Page 57 of Wrath
Pushing her back to the mat, he eased inside until he was all the way in. He stilled, letting her adjust to his thickness, until she writhed with impatience.
“I’m not letting you go,” he murmured, then drew out slowly, and thrust in hard. She slid on the wet mat. “Two hands, Duchess.”
It was another joke. She should have laughed, should have gripped the mat for support, but his raw hunger snapped her inhibitions. Like a wild woman, she clawed at him, kissed him, moved with him. She tasted his skin, inhaled his wicked scent, and begged him to go faster and harder. And for a while, they did. Relentless. Unforgiving. Electrifying. She didn’t want it to end, but couldn’t get enough of the man.
Slowing his pace, he lovingly tended her mouth with soft and gentle but fleeting kisses.
“You’re playing with me,koteczek,” she snarled half-heartedly.
“No,” he said gruffly. “I’m loving you.”
Misha pushed him off and twisted until she was on top and he laid below. Clearly, he let her. There was no way this big strong hero conceded to anyone—but her. That awareness kept her from moving. They stared at each other, chests shuddering with stilted breaths, hearts beating a staccato rhythm, rain pouring around them, adding to the symphony. Did he mean it? Did this insanely powerful man mean it?
I’m loving you.
She took his hands, held them to her breasts and dared him with her eyes. “Two handfuls, Wyatt.”
The laughter rumbling from deep within his chest pierced all the hard walls she’d erected around her heart. That unadulterated laugh was so rare, and because of her, for her, and only her. She ground into him, taking over the rhythm, beating him at his own game. Before she knew it, their joining had her mindless, breathless, and unable to move. His hands dropped to her hips and steadied her trembling pace. Between the two of them, they hit every spot, every nerve and every inch of her soul. When she felt that telltale knot of sensation, tightening inside her again, her muscles clamped down hard. Feeling invincible like a goddess, she lifted her soggy hair from her neck and arched. She tipped her face to the rain and let go, shattering apart while he held on, two hands like he promised.
While she went limp, sated and satisfied, he rolled them again so she was on the bottom. He drove into her hard, increasing intensity until he tensed with need, slammed himself to the hilt and cursed his release, muttering in her ear.
He languidly kissed around her neck and continued to mutter curses, as if his release had taken him by surprise, as if he was angry it was over. She laughed at his fierceness. “If I had known sex would always be like this with you,koteczek,I might have given you a different nickname. Perhaps little savage is more appropriate. What do you think,dzikusku?”
“What does it mean?” he mumbled. “Koteczek,I mean.”
“Kitten.”
His laughter roared so loud it shook the tower.
* * *
They spentthe better part of the next hour indecently fooling around on the top of the water tank. Eventually the rain eased, and the wind picked up and even the heat of their love making wasn’t enough to keep them warm. Their clothes were drenched, but they somehow managed to put them back on. It made Misha laugh. They’d really lost track of time. But what made Misha the happiest, was the permanent smile plastered on Wyatt’s handsome face.
That smile was still there as they walked back to the studio, his arm slung casually over her shoulder, heedless of their soaked attire. Wyatt even stopped to point out a group of sparrows hopping around a puddle, taking a bath.
It neared lunch time when they approached the door to her studio, and she was surprised to see a group of people milling about. Misha recognized some faces, and it hit her—she’d forgotten about a scheduled class. She was twenty minutes late.
“Oh my God,” she exclaimed. “I’m so sorry guys.”
Her clients turned to her, grinning in various states as they noticed her disheveled appearance, and who she was with. She’d made it well known that she wasn’t a walking hand in hand kind of gal, and some of her older clients had always teased her about finding someone to settle down with.
Wyatt stood back and gave her the space she needed to make things right.
“How about,” Misha said, “I give you all a free make-up session tomorrow? I’ll make it twice as long and—”
“That won’t be necessary,” a deep voice spoke from behind the crowd. “I’ll refund their fees for today and carry you through until the end of the week. Your studio will be closed for the duration.”
What the hell?
No onetold her to close. This studio was her life.
“I don’t know who you think you are—oh. Hi.”
A tall man with long auburn hair in a designer suit appeared. It was Parker, Wyatt’s brother, and he didn’t look pleased.
The last time Misha had seen him, he’d been partying it up with her and the rest of his family at his nightclub’s opening night. That was about the time Dimitri had ordered her to work as an exotic dancer in return for her family’s protection. Looking back at it now, Misha wouldn’t be surprised to learn Dimitri orchestrated the attacks on her family, all so he could swoop in and appear the savior.
Parker today was a far cry from the man who let loose on the dance floor. That playboy was the same public version gossip rags talked about on the news networks and in the papers. Now knowing about their sins, this arrogant version was probably the first time she’d ever met the real Parker Lazarus. What was the bet he fought the sin of pride?
