Avenge: #3 Romanian Mob Chronicles (7 page)

And then he took his hands away, stared down at me intently, his gaze against my skin searing.

From nowhere, nerves rose up and, on some instinct I couldn’t name, drove me to fold my shoulders in, an attempt to break some of the scrutiny.

“Stop.”

The word was low, thick with desire. And effective. I did stop, slackened my arms and stood before him, letting him look his fill.

I had no particular thoughts about my looks one way or the other. I wasn’t thin, never had been and never would be, but that had never mattered to me before. My looks were helpful to the extent that a friendly smile might foreclose further inspection or to the extent that the extra pounds I carried might keep the few women I encountered from feeling threatened.

But my body as an object of desire was something I rarely considered.

And my body as an object of desire for a man that I wanted to want me was something I never considered at all.

I considered it now.

Watched him for any hint of how he was responding, honest enough to accept that I wanted him to be pleased but not brave enough to meet his eye and see if he was.

And so I stood, head down slightly, eyes centered on his chest, and waited. Waited as he watched me, wondered what he was thinking.

Wondered more as the seconds stretched, but I was unwilling, unable, to look at him and find out.

But that didn’t stop me from crying out when he reached out to touch me, first stroking a finger across my tight nipple, and then rolling the bud between his fingers.

“So beautiful…” he whispered.

I looked up then, met his gaze, and my chest squeezed tight at the sight of his desire.

He closed the distance between us, and wrapped his strong arms around my waist, his forearms against my back searing me with his strength.

He kissed me again, this time the caress more ragged, untamed, driven by what I hoped was his desire for me. As he kissed me, he touched me. One big hand was centered on my back, while the other roamed freely, tracing the curve of my waist, then around to knead my breast.

“Anton…” I said on a breathy whisper, the sound a desperate plea for something I could not name.

He met my eyes, seeking, and seeming to accept whatever he saw there. He stepped back, lifted both hands to my pants. He’d lowered his head, and now his dark hair was lit by the sun, face in shadows, demonic, angelic, and so desirable.

He made quick work of my pants, opening them and pushing them down with my panties before he turned to my bra. That too was removed and discarded in two efficient movements, and then I was left standing before him.

“Lie down,” he said, and I moved quickly to comply, anxious for whatever he had in store for me.

After I lay down, I watched him as he removed his shoes and then his pants, my eyes riveted to him as I watched his body move, the fascination only increasing when he tucked his fingers in his underwear and pulled, first revealing a thatch of dark hair and then his thick, veined shaft.

I was faintly aware of him walking toward me, but I didn’t lift my eyes, was mesmerized by the sight of his hardness jutting from his body.

When he stood at the end of the bed, I watched as he opened the foil packet, the throb between my thighs intensifying as he smoothed the latex down, his movements still sure and true.

But I dropped my head back against my pillow and slammed my eyes shut. So I felt and heard rather than saw his approach, felt the warmth of his skin against mine, the crisp hair on his stomach and chest scraping against my thighs, my stomach, and then my breasts as he made his way up my body. His warm breath against my face told me he now watched me, and I opened my eyes, met his.

I then noticed his hot, heavy hand at my hip, then lower as he caressed the outside of my thigh and stroked in. I stiffened and then sighed at his touch, the unfamiliar sensation of his hand on the inside of my thigh falling away as he moved up, stroked his fingers against my sex.

My thighs dropped open, seemingly of their own volition, and I glanced up at him, saw how my eagerness satisfied him. Then he moved so that he hovered above me, his heavy legs trapping mine, his latex-covered cock prodding me.

He closed his lips over mine, his body heavy and warm above me, his heart pounding. My heartbeat mirrored his when he stroked his fingers down my thigh and then back up to rest at the apex of my legs. I lifted my hips, responding to a call I couldn’t name and couldn’t ignore. Bucked against him again when he brushed his fingers against my outer lips and then pushed one finger between them, spreading me open.

A distant thought entered my mind that I should be embarrassed by the way I held on to him, but the hot wetness that seeped from me freely to coat my thighs only confirmed that there was nothing else I could do, not in the face of need so intense it squeezed my lungs and rattled my heart. There was no room for embarrassment, no room for thought. There was only room for Anton and what he was doing to me, his fingers touching my most intimate place and stirring the most maddening need.

I rocked against him, my hips moving in a natural rhythm, my muscles clenching down hard around nothing, the ache inside me sweet torture that I knew only he could relieve.

“You’re ready for me,
iubită?”
he whispered, the low rumble of his voice making my womb clench tighter.

“Yes,” I said, not recognizing the passion-filled voice that came out of my throat, hardly recognizing the woman who lay beneath him, stuck on the ragged edge of need.

At the first touch of his blunt, latex-covered head at my opening, I let my eyes slam shut and lifted my hips again, offering myself to him.

He accepted, began pushing inside me, slow at first but then with increasing speed and force as if he couldn’t wait any longer.

The first searing pain intensified into a cry that I could not suppress when he slammed himself the last bit of the way.

I kept my eyes closed, tried to breathe around the receding ache and focus on the pleasure that was building underneath, focus on the feeling of his skin against my hands, his breath fanning my face.

But he stilled, and I opened my eyes, met his gaze, still searing but now with confusion and anger. After a moment, the confusion was gone, leaving only anger in its place.

And then Anton was gone.

He withdrew from me, and then pulled out of my embrace and turned so that he sat on the bed, his back to me. Only seconds had passed with him inside me, yet I missed acutely, wanted him back.

I hazarded a glance at him, saw his muscled, inked back rise and fall with his harsh, heavy breaths. Could see the way his dark hair curled at the edges, damp with the same sheen of sweat that covered his arms, his back, and the small patch of chest I could make out in the sun.

“You didn’t think that was important, Lily?” he asked.

A
nton

“
T
hink what was important
?” she said.

I turned, stared at her, the dark buds of her beaded nipples only distracting me momentarily. When I lifted my gaze to her face, I saw that she knew exactly what I meant.

“You’re angry,” she said.

“Furious,” I corrected, and her eyes widened as she looked at my face, my expression no doubt as thunderous as the rage that roiled in my chest. I still could hardly comprehend it, but then she fluttered her eyelashes, face questioning but not as agitated as it should have been or as I knew mine was.

“Why?” she asked, frowning. “Did I…?”

“Don’t pretend, Lily,” I said, impressed when I managed to push the words out around the anger that had moved from my chest and lodged in my throat. Either she was playing me or she was clueless. I couldn’t decide which was worse.

“I’m not,” she said, sounding so sincere I couldn’t stop myself from looking at her after I’d looked away. Yeah, she was clueless, and that was definitely worse. Her bewildered expression told me she had no idea of the significance of what she’d offered me, the kind of things it made me imagine, the things it would make me hope for if I weren’t careful.

“Why didn’t you tell me you are a virgin?” I gritted out.

“Was,” she whispered.

“What?” I snapped impatiently.

“I was a virgin,” she replied.

I stood then, unable to remain still, angry at her, angrier at myself, and so hard and desperate with desire that my cock throbbed with need.

I needed to get out of here, didn’t trust myself to resist her pull. Coming here in the first place had been a mistake, an out-of-character loss of control. Staying would be beyond that, stupid in a way that I would have thought myself incapable of once. And staying was a risk, one of the gravest I’d ever faced. Because Lily tempted me, made me want impossible things like love and forever.

Neither was an option.

I grabbed my pants, moving them as best I could around my rigid shaft.

“Please, don’t leave,” she said.

Something in her voice stilled me, and I turned, looked at her again. “I’d like you to stay.”

“And do what?” I spat.

“Finish what we started,” she responded, her eyes still soft with her desire but lit by an edge of anger that I didn’t miss.

“Why would I do that?” I said.

“Because you want me,” she replied.

A stupid question when I thought about it. One look at me, my steel-solid cock practically straining toward her, and anyone could see that I wanted her.

“What I want doesn’t matter,” I said, choosing to ignore the obvious, undeniable truth that I wanted her so badly I didn’t know if I’d be able to leave her.

“What about what I want?” she asked, sitting up on the edge of the bed as I had done only moments ago.

I paused, attention captured by the gentle sway of her full breasts, gaze tracing her body, snagging on the spots where the afternoon sun created shadows and on the smooth rounds of her curves as she stood and walked toward me.

My insides thrummed with need, but I finally said, “And what do you want, Lily?”

She reached out, placed a hand on my thigh, knuckles just grazing my shaft. “You.”

The simple word held a wealth of meaning, and when I met her eyes, I saw the truth in it, and in the breath that passed, my resolve crumbled.

There had never been a time in my life, ever, when someone had wanted me. Not Anton, Christoph Constantin’s right hand or Anton, the one who could clean up any mess. But it was different here with Lily.

She only wanted me, something that no one in my entire life had.

That truth was my undoing. It unraveled the last wispy threads of my control, made it impossible for me to leave. Because I wanted that, to know what it was like to be wanted for only myself.

And I wanted her.

Needed her.

I rooted around in my pocket and then dropped my pants back on the floor. Then, I slid the other foil packets onto her nightstand, discarded the condom I wore, and brushed past her and sat on her bed, my back propped against the thin headboard that at first groaned under my weight but then settled.

“Come here, Lily,” I said.

She frowned slightly but moved to stand beside me.

“Sit,” I said, gesturing toward my lap and the erection that had only barely relented.

“Are we going to…?” She trailed off, the faintest blush staining her brown cheeks.

“Maybe later. But first, we talk.” Though my physical desire for her was stronger than I’d ever felt for anyone, I was curious about her, wanted to know more about this woman who had affected me so. Somehow, I knew that these moments spent learning her would make our physical connection that much deeper.

“Okay,” she said tentatively.

Then she sat next to me, resting most of her weight on the leg she had planted on the floor. I anchored a hand on either side of her waist and lifted her to my lap, chuckling when she exhaled a surprised-sounding sigh. She held herself rigid but loosened when I centered her over me, the warm wetness of her sex against my stomach, my cock nestled between the curves of her ass.

“Legs around,” I said as I sat up, leaving space for her to link her legs behind my back. Once she settled, I exhaled at the sensation of her pussy against my stomach, my cock nestled against her spread sex, the awareness that we were so close, close enough that with a few movements I could be buried inside her, making my rethink my patience. But we’d talk first, and, I again rested against the headboard.

“Does this hurt?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“Good.” Her comfort mattered to me, which was just another sign of how dangerous she was.

We sat silent, face-to-face, her weight, warmth, and wetness making it nearly impossible for me to ignore the need to bury myself inside her. I hardened against her, smiling when she lowered and pressed into me, though the need to take her rose up stronger. I pushed it down, though. There would be time for that, if and when I got my answers, but I was honest enough to admit that Lily above me was a monumental test of my self-control.

“So…um, we’re talking?” she finally said.

“Yes,” I replied.

We both laughed, and then silence reigned for a few moments longer before I said, “What’s your favorite color?”

“Purple,” she replied.

I looked around the room, noticing there wasn’t a hint of purple anywhere. There wasn’t much of anything with personality. None of the artifacts or personal touches I would have expected in her home.

“I haven’t had a chance to decorate,” she said, her gaze following the path my eyes and hand had previously traveled.

“When’s your birthday?” I asked.

“Shouldn’t you know? You’ve seen my license, after all,” she replied, lifting a brow in teasing displeasure.

I chuckled. “I do. It’s June nineteenth.”

“Good memory,” she said.

“It comes in handy,” I said.

“I’ll bet.”

She went silent again, and I met her hooded gaze, saw her interest—and her suspicion. Lily understood at least some of what Clan Constantin was, who I was, so her suspicion was understandable, smart even. I should have been used to it by now, and in a lot of ways, I was. But I hated seeing it in her, now, when I was close enough to slip inside her, after what we’d already shared today. I changed the subject.