by Bethany-Kris
Happily.
Karine reached for him, dragging those fingernails down the path of muscles that made up his lower abdomen when she replied, “Lie, and tell me it’s better this way, then.”
He could.
Except ...
“It is better this way.”
He took her then, a hard flex of his hips that buried his dick nine and half inches deep into the warm, wet heat of her pussy. He could have been slow—or tried—but just the feeling of her slick walls stretching open to accommodate him would have been enough to make him nut had he taken his time.
Nobody wanted that.
Karine’s aching gasp echoed in the room when he’d filled her full, and she arched her body for him. Thrusting her hips up to pull him impossibly deeper, she watched him through lowered lashes when his hands came to rest on her hips, and he held her tight against him for a moment. She wanted him just as desperately as he did. It resounded in every tremor rocking through her tempting body.
But he wanted a second like this.
Deep in her.
Wet to his balls.
One hell of a view.
Roman stood at the edge of the bed with his legs spread wide apart. Hers remained open to him—for him. Pulling back until just the head of his cock had her tender pussy stretched for him, he pushed himself back inside with one quick thrust.
Not quite as hard as the first.
Still just as deep, though.
Their groans came in tandem when that second thrust was accompanied by a third, and then a fourth just as fast. He started the pace, and she answered him back with the music of her sweet sounds.
Her hiss sizzled with a low, drawn out, “Yes ...”
Roman wanted that voice of hers ringing in his ears by the time he was done. In that moment, all he wanted was to make her feel good. As good as he felt with tension licking up his spine as release teased the edges of his senses.
She was tight all around him.
Greedy in the way she moved on the bed, sliding up and down her sheets while he fucked her to get more of him.
Harder, came the first plea.
More, she demanded.
How could he not give her what she wanted? She raised herself a little, just enough to watch the sight of his cock sliding in and out of her pussy. One of her hands fisted into the sheets as her breaths came ragged and quick, the low whine building in the back of her throat the longer she watched him fuck her. Then, when his thrusts became even stronger, she collapsed back on the bed with a broken sigh.
He heard it, though.
That satisfaction.
She was getting exactly what she wanted.
He could go on forever. As long as it took to make her come, and then some.
Karine moaned his name, the sound pure bliss coming out of her mouth. She shook while he took control of her, rolling her hips into him with a hard grip on her waist at every thrust.
He wondered if they were battling each other to see who would cave first. Roman smirked at the idea—he could do this all night. Every time he felt that telltale tightening of his balls, he pulled himself back by focusing on her large eyes. Still locked on him. By reminding himself how much she needed this. And how much he wanted it even more.
They both tried to be quiet, but it was pointless. Her heady moans came in a crescendo, and he couldn’t stop the groans of approval at the woman beneath him. She was good—knew how to work her body, and yet she still let him take what he wanted, how he wanted at the same time.
It was only when her lips parted into an O-shape, and her head tipped back for her eyes to fly wide at the ceiling above, that he felt it. Those tremors working their way through her body stilled as her spine curved high off the bed.
Her toes curled.
She breathed his name again.
She came hard—he fucked her through it, too. The milking contractions of her orgasm sent him over the edge as her moans started to soften. He barely managed to pull out of her in time to spill his release along her clenching stomach with the help of a couple jerks of his hand.
A fucking waste.
That should have been in her.
The very nature of his thoughts silenced him—from his mind, to any words he might have said. Nothing came out. He couldn’t remember the last time he had paid so much attention to a woman’s orgasm that he noticed how her lower lip trembled when she came, or how her eyelids fluttered as she came down from her high.
But he also didn’t look away.
Couldn’t.
Realizing he’d pulled out of her to come, Karine pressed her legs tightly together, and dared to put a hand over her face like she was embarrassed.
For what?
That she had allowed herself to feel good.
Because she took what she wanted?
Roman didn’t care to see her shame, and wanted her to experience what she just had again instead. Before she’d said a thing, he was already down on his knees between her legs.
Her loud inhale reached his spot when he pulled her legs apart once more.
“What are you—”
Her words faded, but his mouth was already on her. That taste he’d been waiting for was everything he’d imagined, and then some. Tart and hot on his tongue, he lapped from her slit to her clit while he watched her from between her thighs. Karine had pulled herself up on her elbows, but soon fell back on the bed with a thump.
Roman pressed his mouth to the hot core of her pussy, sliding his tongue into her next as she whimpered and twisted against the sheets. While he sucked on her, his mouth flooding with the flavor of her juices, his thumb found her swollen clit.
Already sensitive from one orgasm, Karine cried out louder than ever, dark pleasure coating every sound. Her body arched up, and she grabbed his head, weaving her fingers in his dark hair until her fingernails scratched along his scalp.
She could leave marks.
There was no doubt he would be leaving some of his own, starting with a beard-burn around the insides of her thighs. And the thought of her feeling that tenderness tomorrow—and maybe in the days beyond—did something terrible to him.
Terribly wicked, that was.
He liked it too much.
All of it.
All of her.
His tongue and thumb flicked and stroked until he was sure she was ready to fly again.
“Roman ... please ...” she begged. “Oh, my God.”
He loved hearing her plea and when Karine came that time, even her thighs quivered. Roman’s face was stuck between her legs, his tongue buried deep in her pussy, and for a second, she tightened her legs around his head to keep him that way. Another woman, and he might have shoved her off—but not this one.
She was still hot on his tongue.
Wet in his mouth.
Christ.
A part of him thought ... once won’t be enough. He already wanted to see her like that again, staring down at him, amazed and blissed.
He straightened up, but only to lean over her on the bed. Still shaking, with her breaths coming fast one after another, Karine watched him through half-lidded eyes that were dark with her desire.
And there it was.
Her smile.
It was a victorious smile. Like she truly believed she had won something.
“What?” he asked.
She shook her head, reaching for him. “You—just you. Stay with me?”
Karine already had her hands wrapped around his forearms like vise grips. He wasn’t exactly in the mood to pack up and go, though.
Wordlessly, Roman climbed into bed with her, maneuvering them both until they were covered by the silver bedspread. He pulled her against him, wrapping his arms tight around her. She seemed content to lay like that, her back tucked tight along his chest. There was no hiding the racing beats of his heart.
She had to feel every single one.
Karine didn’t say a thing.
Burying his face into her hair, he breathed in th
e scent of her. He wasn’t the type to fall asleep with a woman in his arms, but he didn’t want to let her go, either. At least, not yet.
Wasn’t he supposed to get information out of her?
Hadn’t he done this for a reason?
Yeah.
The thing was, Roman could already feel her muscles loosening with every steady, deep breath she took. She was drifting off to sleep right there in his arms, every soft curve of hers molded to each of his hard lines.
“This feels like a mistake—there’s no going back from here,” he murmured, hoping Karine would still hear him.
She didn’t.
She was already asleep.
NINETEEN
It wasn’t often that Karine woke up from a dreamless sleep—when she knew her consciousness was returning. It lapped softly against the edges of her brain, but no matter how much she tried, she couldn’t remember if she’d dreamt through the night. She must have had one. Usually dark, and depressing, they left her with a bad feeling when she woke up.
Not something she could explain.
Something that just ... was.
She was rarely able to make sense of the dreams when she had them, and almost always, they involved a little girl whose face she couldn’t remember. A hazy, distorted image that wasn’t at all right. But the voice of the little girl always sounded like her.
Like Karine.
Karine blinked fully awake, faced with the dark ceiling above her. The moonlight—so bright only a few hours ago when she fell asleep—had now faded. And the darkness wasn’t so dark anymore, either.
For a moment, she was ignorant. Lost in the space between sleep and waking, waiting for it all to come back like it sometimes did. She couldn’t remember where she was, if she was alone, or even what happened the previous night—but then it came rushing back to her. All at once.
Roman.
The willow tree.
She was daring enough to invite him to her room. The memories flooded in one after another. His hands on the veranda’s railing, and the way his athletic, muscular body had easily swung over to land right in front of the curtains where she could see him through the sheer, billowing fabric.
Then, his mouth was all over her. That kiss—explosive, and overwhelming. Above all, it was the thing she remembered the most. It came back fast, and easy. She could still feel his lips devouring hers, even.
Karine had reached for him again, long after they had finished, but she couldn’t remember actually falling asleep.
Feeling around her sheets in the dark, she already knew he wasn’t there with her. Touching Roman had instigated a very specific warmth inside her—a sense of safety. Something she no longer had because the bed was cold.
On the bedside table, the small digital clock showcased numbers that read three-thirty-one.
In the morning?
Karine blinked at the time.
Rubbing her eyes with her knuckles, she tried to push out what remained of the sleep. Even though she couldn’t have slept very long, she was still well-rested. Like she had been sleeping for days.
Given the state of her life lately, that wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility.
Yet, she wondered ...
Was it Roman—had it been his presence that let her sleep so well?
Movement in the doorway had Karine raising up to her elbows to see the figure standing at the bedroom door. A light had been switched on in the hallway, allowing a wash of color to spill over his wide shoulders, casting him in a dark silhouette. She couldn’t actually see his face, but she knew it was Roman all the same.
Felt it in her soul.
He was naked but for his underwear. Karine, stretched out on the bed and covered flimsily by a sheet, shifted a bit to soothe the distinctive ache that settled between her legs. And the tingle spreading outward from her belly. Just his presence was enough to invoke a reaction she had never experienced for a man before.
Roman had taken her in a way that made her want more—she bet he knew exactly what to do to keep her wanting it, too.
She opened her mouth to ask him to return to bed, his name already on her lips, but he took one step in her direction and she fell silent.
What happened?
“What the fuck is this, Karine?” he growled.
Suspicion coated his every word, before she even had a chance to look into his eyes. There was so little light around them, and since she had no idea what he was talking about, she reached for the bedside lamp and flicked it on.
Roman came to stand at the foot of the bed with his bare feet planted wide apart. His shoulders, and every muscle of his body, seemed coiled and clenched. Ready to spring at any moment—another sign of his anger that she didn’t understand.
It was the item in his hand that had her straightening higher in bed, pulling the sheet up around her to keep her breasts covered.
“What is it?” she asked, confused.
“That’s what I’m asking you. What is this? What is it doing here, Karine?”
She eyed the item he held warily. “A notebook?”
“It’s a sketchbook.”
That accusatory tone of his felt like a slap, especially when she didn’t have the first clue why he was leveling it on her. What did a fucking sketchbook have anything to do with what happened last night, and why she woke up at three in the morning to find him gone from her bed.
Hell.
Karine should be the one asking questions. “I don’t know. Where did you find it? I haven’t seen it before.”
Instead of answering her, he started flipping through the pages of the sketchbook. She couldn’t see whatever was inside from where she still caught a few glimpses of colors on the pages despite how fast he went through it.
The whole time, Roman glared.
At each page.
He scrutinized the images closely—like they meant something to him, and he had a personal connection to what was staring back at him. She couldn’t quite the same.
Still watching him in silence, an uneasiness settled deep inside her. It wasn’t that she was afraid of him, or what he might do. For the first time, she wasn’t afraid of a man.
Well ...
This man, anyway.
He had looked at her in a way that said he would never hurt her. And yet, Karine couldn’t put a finger on why all of this felt so wrong.
“You’re telling me you don’t know where I found it?” he snapped, the question raking over her skin. Like hot coals searing lines down her body. When he turned his eyes to her again, she found fire staring back. It burned from where she sat on the bed, still lost to what was happening.
“That’s what I’m telling you,” Karine replied, trying desperately to keep her voice level. She hadn’t done anything to warrant the way he was treating her. “I don’t know what it is, or why it matters.”
“I found it under your bed, Karine. I almost tripped on it when I got up to go for a piss. It was right there.”
She looked at it again, her brow furrowing. He brandished the sketchbook in the air like a sword, daring her to deny what he was saying. Despite not knowing what the sketchbook was, what it held, or why it had been stuck under her bed, simply looking at it caused a swell of emotions that she couldn’t explain.
All bad.
It drowned her.
The confusion was heaviest, and most prominent. Except it was best friends with the disgust that filled up her stomach with nausea the longer she stared at the item he held. It was the fear climbing up her spine simply because he had the sketchbook that concerned her the most, though. All of those warring emotions—all at the same time, too.
Why did a sketchbook have that effect on her?
Karine didn’t know, and she didn’t care to find out. Not tonight, certainly not when everything else had been so perfect. Just like everything else in her life that didn’t make sense and scared her, she wanted to hide it away and bury it as deep as it would go—wherever it would go.
Those details didn’t matter.
It just needed to leave.
Now.
“Roman, please—can you put that away?”
Her tone remained calm.
She was anything but.
“Who is Katee?” he asked instead.
Karine shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“Come on. You need to trust me, and tell me the truth.”
What was he talking about?
Stepping closer, Roman flipped through the pages—his hands a manic frenzy—until he seemed to find the one he was looking for.
“You don’t know who this is?” Roman asked, turning the sketchbook around to force her to look at the image. Karine’s stomach seemed to cave when she had no choice but to face the picture. Someone had drawn a young girl’s face in angry strokes with a lot of different colors. However, there was no mistaking who it was—her. “A self portrait, maybe?”
His burning glare remained locked on her while she found that she couldn’t look away from the drawing.
“That is you,” he added firmly when she didn't reply.
She glanced up at him, water filling her eyes and her lips parting slightly, the urge to cry out for help welling within her. Somehow, she shoved it back down long enough to utter, “I don’t know who drew that.”
“Karine.”
“I don’t!”
Roman shot her another stinging, fleeting look, muttering, “And this?”
He flipped over to the next page, and what she saw there made her wince. It was a picture of a man. Undeniably Dima, but with exaggerated facial features like a caricature from a cartoon, maybe. It was drawn in the same style as the previous portrait with varying colors, except this one had been violently scribbled and scratched over. Possibly with nails and crayons to the point that the page had torn in several places.
The anger and pain radiated from the page—bleeding into the lines and colors, evident in the wear and tear.
“There’s no way you don’t know who drew this, Karine. It was under your bed. You know who Katee is—you can tell me.”
Roman’s voice dripped with bitterness, but he still tried to soften it. He wanted her to trust him with the information he apparently had, except she didn’t have the answers.
