Chapter 20 #3
I had found her.
I would never let her go again.
Her fingers fumbled with my doublet, then tore it open, the fine fabric ripping beneath her urgency.
My bare chest met cool air, then heat, as her hands smoothed over my skin, her touch leaving behind a trail of fire.
Our gazes locked, something hot and reckless passing between us.
“The last time I saw you,” she murmured, breathless, “we were in the teepee. You were about to go to war.”
An ache speared through me, a memory of blood, of longing, of loss.
But she was here now.
This was war.
This was conquest.
I slid my fingers across her collarbone, tracing the delicate curve of her throat, then lower—
Down to where her breast had spilled free, full and perfect, begging for my touch.
I circled one fingertip around the stiffened peak, teasing, claiming.
“That bloody war is a distant memory.”
My voice was gravel and fire, rough with need, with possession.
I leaned in, my breath hot against her skin, lips grazing the wild flutter of her pulse.
“Tonight, Olivia, the only battle I’m fighting...”
I brushed my mouth over her throat, feeling the way her breath hitched, the way her body shuddered beneath me.
“...is the one where I make you scream my name.”
Her eyes burned, her lips parted, her breath a ragged whisper—
“I thought you died.”
I gritted my teeth. “I thought I died too.”
Then—
“But enough talking—”
I thrust my hips against her, grinding into her softness, letting her feel just how long I had ached for her.
The bookshelf groaned behind her, shifting slightly beneath our weight.
She gasped.
“Did you feel that?” she whispered.
I didn’t care. “Yes.”
I crushed my mouth against hers, drinking in her sweet, desperate moan. My fingers found her nipple, rolling it, tugging until it tightened into a stiff, aching peak.
She arched into me, a surrendering sigh spilling between our lips.
A low growl rumbled in my chest.
I slammed my hips against her again, pressing her harder against the wood—
The shelf shuddered.
Still, I couldn’t stop. I wouldn’t stop.
I drove into her again—
And the entire bookshelf gave way.
With a scream, Olivia fell backward, her skirts billowing as we tumbled through the secret passageway.
I caught her, cradling her head as we crashed to the wooden floor, twisting midair to take the brunt of the fall. Pain flared through my back and shoulders, but I didn’t care—
Nothing mattered but her.
In one fluid motion, I rolled us over, pressing her gently beneath me.
I needed her.
Now.
I palmed her freed breast, my fingers spreading, kneading.
“Good Lord,” I growled, my other hand fumbling with her skirts, clawing through the endless layers. “Where are you beneath all this damn fabric?”
Olivia laughed, breathless, arching into my touch, helping me frantically search.
I cursed under my breath as I yanked at bone stays, hooks, layers of silk, and lace.
I needed skin.
I needed her.
Finally—
Muslin.
The only barrier between me and the soft heat of her core.
I dipped my head, gripping the flimsy fabric between my teeth, and ripped it away.
Olivia gasped, her thighs trembling, her scent thick, musky, intoxicating.
My head snapped up, as the heady fragrance of her arousal filled my lungs.
“Christ, woman.” My voice was hoarse, raw, possessive.
I slid my hands up her thighs, inhaling her deep, the sound bordering on a growl.
“I’ve missed the way you smell.”
And tonight—
I was going to ruin her for anyone else.
Her skirts were still bunched around her waist, silk pooling like the wreckage of a woman undone, but I didn’t care.
I was exactly where I needed to be.
I settled between her thighs, my breath hot against her bare skin, my lips brushing the sensitive inside of her leg.
A soft moan escaped her lips as I dragged one torturous finger up her slick heat.
She was drenched for me.
“Mine.” My voice was a dark growl, vibrating against her aching flesh.
Her hips arched into my touch, desperate, wanton.
I slipped two fingers inside her, feeling her tightness wrap around me, her body pulling me deeper as my thumb circled her clit in maddening strokes.
“All yours,” Olivia whimpered, her breath hitching, her hands clenching the fabric beneath her.
Fucking perfect.
I rubbed the swollen bud with the flat of my finger, teasing her and drawing out her pleasure.
She moaned—long, needy, her thighs quivering around my shoulders.
“Do you know what this is sometimes called in Italian?” I murmured, my lips brushing against her aching heat.
She gasped, her thighs tightening around me. “Tell me,” she breathed.
I chuckled, letting my breath warm her core, sending a shiver through her body.
“Amor Veneris, vel dulcedo.”
Her hips arched, her body pleading for my mouth.
I ran my tongue in one devastating stroke along her dripping folds.
“The love… or sweetness… of Venus.”
And then I devoured her.
Her entire body bowed, a choked cry escaping her lips.
“Roman!”
God, her taste—her fucking taste.
I groaned, tongue lapping, teasing, flicking, my fingers thrusting deep, curving just right.
I tightened my grip on her hips, holding her still as I feasted on her, driving her higher, harder.
“Who owns this amor Veneris?” I murmured against her wet, quivering flesh, the words sending vibrations through her body.
She gasped, her hands fisting into my hair. “You do!”
Damn right, I did.
The drums from downstairs pounded, their rhythm matching the pounding of my blood, the throbbing of my cock as it pulsed between my thighs, aching for her.
Her body tightened around my fingers, her pleasure cresting—but I wouldn’t let her come yet.
No.
She had to climax around my cock.
I pulled away from her just before she tipped over the edge, leaving her panting, desperate with need.
She let out a frustrated moan, her hands grabbing at me, her legs wrapping around my waist, pulling me down, down, down until my weight pressed her into the floor.
“Roman—please—”
Fuck.
I couldn’t wait another second.
I tore at my breeches, shoving them down my legs, my cock thick, heavy, dripping with need.
I gripped myself at the base, the head sliding through her slick folds, coating me in her heat, her arousal.
I wanted to savor this, to tease her—
But my control snapped.
I thrust inside her, sinking to the hilt, stretching her wide with one deep, claiming stroke.
“Oh, God, Olivia,” I groaned through clenched teeth, my forehead pressing against hers.
She gasped, her nails raking down my back, her thighs clenching tight around my waist.
“Fuck me, Roman.”
Her voice was wrecked, pleading, desperate.
She dug her nails into my ass, pulling me deeper.
“Fuck me hard.”
A snarl ripped from my throat as I reared back—
And slammed into her, filling her with a hard, punishing thrust.
“Mine.”
Her back arched, a shuddering moan spilling from her lips.
“Yours,” she whispered, her voice breaking.
I pulled out and slammed into her again.
“Mine.”
Her walls clenched around me, hot, tight, wet, her body dragging me deeper, milking me.
She was close—so fucking close.
I pressed my forehead to hers, our breath mixing, our bodies moving in a frantic, primal rhythm, a battle of lust, love, and desperate need.
“Say it again,” I growled, thrusting harder, deeper, rougher.
Her nails dug deep, clawing into my shoulders, her body shuddering, her thighs tightening around my waist, locking me inside her heat.
She was breaking—coming apart beneath me, for me.
“Yours, Roman. I’m yours.”
And that—
That was the final snap of my restraint.
I slammed into her, deep and demanding, my body claiming hers with every punishing, perfect thrust.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
The words pounded through my skull, through my blood, through the relentless drive of my hips as I fucked her harder, deeper, the sound of our bodies colliding in primal need filling the hidden chamber.
But then—
The memory of him.
That stranger’s hands on her, his mouth tainting her skin, his tongue licking where only I should have been.
A dark and dangerous growl ripped from my chest, my jealousy bleeding into possession.
She was never his. Never anyone else’s.
Only mine.
My fingers fisted in her hair, pulling her head back, forcing her to meet my fevered, burning gaze.
“You let him touch you?” My voice was a low snarl, my breath ragged, my thrusts turning ruthless.
Her lips parted, a moan escaping as her body tightened around me.
“No one but you,” she gasped. “Only you, Roman. Always you.”
Fuck.
I tilted her head further, baring her throat to me, and sank my teeth into her skin, biting, marking, branding her mine.
She moaned loud, her back arching, her fingers dragging down my back, my arms, my ass—clinging, pulling, needing.
Her scent was everywhere, her slick heat clenching around me, pulling me deeper, dragging me closer to the edge.
I pounded into her, my rhythm matching the wild, pulsing drums below, the sound of depravity and debauchery vibrating through the floorboards.
But no one downstairs or in the world could match the frenzied, intoxicating intensity of what was happening here.
Us.
This wasn’t just fucking—this was war.
This was conquest.
My hands slid to her wrists, lacing my fingers with hers, pinning them above her head, my weight pressing her into the floor, forcing her to take me, all of me.
My mouth crashed onto hers, claiming her in a kiss so deep, so filthy, she whimpered against my lips, her body trembling with need, with surrender.
“Mine, mine, mine,” I whispered into her mouth, my tongue licking inside, my hips driving deeper, grinding against that perfect spot that made her fall apart.
She gasped, shuddered, and moaned, her body helpless to resist me.
I pulled back, my eyes wild, my chest heaving.
“Oh, God, Olivia—fuck—I can’t last much longer.”
“Come inside me, Roman,” she commanded, her legs locking around my waist, dragging me even deeper.
Her sharp nails raked down my back, the sting mixing with pleasure, heightening my need, my desperation.