Page 32 of Johan.

“Johan, stop talking.” Her hands slide to my belt buckle, deft fingers swiftly undoing it before I even register that's what's happening.

“What are you doing?” There's nothing but amusement in my voice as I urge her to sit up just enough to slide her panties down her legs. “I didn't realize you're such a bad girl.”

She doesn't answer, but damn it, if her answering giggle doesn't almost break the last of my resolve. My zipper is next, and then I'm pushing my pants down enough to set myself free. Her slim legs wrap around my waist, drawing me forward, and I let out a groan when I finally settle against the V of her thighs, feel the moist heat that awaits me and sets my blood boiling. My lips capture hers, swallowing the soft sigh that escapes her.

“Oh God,” she moans softly, mingling with my own huffs of pleasure. Hannah shifts, obviously trying to position me at her entrance, and as much as I want to comply, there’s no need to rush. If she wants me to fuck her right here now, we’re going to go at my pace.

“Not yet.” Taking my cock in my hand, I slide it upwards through her wet folds until the blunt head moves over her clit, repeating the action again and again with the slow pistoning ofmy hips. Her low, needy sounds of approval are music to my ears.

Hannah continues to wiggle and sigh and urge me to move faster, but I refuse. This is all part of my game. Our game.

“Johan,” she gasps, her hands coming to my biceps and squeezing. “Oh, please.”

“Just a little while longer.” Gathering up the hem of her sweater, I let my hands venture upwards while I continue to thrust, stroking the bottom of her breasts. The second I realize she’s not wearing a bra, I stop teasing and take both full mounds into my hands, teasing and plucking at her nipples. At the same time, I keep the barest hint of pressure against her swollen clit with the head of my cock, sliding slowly, keeping her right on the edge where I want her. “You can go without your orgasm for a few minutes, right?”

“It will take less than thirty seconds if you’d stop teasing me.” Her nails score the skin of my arms, and I know there will be little half-moon marks there tomorrow.

God, it’s never been like this with anyone else; no one’s made my pulse race or my hands shake, or tempted me to give a single woman everything I have before. Hannah is unlike any other.

Her hair brushes my arm, and she meets my gaze, her own darkened with passion and want. Pushing her hair back, I capture the locks between my fingers, loving the way they slip like silk against my skin. With my other hand, I cup her jaw, my thumb brushing over her swollen bottom lip.

“Promise me, Hannah.” Leaning close, I kiss a slow trail along her jaw to her ear. “That you'll stay with me.”

She shivers in my arms and arches closer to me, even as I pick up the pace of my thrusting. When I nip at the spot just behind her ear, her response is instantaneous.

“Of course I will.” When she slips her fingers into the hair at the base of my skull, my pulse spikes.

“Good.” I reward her with a deep, soul-searching kiss but then pull back, my hands on her hips. “Now, turn around.”

A throaty moan is the only acknowledgment I get, and as she's turning, I bury my nose in her neck, breathing in the fruity smell of her shampoo and the fragrant lotion she wears. Lust rushes hot through my veins, settling in the region below my belt.

“Bend over,” I command. Hannah complies immediately, placing her hands on the table and arching her back.

God, I want to draw this out, really make her writhe with every moment. The little seductress deserves it for teasing me. But all that goes out the window as I grasp the base of my cock and notch the head at the soaking entrance to her pussy. The throbbing and aching become too much, and I sink into her in one movement. She’s so tight that it feels like absolute heaven.

All I can do is stand there, let my eyes drift closed, and lose myself in the overwhelming sensation. Hannah seems equally affected, with her low hums and slow undulations of her hips.

But eventually, the need for more takes over, and I grasp her hip with one hand and bring the other up to fondle her breast again, my hips picking up a slow rhythm as I fuck her from behind. As I bring her higher and higher, I feel her inner muscles tightening around my cock, making it harder and harder to maintain my slow pace. It’s my curse to want to torture her this way, driving us both insane as we teeter on the edge. When it gets to be too much, I growl my frustration, “Hannah…you're killing me.”

“Do it.” Her desperate whine is a dead giveaway that she’s nearly ready to combust. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

Shifting my weight, I take the hand from her breast and twist my fingers in her hair, fisting it just enough to make her hum with pleasure as I begin to really let go. Pulling her upright, I reach down and run my middle finger through her sopping-wetslit until I reach her clit. She's gone rigid with the anticipation of her orgasm.

I can feel my body tighten with each stroke of my cock, heat pooling in my stomach, the muscles on my arms bulging with the force of my desire to release inside of her. There's nothing like coming at the same time as your lover, and I want that for us here. So fucking much.

All at once, Hannah starts to shudder, and my name passes from her lips in a tortured moan. Her inner walls are spasming, milking my cock for all it's worth. I capture the sounds of her cries with my mouth, turning her head to the side and leaning forward, kissing her as I finally stop holding back. Hot blood rushes in my ears, and my muscles burn in the sweetest way. My orgasm crashes over me, my skin erupting in gooseflesh, the sound of my voice chanting her name filling the air. I collapse on her and slide her forward, my arms banded around her and her chest pressed against the table.

“You'll be the death of me,” I mutter into her sweet-smelling hair, and she laughs, sounding completely wrung out and content.

“Maybe. But what a sweet death it will be, right?”

14

Johan

The flickering candlelight casts a warm,intimate glow over the elegant table setting. I glance around the private dining room of this upscale London restaurant, the air rich with the mingling aromas of gourmet dishes and fine wine. The room is hushed, the only sounds being the soft clinking of cutlery and the low murmur of conversations from distant tables.

Ludovic sits to my right, his posture effortlessly relaxed yet commanding, a subtle smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he engages in casual conversation with Saeed, the Ambassador of Oman. Saeed, a distinguished man in his sixties, sits across from me. His neatly trimmed beard complements his sharp, discerning eyes, which seem to assess every word spoken with quiet intensity. His presence radiates a calm authority, and though his demeanor is courteous, there’s an undeniable weight behind his gaze.

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