Page 7 of Vicious Games

Pulling on her hair, I slapped her ass again.

“Roman!” she cried out.

I loved the sound of my name on her come-coated lips. Loved how it resonated with both pleasure and pain, our own dissonant chord.

I released her hair and gripped her hips and as the rhythm of my thrusts increased, my balls tightened. I could feel my second release building. With a roar, I let loose deep inside of her. She wasn’t pregnant yet, but it was only a matter of time before she carried my child, a blood bond with me she could never break.

My hands slipped from her hips and slammed over the piano keys as I collapsed forward, covering her sweat-slick back.

I sucked in several labored breaths and struggled to slow my beating heart. After several moments, I rose to my full height. I gripped her hair again and pulled her off the piano and down onto her knees before me. She looked up at me with unfocused eyes as the ripples from her own second release still caused her to clench her thighs.

Her hair was a tangled mess from my tightened fist. Her lips were red and swollen. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears as they regarded me with a mixture of fear and desire. She looked beautiful.

I released her hair. She dutifully remained on her knees.

I righted my pajama bottoms and reached for the scattered sheets of paper that still littered the other side of the piano. Crushing the top of one sheet in my hand, I held it before her.

Aurora looked away.

I grasped her jaw and forced her to look at the paper. “What is this, Aurora?”

“You know what it is.”

“I want to hear you say it. Say it, Aurora.”

I could feel her jaw clench under my fingertips.

She stubbornly remained silent.

“Say it, or I swear to God I will place you in a room so tightly guarded, it will be years before I allow you to see the light of day.”

She blinked. “It’s a letter from Mr. Rochefort offering me a scholarship to his music school.”

“No.”

She frowned, obviously confused.

I crumbled the paper in my fist. “It’s another man offering to take care of you.”

Her eyes widened. “Roman, that’s not what he meant.”

“You dared to ask for another man’s help?”

“Please, Roman. I didn’t mean to—”

“Enough,” I growled. I released my grip on her hair and stepped back.

Closing my robe, I tightened the belt around my waist. Calming my voice, I said, “I regret to inform you that Mr. Rochefort is no longer in a position to offer you anything.”

I had taken care of that the moment I learned of her plans. I had contacted the Conservatoire de Bourgogne-Franche-Comte and made it excruciatingly clear that any further attempts to contact Aurora would be met with swift retribution from me.

Aurora crawled on her knees toward me. She placed her hands on my thighs and lifted pleading eyes. “Don’t kill him, Roman. Please, he didn’t know he’d be in danger by helping me.”

I reached down and caressed her cheek. “That should be a lesson for you, kitten. You will place anyone you turn to for help in deadly peril. Do you understand me?”

The tears fell down her cheeks, wetting my fingertips. “I understand, Roman. Please, just don’t kill him.”

“That is up to you. If you ever attempt to contact him again, he’s a dead man.”

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