So that’s what he’d done and now he sat there, his breath sawing in and out, the air around him saturated with the scent of her perfume and the delicate musk of her arousal. Her back was still bowed, her white-blonde hair in a riot down her back, the perfect curves of her bare breasts rising and falling in time to her own breathing.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her and he was so hard it almost physically hurt. But he made himself take it slowly, leaning forward and tightening his arm around her waist, holding her close as he pressed his mouth to the damp skin of her neck, allowing himself a single taste to calm his own desperation.
Yet the salty/sweet flavor of her skin did nothing to calm anything. It flooded his mouth, reminding him of how starved he was. How much he wanted to bury himself inside her and cover himself with her heat.
Fuck. He always wanted more, that was his problem. He was always hungry, never satisfied. When he was a kid, his father had been distant and detached, regarding his oldest son’s neediness as a weakness. Be an island, he’d told Lorenzo. Be hard. Be strong.
But Lorenzo had always found that difficult. He could never manage the detachment his father wanted from him, and that had made him angry. Made him headstrong and rebellious.
His mother at least, had given him the attention and love he hadn’t gotten from his father. Until he’d demanded too much from her and then she’d pulled away from him, too.
No one survives the demands you make on them.
He gritted his teeth as he pulled away the white silk binding her wrists and she relaxed with her head on his shoulder, trying to ignore the thought as the warm weight of her settled down into his lap. Then he made himself sit slowly back against the chair, cradling her.
He’d managed to control himself for her. He could keep doing it for himself, too.
She made a husky contented sound and every muscle in his body drew tight as she shifted slightly, nuzzling against his neck.
“I think you must be magic,” she murmured, her breath against his skin. “No one’s ever made me feel like that before.”
He knew he shouldn’t look at her, that one glance into her glowing blue eyes might compromise his control utterly, yet he couldn’t help himself. Because of course he wasn’t magic. He was an asshole who’d lost his temper and treated her like crap. Who’d judged her and hurt her.
Her cheeks were a deep rose, her mouth full and red from where he’d kissed her. But the look in those amazing eyes of hers . . . heat and wildness and electricity, all unguarded and laid bare.
She doesn’t know what you really are.
As if to illustrate the point, her forehead creased. “Are you okay?” She lifted a hand to his face, her fingers brushing his cheek bone in a gentle caress. “You look sad.”
That touch, along with the question, jolted him all the way to his soul.
No one had asked him that in a very long time, and certainly no one had touched him so gently, not for years. Something inside him shifted in response, one of the ropes that kept his hunger leashed fraying, the threads breaking.
Katie was the last person who asked you that question.
A pale curl slipped over one shoulder as she trailed her fingertips along his jawline, slowing as they brushed along the curve of his lower lip, sending an arc of electricity straight to his aching cock. There was concern in her eyes, a concern he fucking didn’t deserve. “Lorenzo? What’s wrong?”
A terrible urge gripped him then. He wanted to tell her things he’d never told another soul, about Katie, about what he’d lost and how it was his fault. Tell her he understood her burdens because he carried the same ones. Then he wanted to lose himself in her body, in her heat, forget the grief and weight of those burdens, forget his control, for a little while at least.
But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. Those urges were selfish. He’d be using her to make himself feel better, exactly the way he’d used Katie to make himself feel better. About his mother’s descent into drink to block her pain and his father’s emotional unavailability.
Katie’s love had been a comforting fire, warming him up.
But Kira . . .
She’s a fucking bonfire and she’ll burn you to ash if you let her.
That was the problem though, wasn’t it? Because there was a part of him that wanted to burn. The emotionally stunted part of him who’d been hungry for a single kind word from the man who’d given him life. And who’d never gotten it.
“John Donne was mistaken,” his father had told him when he was ten years old and crying, because the old prick had missed his birthday for the third year in a row. “A man should be an island. A strong man shouldn’t need anything from anyone. Are you going to be that kind of man, Lorenzo? Or are you going to be a needy little bitch? Because I have no time for needy bitches, son. I’m already married to one.”
Lorenzo slid his fingers around Kira’s wrist and held on, looking down into the deep, intense blue of her eyes. “Nothing’s wrong.” His voice was harsh, grating, but he made no attempt to soften it. “You haven’t eaten. You must be hungry.”
A blue spark leapt in her gaze in another of her quicksilver mood changes, from concern to annoyance. “I’m not hungry, and you’re still being an asshole.”
“I’m not—”
“Yes, you are.” She shifted on him, sitting up so she was facing him once more, her thighs spread on either side of his, the movement of her bare body in his lap pressing against his aching cock, making him hiss through clenched teeth.
At the sound, the flickering spark in her eyes intensified, became something hotter. “I’m naked. I’m naked in every way. But you’re not.” Her hands lifted to the collar of his shirt, fingertips grazing his skin as she slipped open the top couple of buttons. “You could be naked with me.” Her voice had dropped to a soft murmur, the tips of her delicate fingers brushing his throat. “Just for tonight.” Another button undone, then another. “I won’t tell anyone your secrets and I know you have them, Lorenzo.” Those exploring hands had parted the fabric of his shirt, and they were on his chest, touching, stroking. But she wasn’t looking at what she was doing. She was looking right at him. “You didn’t used to be so cold. You didn’t used to be so cruel. I remember all those paper cranes I used to show you. You were patient with me. You were kind. So what happened?” She undid the last button, her hands sliding over his chest, over his abs, making all his muscles tighten in response, her blue eyes inescapable. “What happened to you?”
A kind of shock pulsed through him. He hadn’t expected her to remember those moments he’d sat with her and anyway—patient? Kind? He hadn’t been like that at all. He’d been angry. Arrogant. Selfish and entitled.
She must have seen his expression, because her mouth curved in the kind of smile that felt like a sweet burst of summer heat. “You think I didn’t remember? Come on, you must have known how into you I was.”
Kira, always at the door whenever he arrived at the Constantin household. Kira, pulling at his sleeve, wanting to show him the latest paper crane she’d folded. He’d never understood her obsession with them back then. Never understood her obsession with wanting to show him either.
“Kira—”
“You liked my paper cranes, Lorenzo. You told me I was good at folding them. No one ever told me I was good at something before, but you did. And you never got impatient with me, never told me to shut up. You always listened.”
Her fingers stroked over his skin, and he was so hard he could barely think.
You don’t have to say a word. Fuck her. That’ll distract her.
Yet he made no move, his gaze caught by her blue eyes, by the intensity in her lovely face.
You could be naked with me . . .
There was a pressure inside him, building and building. A pressure that had to be released somehow and even though every part of him wanted to open his pants and shove himself inside her, he still didn’t move.
“I lost someone,” he heard himself say, even thou
gh he hadn’t meant to speak. “Years ago. I lost someone, and it was my fault.”
Shock flickered over her face, to be replaced by an expression so full of sympathy, it felt like his soul was slowly being torn in two. “You’re not talking about your mother this time, are you?”
Everyone had put his grief down to his mother’s death, and he’d let them, because he’d been grieving her, too. “No. Though . . . Mom’s death was part of it.”
Kira lifted both hands and cupped his jaw. “Who did you lose, Lorenzo?”
He wanted desperately to pull away, because her touch only added to the agony. But he couldn’t make himself do it. It was as if he needed her fingers on his skin in order to go on. “Katie.” Grief and pain leaked into the name even though he tried hard not to let it. “Her name was Katie.”
Kira blinked, her expression turning distant. “Katie . . .” she echoed softly. “Was she the woman you met at Bryant Park?”
At first, he didn’t understand. “What?”
“I saw you.” Kira ‘s thumbs stroking along his jawline in an absent movement. “Years ago. I think I was . . . fourteen maybe? I saw you in the street, and I followed you because I . . . Well, I don’t know why, I just did. And you ended up in Bryant Park, and I watched you meet a woman.” She focused on him all of a sudden. “You looked at her like she was the most amazing thing on earth, and I . . .” She stopped.
Jesus Christ. He remembered that day. He’d met Katie for lunch after their first night together, and he hadn’t been sure she would come. But she had . . .
And Kira had been there. She’d seen them.
“No one knew about her,” he said. “No one knew I was seeing her, and I didn’t want anyone to know, not until I was ready.”
“Why?”
“Because Dad manipulated people, used them to get what he wanted. And I didn’t want him using Katie. She worked at a cafe near the DS Corp. Tower. I used to go there every morning and she’d make my coffee and talk to me. She wasn’t intimidated at all by me and I liked that.” He could hear his own voice getting quiet, the warmth of those happy memories coloring the words. “I asked her out eventually, and she said yes. We saw each other a lot. She . . . was so generous, so open. Warm. Being with her was like sitting outside in the sunshine.”
The look in Kira’s eyes flooded with concern, with sympathy, with a shared pain. “Oh . . . Lorenzo. I’m so sorry.”
He should have stopped then, but for some reason, he couldn’t. “I wanted to marry her. I’d gotten the ring, and I was all set to ask her. And then . . . my mother died.” He couldn’t bear to add that that had been his fault, too, so he didn’t. “I was upset. So I called Katie because I needed . . . someone. She was crossing the street right outside my apartment when a car hit her. It was dark, the driver just didn’t see her.” He could still remember the sounds of the sirens, getting closer and closer, the lights flashing through his windows. He’d thought the sirens would pass by, but they hadn’t. “She was killed instantly.”
Kira’s tracing fingers on his jawline became gentle, but this time she didn’t speak. She simply stared at him, sympathy in her electric blue gaze.
“It was my fault,” he said. “I shouldn’t have called her. I should have left it until the next day. But I didn’t. I didn’t mention Mom right away when I called because I didn’t want to say it over the phone. But then Katie said that she was tired and wasn’t feeling well, that she was going to get an early night and could we leave it till tomorrow. I said no. My mother had died, and I needed her. So of course she came.”
Again, Kira said nothing. She didn’t tell him that it wasn’t his fault. She knew that didn’t matter. What mattered was the feeling of responsibility, and words never eased that burden.
Yet there was understanding in her eyes, a shared acknowledgement of the pain they both carried.
A silence fell and he didn’t break it. He’d come to the end of what he had to say.
Her thumbs moved on his skin, stroking him. After a moment, she slid one hand around to the back of his head, her fingers curling into his hair. Then she lowered her head slowly, staring at him, and he knew what she was offering him. He read it in her eyes.
The time for talking was over. But there was something else that could distract from the hurt, at least for a little while.
She closed the distance between them, her mouth settling over his.
The kiss was like a tank of gas thrown over the bonfire of his smoldering desire, making it leap high and burn hot, making need wrap a hand around his throat, choking the life out of him.
Lorenzo gripped her, his fingers pressing so hard into the soft flesh of her hips he’d probably leave marks. And he kissed her back, his tongue sliding along hers, tasting and exploring her the way she was tasting and exploring him.
Her hand in his hair tightened, gripping him harder, her mouth opening wider, angling to kiss him deeper. And, ah, fuck, there it was. The rich, heady taste of her passion, her wildness, her electricity.
Fuck the grief. Fuck the pain. And most of all, fuck his control.
She was the fire, and he wanted to throw himself into the flames, burn so fiercely and so bright there would be nothing left.
Firming his hold on her, he surged up out of the chair, two strides taking him over to the table. Then he pushed everything on the tabletop off it with one powerful sweep of his hand. Plates smashed, glasses shattered, their meal scattered everywhere. Flowers were soaked in the champagne, the candles snuffed out from the water that splashed from the broken vases.
It was a mess and he didn’t give a shit. He just didn’t care.
He laid Kira down on the table, on her back, then he spread her legs as wide as he could and held them open. Keeping his hands planted firmly on the insides of her thighs, he bent his head and buried his face in her pussy.
She shuddered, her back arching, his name a strangled gasp. He could feel her desperate fingers reach into his hair again, but that was pretty much all he was conscious of.
Nothing else mattered but the heat of her, the taste of her. Salty and musky and so delicious he couldn’t think of anything else but wanting more.
He pushed his tongue deep inside her, relishing the heat and the sweetness, feeling her shudder, listening to her groan. Her fingers tightened as he licked straight up the center of her pussy with the flat of his tongue, pausing to tease her clit for a moment, before licking back down. Then pushing into her again, sliding his hands beneath her and tilting her hips so he could go even deeper.
She gave a sob, her hips lifting to meet the movements of his tongue, then panting out his name, over and over.
He lost himself. Eating her out like she was the best thing he’d ever tasted.
She came against his tongue, flooding his mouth, crying out into the night, but he didn’t stop because he didn’t want this to end. This time he used his fingers as well and nearly lifted her hips completely off the table as he wrung another climax out of her. He growled as she sobbed and shuddered, because it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.
It never was.
His hands were shaking as he lowered her back down on the table and wrenched open the button on his pants. Shaking as he yanked down his zipper. But he was too far gone to care.
He hauled her to the edge of the table and he didn’t wait, spreading her open with his fingers before thrusting hard inside her.
“Lorenzo!” Her voice was hoarse and ragged, her whole body trembling. “Oh my God . . .”
He didn’t answer. He couldn’t even speak, his mind blanking as the wet heat of her engulfed him, gripping him so firmly it was like she never wanted to let him go.
He shuddered as the sensation arrowed up his spine, and he was moving hard and fast because he couldn’t stop. He just couldn’t make himself stay still. Thrusting deeper, harder, gripping her hips to hold her down, to keep her in place as he drove himself inside her.
She called his name again, her hands reaching towa
rd him, and it was so good, but he wanted her closer. He wanted her pressed against the entire length of his body, pinned underneath him. He wanted to cover her, feel her writhe against him, have her panting in his ear, her teeth against his flesh, biting him in desperation. Giving him all her ferocious, wild passion, burning him alive.
Lorenzo stopped deep inside her, sliding his hands up the backs of her thighs, urging her to wrap her legs around his waist. Then he put his arms around her, holding on to her as he lifted her up and off the table, turning toward the daybed and striding over to it. Sweeping away the silk pillows, he laid her across it, following her down onto it, pinning her there on her back with his cock deep inside her and the weight of his body pressing her into the mattress.
Instantly she lifted her arms to him, winding them around his neck, her thighs wrapped tight around his waist, holding him to her. And her mouth found him, opening beneath his and letting the taste of her flood into him, ramping his hunger even higher.
He began to move, sliding out of her then thrusting back in, hard, deep, and savage, as if he wanted to drive her right through the mattress of the daybed. As if he could escape the past by fucking them both into unconsciousness.
He’d never let himself go like this before, never hammered himself into a woman like this, not giving a shit about control or restraints or lines or boundaries. Only wanting to get as deep as he could inside her.
She didn’t stop him. At first, she tried to match him, lifting her hips and ripping open the remaining buttons of his shirt, sliding her hands down his back and digging her nails into his spine. But he moved too fast and too hard, and he didn’t want to slow for her to keep up, so he didn’t, crushing her beneath him, pinning her so that all she could do was keep her legs wound tight around him, her nails scraping his skin and her panting breaths in his ear as he pushed harder and deeper.
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