle my fingers in it. It's thick and soft and perfectly styled into an organized set of dark waves that I quickly dishevel.

"There's no need to deny my charm," he whispers as a strand falls across his forehead.

"Conceited much?"

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