Page 20 of Arranged with Twins
“Probably,” I say before kissing kiss her again.
She fists her hands in my shirt, pulling me closer, and I lift her onto the kitchen counter. She wraps her legs around my waist, and the contact makes us both groan.
“Are you sure about this?” I ask, giving her one last chance to change her mind. “There’s no pressure, and this isn’t something you have to do.”
“No,” she says honestly, her voice breathless. “I’m not sure about any of this. I’m going to do it anyway though.”
The admission that she’s choosing this despite her uncertainty, and choosing me despite all the complications, makes something fierce and possessive flare in my chest. “If you change your mind at any point, just say so,” I say, framing her face with my hands. “I need you to know this isn’t about the contracts or the engagement or anything else. This is just about us.”
“I know,” she whispers, then pulls me down for another kiss that’s deeper and more desperate than the first. Our tongues tangle, and I savor the taste of her as I explore the niches of her mouth. When we part for air, we’re both gasping.
I sweep her into my arms to carry her toward her bedroom, with both of us stumbling slightly in our haste to keep touching each other. The hallway seems impossibly long, and by the time we reach her room, I’m ready to press her against the nearest wall rather than wait another second.
Her bedroom is elegant and feminine, with soft colors and expensive furniture that speaks to Katherine’s influence, yet there are personal touches that are purely Sienna. There are books stacked on the nightstand, a bright silk scarf is draped over a chair, and photographs from her time in London are arranged on the dresser. There’s colorful artwork on the wall that shows the real woman beneath her mother’s decorative choices.
I set her down beside the bed, and for a moment, we just look at each other, both of us aware that we’re about to change everything between us. “Last chance,” I say quietly, echoing my earlier words. “Once we do this, there’s no going back to pretending this is just business.”
“I know,” she whispers. “I don’t want to go back. Just fuck me. Fuck me hard.”
That’s all the permission I need. I reach for the hem of her sweater, pulling it over her head slowly, giving her time to stop me if she changes her mind. When she doesn’t protest, instead actually helping me remove the soft cashmere, I let the garment fall to the floor.
She’s wearing a lace bra in deep blue that makes her skin look luminous, and I have to pause just to look at her properly. She’s more beautiful than I imagined, with soft curves and smooth skin that I have to stroke. I trace my fingers across her stomachas she watches me with desire and nervousness that makes my chest constrict.
“You’re incredible,” I tell her, meaning every word as she strips off my suit jacket.
Next, she reaches for my shirt, working at the buttons with increasing urgency. “So are you. I’ve been wondering what you look like under all those perfectly tailored suits.”
I help her with the buttons, shrugging out of the shirt and letting it join her sweater and my jacket on the floor. She splays her hands across my chest, exploring the muscle and the scars that tell the story of my life in ways words never could. I have several bratva tattoos as well, and she examines them for a moment.
“I didn’t expect a billionaire philanthropist to be into ink,” she says almost academically.
I laugh. “It’s expected in my… other line of work.” I show her the stars on my pecs. “These denote my rank, for example.”
“I see.” She leans forward to lick a cross on my abdomen, making me groan. Then she stands up again like she didn’t just touch me that way. “These are from fights?” she asks, tracing a thin white line along my ribs, again in that academic tone, like she’s cataloguing artifacts rather than learning my body. It’s maddening and sexy all at once.
“Business disagreements,” I say, which makes her laugh despite the tension.
“Your business is more dangerous than mine.”
“Much more dangerous.” I can’t help dropping into a more serious tone. “Are you sure you want to get involved with someone like me?”
She stares into my eyes while still stroking one of my scars from an old bullet wound. “It’s too late for second thoughts now. I’m already wet,” she says, then kisses me again with a fierceness that makes my knees weak.
We fall onto her bed in a tangle of limbs and urgent hands, days of careful distance and polite restraint finally snapping into something neither of us can control. I work at the clasp of her bra while she fumbles with my belt, both of us breathing hard and moving with increasing desperation.
When she’s naked beneath me, I have to stop and just look at her. She’s perfect with her soft skin and dark hair spread across the pillows like silk. The trust in her eyes as she looks up at me is almost overwhelming.
“You’re sure?” I ask one more time, because once I touch her the way I want to touch her, I won’t be able to stop.
“I’m sure,” she whispers, then arches up to kiss me.
I start with her neck, pressing soft kisses to the hollow of her throat where her pulse beats fast and strong. She tastes like expensive perfume and something that makes me want to mark every inch of her skin.
When I move lower, kissing along her collarbone and down to her breasts, she makes a soft sound that goes straight to my cock. I take my time with her, using my tongue and teeth to tease her nipples until she’s arching beneath me, her hands fisted in my hair.
“Leo…”
The way she says my name makes my cock throb. “Tell me what you want,” I say against her skin. “I want to hear you say it.”
