33
I let go of a staggered breath as I lean back and further out of his touch, swallowing the parched knot at my throat. His dark eyes track the movement, and then they narrow.
On my neck.
On the mark he left there.
He lifts his hand, and I suck in a breath when his rough palm meets the base of my throat, his thumb coming up to lightly skim the bruise.
A barely restrained annoyance flickers in his eyes as he brings his gaze back to mine. “You tried to erase me.”
Something twitches in his jaw. “And you failed.”
Annoyance scrapes at me. I spent a lot of money on that concealer. And it worked, for the most part.
“Not completely,” I murmur.
An agitated line forms between his brows, and he grits his teeth.
“I’m all over you,” he says, eyes darkening as he gives me an accusatory glare. “You smell like me.”
Unable to help myself, I lean up into him, my nose brushing against his neck as I inhale. I’m met with the masculine scent of his cologne. But then it hits me — the faint hint of sweet wine, black vanilla and raspberry.
I blink, not fully in charge of the words that slip from my lips. “You smell like me, too.”
Torren’s gaze flares, and a growl rumbles through his chest. His hand comes up to cup my chin in a rough grip as he glares down at me.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he snarls, the line of his jaw harsh. “Where did you go today?”
My brows meet as I stubbornly glare up at him. “You didn’t answer mine.”
A scathing amusement fills his eyes. “What if I have other friends with benefits?”
Jealousy bursts my stomach, wrapping its talons around my spine as it climbs up my throat.
“You’re my fiancé,” I blurt, in a lame attempt to try and stake my claim on him.
The side of his mouth lifts. “Oh?”
He leans further into me, forcing my thighs wider apart to accommodate the width of his torso.
His inked hand comes up to my waist, searing hot on the bare skin of my stomach.
He trails his hand down, until it’s skimming the waistband of my jeans, then further down, until his fingers border dangerously close to my ass.
It’s times like this I realize how much I should have just shut my mouth.
Because I just proposed a sex deal with the devil, after stealing information important enough to use against him.
And the cold, hard evidence of my theft is currently in the back pocket of my jeans. Inches away from where his hand is.
I need to get away. Now. I need to separate myself from his body and get as far away from him as I can.
Shrugging out of his hold, I slip off the barstool, deliberately ignoring the heavy weight of his gaze as I move away from him.
I only make it three steps before his hand comes around my wrist, and I’m wrenched right back to him.
Panic and arousal erupts inside me, hissing and swirling around each other like a snake-infested branch.
I can feel the harsh ridges of his chest at my back — feel every inch of his laboured breathing, and the heat pouring through the material of his dress shirt.
He leans his mouth into the crook of my neck, his voice a rough whisper. “I’ll play by your rules.”
My mouth parts as a surprised breath leaves me. A part of me made those demands because I thought they were too ludicrous for him to accept.
My voice is soft, stilted from his close proximity when I ask, “All of them?”
I can practically feel the thick, unguarded displeasure roll off him in waves. His voice rigid when he says, “All of them.”
I’m given no warning before he pushes his left hand under my tight tube top, giving my breast a punishing squeeze, before flicking the rough pad of his finger over my nipple.
I gasp, throwing my left hand to his bicep in a weak attempt to stop him. And just as I get used to the feel of his rough palm on my flesh, he pushes his right hand into my jeans, cupping me between my legs.
Another choked breath leaves me. There’s little to no space in my jeans for his hand, but he greedily pushes against the denim to make space for his fingers, skimming his fingers over my slit through the thin material of my panties.
“Just like I thought,” he says. “You’re soaking wet.”
He pushes the lace to the side, then spreads the slick of my arousal around as he presses down on the nub of my clit. “Like a dirty little slut.”
Shit. My vision is dotting, and I can’t see straight. All I know is if we’re doing this right now, I need to at least get my jeans off, so he can’t feel what’s in my back pocket.
I need to move. I need to get my jeans off right now—
And then he shoves two fingers inside me.
“Ah,” I whimper.
I’m so wet that his fingers slip inside me painlessly. He presses the heel of his palm into my clit, pumping his fingers in and out of me. Obscene squelching sounds fills the air.
“Christ,” he groans. “Listen to the fuckin’ sounds you’re making.”
Shit, shit, shit. I can’t do this.
His pressed up against me, thick erection pulsing against my ass through his slacks, and any second now, he’s going to realize that there’s a small piece of metal in my back pocket.
And knowing him, he’ll slip his hand in and pull it out. No warnings, no reservations.
I need to stop.
My pussy cries out in protest as I pull away from him, forcing his fingers out of me, and out of my top as I turn to face him.
He works his jaw, clearly unimpressed. I watch as he brings his inked fingers to his mouth, sucking me off them without taking his eyes off me for even a second.
Holy fuck.
Impatient, I kick off my shoes and then my socks, before I pull off my jeans, stilling my expression. He watches as I do it, his heated gaze licking up every inch of me hungrily.
I drop my jeans to the floor. Kicking them aside, I make sure not to let my eyes linger on the pool of denim.
And I’m left standing in front of him in just my lacy black panties and my tiny Prada tube top. Him, closer to the kitchen, and me closer to the lounge of the open plan penthouse.
Through the floor to ceiling windows, the city is dissolving out of a deep orange sunset into a crushed blue velvet, other skyscrapers around us glittering in the fresh night.
Jaw tight, Torren reaches behind him for the remote that’s lying on the kitchen counter, about to close the curtains with an electronic button.
I open my mouth. “Leave them open.”
We’re too high up for anyone to see anything other than blurred figures. And the risk of someone seeing more sends adrenaline coursing through my veins.
Torren’s pupils are dilated so much that his eyes are almost completely black. Slowly, dangerously, he sets the remote back down. Then, he takes a step closer to me.
Close enough to touch.
I reach over, cupping his erection over his pants.
“If I lick it, it’s mine,” I say, “No one else gets it but me.”
He narrows his eyes. “Is that an order?”
I meet his gaze. “Does it need to be?”
He takes a sudden step closer, backs me up into the L-couch, the part of where there’s no armrest. I trip, tumbling onto the couch.
Blowing out a harsh breath, I come up on my hands, moving further back into the couch as I glare up at him.
There’s a dark, cruel amusement in his eyes as they rove from the top of my head to the tip of my toes. “Cute.”
My brows meet, my teeth gritting at his degrading tone. “Cute?”
His hand closes around my ankle, and I let out a sharp gasp as he pulls my entire body down the couch.
“Yes,” he says, coming up above me. “Cute. Thinking that all I’ll do is make you lick me. No. I’ll fuck your throat raw. And then I’ll fuck your tight little cunt. You’ll suck yourself off my cock. And we’ll keep going, again and again. Until you’re so fucked-out you can’t remember your name.”
His words steal my breath. My clit is pulsing so hard it’s painful. Still, I manage to maintain a semblance of calm, lifting a brow. “Is that a threat?”
He cocks his head. “Does it need to be?”
With that, his arms come around my waist, as he flips us over. Now straddling his waist, I impatiently crawl down and move to unzip his pants, but his hand wraps around my wrist, holding it firmly in place.
I clamp down on my jaw as I look up at him. “I thought you wanted—”
“I changed my mind,” he snaps. “Sit on my face.”
My eyes widen, and something in my stomach somersaults. “What?”
His eyes narrow. “Was the instruction not clear enough? Or are you declining?”
“No,” I say, “I just . . .”
“Jesus, fuck, Freya,” he growls, “You have no problem with me sticking my cock down your throat but you’re hesitating when I ask you to ride my face?”
I clamp down on my jaw. “I’ve never done it before.”
Lust flares in his gaze, a blazing, purpling orange, like a raw flame. He blinks it back, a scowl returning to his annoyingly perfect features.
“There’s a first for everything,” he grunts. “Now climb up me and fuck my face.”
There’s a lash of pleasure low in my belly at words, and the harsh, direct way they spill from his mouth.
I do as he says, claiming up his clothed body until I’m sitting on his chest. I don’t put my full weight on him, in case I stop his airflow.
“Fucking sit on me, Freya,” he grinds out, “You weigh close to nothing.”
It’s not true — I weigh a more than healthy amount. But I still preen at his aggressive insistence otherwise.
My knees sink into the couch on either side of his face. I inhale sharply, settling a hand on the couch as I lift myself up slightly.
“Fuck,” he groans. “You’re dripping all over me.”
And all I feel is the blunt bite of his nails at my sides as he rips the lace off me.
I grit my teeth. “That was designer.”
“Shame,” he mumbles, dryly, tossing the shred material to the floor.
I glare down at him. His breath is hot against my bare sex, his eyes inky and black and saturated with lust as he stares up at me. He blows, and a wave of cool air hits me.
I gasp, my hips twitching at the stimulation.
“Like that, don’t you,” he murmurs, his incisor digging into his bottom lip. “My dirty girl.”
Gritting my teeth, I sit on his face, if only to erase the snarky look on it.
He groans, and the sound vibrates through my clit. He’s soft and wet, his jaw shaven with just the right amount of scratch against the soft skin of my inner thighs. and I almost come from the feel of it.
I can feel every inch of his tongue as he runs it up and down my center, flicking it at my clit. His strong arms come up around my thighs, hands digging into my ass as he presses me down harder into him. Into his mouth. His hands guide my hips back and forth as he laps at me like a starved man.
One hand still gripping my ass, the other comes up to press into the soft bulge of my lower stomach.
He kneads my ass back and forth, forcing me to ride him.
I thread my fingers through his hair, arching my back as I move my hips. There’s an uncontrollable pleasure burgeoning in my core, and I can’t help but grind my hips, fucking myself on his tongue.
He groans again, sending another deep vibration through me, and the pleasure builds until it can’t anymore. My mouth goes moist, and I surge over the edge as I come.
My hips spasm, and I try to pull away, but Torren’s arms come around my thighs as he holds me in place, nipping and sucking at me so hard I almost black out.
I tug at his hair hard enough for it to hurt, and he finally loosens his grip on me. Lifting back on my knees, I shut my eyes for a few seconds as I let the wave wash over me.
When my vision clears, I glance down at him. At his perfectly carved face, the dark strands of hair that fall over his forehead, and the harsh lines of his jaw.
His lips and chin are coated with my release. Tentatively, I lean down to swipe my thumb over his skin, collecting the moisture. Testing the waters, I tuck the tip of my thumb into his mouth.
He lets me.
I push further into his mouth, and his wet tongue comes around my digit as he sucks on it.
I can barely breathe.
There’s a sudden flicker of amusement in his eyes, and he gives me no warning before biting down on my thumb.
I hiss, pulling away. “Asshole.”
Humor floods his gaze. “You want me to fuck you, there, too?”
My mouth drops. “No.”
The side of his mouth lifts. “Don’t worry, little Morozov, I won’t go there today. I need to stretch you out a lot before we try that.”
“In your dreams, maybe,” I mutter as I sit on his chest, not as half annoyed as I am aroused.
“Want to know a secret?” he asks.
I stubbornly keep my mouth shut, and he continues talking anyway.
His gaze meets mine. “I’ve never let a woman ride my face before.”
The opposite of jealousy — whatever it is — satisfaction, contentment, blooms inside me.
Torren reaches back and pulls out his wallet, pulling out something silver and squared-shaped between his index and middle finger. He brings the foil packet to his teeth, and I watch as he tears into it, his heated gaze on me.
It’s somehow the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen.
His arm reaches behind me. There’s a metal clang, and I turn, watching as he unbuckles his belt with just one hand. He pushes his slacks down and pulls out his cock, then drags the rubber down over his length.
Swallowing, I turn back to him, suddenly annoyed that he’s fully clothed under me while I’m half naked on top of him.
Slow, and deliberately torturous, I tug my tube top over my head, and my breasts spill free. Torren works his jaw, his gaze taking in the sight of my hard nipples.
I pop each button of his shirt open, one by one. The white material parts to reveal his tanned chest, the thick muscles heaving under me. He pulls the shirt off his chest and discards it.
When his attention is back on me, I drag my clit down the bare skin, leaving behind a trail of wetness down his chest.
“Sit on my cock,” he grinds out, his voice strained. “Now.”
My lips lift and I figure I’ve tortured him enough, so I left to my knees and position the head of his cock at my entrance, swirling it in my arousal before I sink down on it.
Our groans mix.
I’m not even halfway down yet.
His hips buck, his cock twitching inside me. “Take it all.”
I don’t move an inch, my thighs burning from exertion. “Ask nicely.”
His gaze flares with anger. “Take. It. All.”
And then his hands dig into my hips as he slams me down on him.
A scream rips out of my throat as I stretch to accommodate him. Pain explodes through my core, skittering through my muscles.
Slowly, I move my hips up and along his length to assuage the pain, and it fades into a dull, aching pleasure.
“Good fucking girl,” Torren hums, “Just like that.”
Leaning over, I plant my palms on his hard chest to balance myself as I bounce on his thick length. Pleasure builds in my core, spreading to the tips of my fingers and every other edge of my body.
My grinding turns frenzied. I go crazed, riding him so fast that he becomes a blur as I selfishly chase my orgasm.
“Fuck!” Torren growls, his grip on my hips bruising. “Don’t be so fucking greedy.”
His hands press into my hips as he draws them slower, controlling my speed. “Slow down. I want to feel you.”
“You want it to last longer,” I snap, “and I want to come.”
He bares his teeth as he snarls. “Shut up.”
“Make me,” I snarl back.
A growl rips up his throat. He pulls all the way out of me, so that air rushes out of the space between my legs.
He flips positions, shoving me into the couch so fast it knocks the wind out of me. And then he slams his cock into me.
I gasp, my spine arching off the couch, my traitorous body craving more of the person who’s pushing me off the edge of a cliff.
Torren’s silver chain hangs from his neck, the cross tickling the dip of my breasts as he starts fucking me like an animal.
His gaze settles on my mouth, and a pure hunger flares in his eyes as his lips part. For a moment, I want it — his lips on mine. Harsh and cruel and punishing. But soft. So soft. The cold metal of his necklace brushes against my chin, pulling me out of my fantasy.
Anger bites at the edge of his dark eyes, and he snaps his gaze back to mine.
“Fuck your rules,” he growls.
“Fuck you,” I hiss.
Fuck you for making me want to break them. Fuck you fuck you fuck you.
“I’m letting you fuck me, baby,” he says, his mouth curving into a cruel smile. “No need to beg for it.”
Furious, I duck my chin, catching the cross of his necklace between my teeth. Then I lift a finger, pulling it out my mouth. I pass him an evil, mocking smile, and say, “What we’re doing isn’t very religious.”
He scowls. Pulls out of me. He flips me over, pushes my knees forward, and slams into me from behind.
A gasp gets stuck in my throat as I heave for air. My arms desperately reach for a cushion at the far end of the couch to try hold onto for comfort.
Faster than wildfire, his inked hand comes out to grab my wrists, pinning them above me as he thrusts into me, every snap of his hips sending a bolt of pleasure coursing through my blood.
“You’re mine,” he says, like curse.
He grabs hold of both my wrists, lifting me up so that both our knees are digging into the couch. His chest is pressed into my back as our heaving, sweat-slicked muscles move in tandem.
“Did you hear that, you brat?” he taunts.
“Wait,” I breathe, “I’m going to—”
He brings his mouth to the point where my neck meets my ear. “Mine.”
The orgasm hits me out of nowhere — a white-hot pleasure spreading through every inch of my flesh, every pore of my skin.
Torren feels me writhe through the climax— feels my body shudder and my muscles spasm. And still, he offers me no reprieve. If anything, he fucks me harder. Fucks me without mercy.
I’m shaking from arousal, my throat raw with unshed tears. I go slack against his chest, my knees too weak to support me.
He wants more. And my body is willing to give it to him. I came so hard I can’t see clearly, but I can already feel another climax building up.
“Made for me,” he murmurs.
And then his hand comes up over my breasts, the other going down to my clit as he fucks me.
“Torren,” I whimper, as I reach the crest of another high.
And then it hits.
“Fuuuuck,” he groans, finishing inside me with one last punishing thrust.
We crash into the leather couch, bodies spent. He doesn’t let me go, one arm tight against my chest and the other clutching my lower stomach, his cock still seated deep inside me.
And when I shut my eyes and try to ride out the pleasure, focusing on the feel of his wrist pressing against my chest, I realize something.
Our pulses are in sync.