Enzo #2
For one suspended second, Nadia had no insult. No threat. No clever blade of a sentence to put between us. Her body took over. Then she made that sound again—low, broken. Mine.
I groaned against her, and her legs tried to close around my head. I pushed her thighs wider and looked up at her from between them.
Her eyes were gloriously unfocused as I gave her my tongue and took the sound from her myself. Her head fell back. Her hair slid over one shoulder, dark and damp and wild, and the sight of her braced on my table while I had my mouth on her nearly finished what her taste had started.
My hips pressed forward uselessly against nothing, my cock trapped in my sleep pants and so hard it hurt.
Let it hurt. Let restraint cost something. I wanted it to cost. I wanted to feel every second I made her feel. Every second I made myself wait. I wanted to earn the moment I finally sank into her by taking apart every defense she had left first.
She reached for me. I caught her wrist without lifting my mouth from her and pinned it back to the table.
“Stay.”
Her fingers curled against the wood.
I rewarded her for it. Slow at first. Then slower.
She swore at me in dialect. Her body gave me every answer I needed. The way her thighs shook. The way her fingers scraped against the table. The way her breathing turned ragged, then shallow, then stopped entirely when I found the place that made her forget language.
That was what I wanted. Her. Past the knives. Past the threats. Past the clever mouth she used like armor.
I kept her there, right at the edge, until her hips strained against my hold and her moans flowed over my skin. She came apart against my mouth with my name in her throat and both hands locked on the table where I had put them.
Beautiful. Brutal. But not enough.
I held her through it, one arm across her hips while she shook, and the second her breath came back, I didn’t give her time to find words.
Her whole body jolted when I went right back to feasting on her.
Her hands left the table this time. I caught both wrists and pinned them beside her hips without lifting my head. She cursed me in two languages and tried to twist away from the pleasure already building again before she’d recovered from the first.
I held her exactly where she was and gave her more.
Not slow now. Not patient. This was conquest, and she felt the difference. Her thighs tightened around my shoulders. Her breath broke into sharp, helpless sounds she couldn’t turn into threats fast enough to save herself.
My cock jerked every time she said my name. Every time her hips tried to move under my mouth. Every time her hands strained against my grip and then stopped, not because she couldn’t fight me, but because she liked losing this particular battle.
“There,” I growled against her. “Feel it.”
“I’m going to kill you.”
“Later.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
I slid two fingers into her wet heat and curled them. Her mouth opened and no sound came out.
There she is.
Her head fell back. Her body bowed. Every line of her went tight beneath my hands as I licked and sucked on her swollen clit.
“Give it to me again,” I ordered. “Gods, you’re so fucking beautiful like this.”
She made the sound again—that whimpering, pleading sound that made my cock pulse. Not because she meant to. Because I pulled it from her.
The second climax hit harder than the first. She came with one hand in my hair and the other flat on the table, fingers clawing at the wood as if she needed something solid in a world I’d made too bright, too sharp, too full of feeling.
I held her down through every second of it. Held my own control down with her. By the time she stopped shaking, my breathing had gone ragged.
I rose only far enough to look at her.
Her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes were wet-bright and furious. Her mouth was swollen. Her robe hung from one elbow, green silk crushed beneath her hips, and her thighs trembled where they bracketed my shoulders.
I should have carried her to the bed then. I didn’t. She saw it in my face and her eyes narrowed.
“No.”
I smiled. “Yes.”
“Enzo.”
“Two.”
Her breath caught. I stood, dragged her up the table toward me, and kissed her hard enough that she tasted herself on my tongue. She moaned into my mouth and I swallowed it.
“You wanted the real me,” I said against her lips.
Her hands clutched at my shoulders, biting into my flesh with her blunted nails.
“This is him.”
I pushed her back down, one hand at her throat, the other sliding between her thighs. Her body jerked when I grazed her clit with the tip of my finger.
“Too much,” she hissed.
I stopped. Completely. Every muscle in my body locked.
Her eyes opened.
I waited. Breathing hard. Cock aching. Fangs sharp. One word from her and I would stop, even if it killed whatever was left of me.
She swallowed beneath my hand. Then her fingers closed around my wrist, holding me there.
“Not stop,” she said, voice rough. “Just—fuck—too much.”
I bent over her, my mouth close to hers. “Then feel too much.”
Her eyes flared. And there was my answer. I kissed her, and my fingers moved again. Her curse broke against my mouth. This time, I watched her face.
I watched every flicker of fury and pleasure and disbelief. Watched her try to hold on to language. Watched her lose it. Watched Nadia Voss, who could bleed without begging and lie with a knife at her throat, turn helplessly honest under my hand.
My woman. My furious, vicious, impossible woman.
I kept my hand at her throat and my mouth close to hers as she fucked herself on my fingers, taking her pleasure because she couldn’t stop. Because she needed it. Needed me. Needed this.
“Look at me.”
She did, barely, her glassy, fuck-drunk eyes twisting something inside me I hadn’t known was sharp.
“Good girl.”
Her lashes fluttered.
“No,” I growled. “Eyes open.”
She made a sound that might have been my name as her body tightened around my fingers. Her thighs shook. Her fingernails on my wrist dug in hard enough to break skin. There would be marks on me tomorrow.
“Come for me again,” I murmured against her lips.
She shook her head once, frantic and furious.
I took her lips in a quick, brutal kiss. “Yes.”
Her eyes flashed, and for one breath, I thought she would fight me for the word on principle alone. Then her fingers tightened around my wrist again.
Her throat arched beneath my hand, bare and flushed and offered like a dare. A dare I had every intention of taking, but not the way she thought. I was saving that neck for when my cock was buried inside her and not a moment before.
Still, my control frayed down to a single thread. “Nadia.”
“Do it,” she breathed, her whole body shuddering with her coming release.
Dipping my head, I sank my fangs into the flushed, soft skin of her breast. The delicate skin tore like silk as her sweet blood exploded onto my tongue, sizzling through every piece of me until I didn’t know where her mind ended and mine began.
At my bite, she broke, her third release shattering her wide open.
It rolled through her and stripped the fight clean out of her body. Her mouth opened, but no words came. Only a broken sound, soft and stunned and so unlike the woman who’d threatened to gut me in front of my men that it nearly ruined me.
I groaned against her skin.
My cock pulsed hard enough that I had to brace one hand on the table and stop moving for one breath, then two, forcing myself not to come untouched because she’d finally gone soft and shaking beneath me.
When she came back to herself, she was breathing like she’d run miles.
Her eyes found mine. Slowly. Murderously.
“I am going to need your pants off. Immediately.”
At last.
I straightened and reached for the waist of my pants.
“As my lady commands.”