“I understand,” he said. “You are afraid. And yet, do I not know you, solnyshko? Do I not understand what it takes to make your body sing? Do you think that I could have forgotten this?”
She swallowed the tears that threatened to spill free. “Five years is a long time. And you’ve had many lovers since.”
He put a finger under her chin, tilted her face up until one of those tears escaped and fell from the corner of her eye. “Not one of them was you.”
“Don’t say things like that, Roman,” she chided, needing to bring this back to ground she understood. To less emotional ground. “I might start to think you care.”
“I care about making love to you,” he said. “Nothing more. I won’t lie to you, Caroline, and tell you this is something it isn’t.”
“I have no idea what makes you think I’d want more,” she said, though her throat ached with emotion. “My, what an inflated opinion you have of yourself.”
If she expected him to take offense, he didn’t. He just kept watching her with those burning eyes. “Then what will it be? Pleasure? Or a lonely bed?”
She should choose the lonely bed. It was the safest option. And yet she was tired of the safe option. She’d been doing what was best for everyone except herself for a very long time. Though she couldn’t say that Roman was best for her, he was at least a choice she could selfishly make. And she wanted him. Terribly.
The only one who would get hurt this time was her.
“Kiss me, Roman,” she said, a shiver rolling over her. “Kiss me like you did earlier.”
He snaked an arm around her body and tugged her close. And then he dipped his head and took her upturned mouth as if it were a delicacy for him alone. He licked, sucked, teased and tormented—and she knew he hadn’t kissed her like this earlier. Not quite like this, with such heated intention. This was the kiss of a man who was in supreme control, a man who intended to strip her naked and take her body as if it had been made for his pleasure.
“Come,” he said roughly, taking her hand and leading her into the house. “I have to wash off this chlorine.”
He led her into the master bedroom, and then through the bath and outside to a shower that was surrounded by a tall wall but open to the night sky above. He shed the towel and turned on the taps. And then he dragged her under the water with him, fully clothed.
“Roman,” she gasped as the cool water plastered her silk pajamas to her skin. Her nipples beaded tight, and his thumbs flicked over them while he fused his mouth to hers once more.
The water warmed, but she no longer cared that it had been cool. She was anything but cold as flames licked into her. Her hands were free to roam his body, free to caress and cup and feel. It didn’t take her long to wrap her hands around him, around that hard, hot part of him she craved.
Roman groaned into her mouth, and she felt a surge of feminine power. For all his strength and hardness, all his ruthlessness, he couldn’t remain unmoved here. Not when it was the two of them and nothing but skin and heat and explosive passion.
His hands went to the front of her shirt, and then he was yanking it apart, buttons flying—and she didn’t care. He shoved the sodden mass off her shoulders. Her pajama bottoms soon followed, though she had to pull away and peel them off each leg before stepping into his embrace again.
Only she didn’t want his hands on her yet. She wanted to make him wild with need, wanted to taste him again. She slipped from his grip like quicksilver and sank to her knees in front of him.
“No,” he gasped—but she took him in her mouth before he could stop her. His entire body stiffened as he grabbed the shower wall. Water poured down over them both while she licked her tongue up and down his length. He was hot and hard and satiny—marble sheathed in silk.
“Caroline, solnyshko, nyet,” he said, as she wrapped a hand around him and squeezed.
But she wouldn’t stop. The only way to do this, the only way she could do this, was to make him lose control first. Because she knew, if he had his way, she’d be writhing and sobbing and begging him for more.
This way, he was the one who begged. He was the one who needed and gasped and lost himself in her. She was relentless, licking and sucking him until he cried out, until his body jerked and he spilled inside her. She took him all, took everything he had to give, and then he shuddered before sinking to his knees and facing her there on the thick tiles.
“That wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen,” he said, his breath whooshing out of him as if he’d just run a marathon. Caroline went to him and pressed her body fully against his, wrapped her arms around his neck. She loved the sensation of her naked flesh against his naked flesh, of the heat and hardness and slippery feel of the water.
“I didn’t realize there were any rules,” she told him.
He laughed, the sound rusty and breathless. “If there were, you have just broken them all.”
* * *
It didn’t take Caroline long to realize that she hadn’t won a thing by making him lose control first. No, if anything, she’d guaranteed her sensual torture at his hands. He began by soaping her body slowly, thoroughly, his clever fingers slicking over her breasts, her nipples, pinching them softly until she wanted to scream.
Until she was so sensitive she knew she would fly apart the instant he did it again.
Except that he didn’t. He left her breasts and moved his big hands down her abdomen, over the faded marks she’d earned carrying her baby. He paused only momentarily there, and it made her heart ache. What was he thinking?
But then he moved on and she couldn’t remember what she’d been wondering. He slid one broad hand around to cup her bottom, kneading her buttocks. And then he turned her in his arms until she was facing away from him, until her back pressed into him—and the evidence of his arousal made her gasp.
“Already?”
“I am a man of many talents,” he murmured in her ear. “And you have much to answer for.”
Caroline shivered in response as he sucked her earlobe into his hot mouth. And then he parted her, his fingers sliding against her, around the sensitive nub she most wanted him to touch. He traced her shape—slowly, deliberately—while his penis pushed insistently against the small of her back.
“Roman,” she gasped when his thumb skated over her clitoris. Her entire body clenched in response, aching, wanting, needing.
“All in good time, angel moy,” he said. “All in good time.”
His mouth was on her throat, her shoulder, his tongue hot and wet against her flesh, his lips firm. His teeth nibbled here and there until she was panting with frustration.
“Are you planning to actually touch me? Or are you too spent and just pretending?”
His laugh was not what she expected. “So demanding, Caroline. I remember this about you. It turns me on.”
In response to her frustrated growl, he slid a finger into her body. His thumb skated over her again. And then again, his touch growing firmer each time. Caroline panted and writhed against him, wanting more. It had been too long, far too long, and he was going to kill her before she ever reached the peak.
“Roman, I’m begging you,” she finally choked out, when he skated over her clitoris again.
“I like it when you beg.”
“Please,” she said. “Please. I’ll do anything.”
He inserted another finger inside her. And then his fingers set up a rhythm, while his thumb moved against her. Her body, already so sensitive, coiled tight, tighter than she’d thought possible—and then she shattered into a million pieces, sobbing his name, her body breaking apart in a way it hadn’t in five long years.
He held her while she shook, held her when her body went limp against him, kept her standing when she would have fallen to her knees the way he had done.
She realized he was speaking in Russian, saying things in her ear that sounded so beautiful, but she had no idea what any of it meant.
“Gorgeous,” he said, switching to Eng
lish. His accent was thicker now, and she shuddered with the way the heavy vowels dripped down her spine. So elegant, so mesmerizing.
“I think I should say thank you,” she said, when she could speak again. “I needed that very much.”
He turned her in his arms and reached for the tap at the same time. The water ceased flowing and they stood there staring at each other in the glow of the wall lamps.
“Don’t thank me yet,” he told her. “Because this is far from over.”
They dried off quickly, and then he swept her up and carried her into the bedroom, despite her protests that she could walk the short distance herself. She pressed her cheek to his shoulder, her face against his neck, and smiled to herself. Caveman, she wanted to say.
And yet she loved it. Loved the tenderness and care he showed, as if she were a precious and fragile thing that needed his strength.
When he laid her on the bed and came down on top of her, the fire spinning up in her belly danced out of control again. She reached for him, arched off the bed to press her mouth to his skin, but he pushed her back with a firm hand.
“Not this time,” he told her.
He was too quick for her grasping hands, slipping down her body and spreading her thighs apart, his mouth leaving a hot, wet trail along her torso that made her shiver with delight. She knew what he was doing, knew how this would begin, and she didn’t think she would survive the sensual torture he intended to mete out.
When he settled between her thighs, she shuddered. He looked up, his eyes meeting hers for a long, intense minute. “You’ve been wanting this,” he said. “Needing it.”
She managed to nod.
He dipped to taste her, his tongue sliding along her cleft, making her cry out. She thought she would fly apart. His tongue—his clever, amazing tongue—began to lick into her with the consummate skill of a man who knew how to drive a woman mad. He knew exactly how much pressure to apply, exactly where to press the point of his tongue, and for exactly how long.
He knew when she was close, and he moved his attention away just long enough for the pressure to subside. And then he would return, building the pressure again and again, until she nearly sobbed.
Caroline writhed on the bed, tormented by pleasure, by the need for release—and the certain knowledge that she’d never feel this way with anyone else ever again.
“Roman,” she gasped as the spring inside her tightened yet again—
And then she flew free, gasping his name, her back arching off the bed, her hips pressing against that clever, clever tongue.
When she came back to herself, he’d moved until he loomed over her, until she could feel him pressing at her entrance. She drew her legs up high, and then he hooked an arm under one knee and spread her wider, his body now insistently pressing forward.
She tilted her hips, urging him faster, but he swore softly. “I am trying to be gentle,” he told her.
“I don’t want gentle.” She sounded almost petulant, and so very needy.
“I think you need gentle, at least to begin with.”
“Roman—”
“Shh, my darling. Just feel. Feel what we do to each other.”
Caroline ran her hands down his sides and gripped his buttocks, pulling him toward her as she lifted her hips. His breath hissed in, and she laughed, thrilled to know he wasn’t as precisely controlled as he claimed.
“You play with fire,” he growled.
“Now,” she said in his ear. “Right now.”
He lifted her toward him and sank the rest of the way into her body with a groan. Caroline cried out at the sensation of having him fully inside her again. He was big and hard, and yes, her body wasn’t quite as prepared for his invasion as she’d thought after five long years.
“Are you okay?” he asked thickly.
“I will be.”
He swore and started to withdraw, but she clamped her legs around him and held on tight.
“Don’t you dare, Roman.”
“For God’s sake, stop moving,” he ground out.
Rebelliously, Caroline shifted against him again, sensation streaking through her as she pressed his hardness deep within her.
“Caroline, I can’t—”
She moved again, more desperately this time—and his control snapped. Suddenly, he was everywhere, slamming into her body again and again, harder and deeper and more intensely with every thrust.
Caroline cried out, but not with pain. The pleasure was too much, too intense, too hot and raw and bold. Roman gripped her hips and held her hard against him, his body riding hers, overwhelming hers—and being commanded by hers, as well.
Their naked bodies pressed into each other, their flesh slapping together with the powerful rhythm they set. Nothing existed outside this bed, nothing but the two of them and the feelings they called up in each other.
Ecstasy was so close, just within reach. Caroline was straining toward it, ready to soar over the edge—when Roman stopped moving. And then a light switched on. It was dim, but she turned her head away from the source, squinting against the sharp intrusion.
“I want to see you,” he said roughly. “I want to see your face when you come.”
It made her heart beat hard when he said that. It was as if he wanted too much, wanted not only her surrender but also her soul. She had no barriers left at this moment, nothing she could throw up between them to protect herself. She was exposed, raw, her body a creature of pleasure. Addicted to him.
If he sensed her turmoil, he didn’t show it. Instead, he dipped his head to hers again, kissing her softly, his tongue sliding into her mouth so sweetly she could have wept.
And then he started moving, more slowly, more deliberately, stoking the fires within them both until control was again impossible. This time, she could see the pleasure on his face, feel it rising in her belly, tightening everything within her, building to unbearable levels.
She flung her head back as her orgasm slammed into her. It clawed into her belly, her brain, her limbs. It tore her apart and left her writhing on the edge of madness, wanting more of the same, feeling she would never be whole again.
Roman followed her over the edge with a hoarse groan, her name on his lips, Russian words tumbling from him as his release slammed into him. Caroline turned her head against the pillow and sucked in a shaky breath as her entire world seemed to shift beneath her.
Soon, Roman rolled to the side, taking his weight off her. His body was still inside hers, still hard, and she moaned a little at the sensations that rolled through her simply from that connection.
He nuzzled her throat, his lips gliding along her skin, his damp hair against her cheek. She was spent, and yet she could feel new tension beginning to fuse into a ball of panic in her belly. What had she done? What kind of insanity was this, sleeping with the man who’d fathered her child, who was in her life again to take her stores away from her, and who had only ever caused her heartache?
Roman lifted his head to gaze down at her. There was a line between his eyebrows as he frowned.
“What is the matter, Caroline?”
She licked suddenly dry lips. “I should go back to my own bed,” she began.
“Nyet.” His voice was harsh. Commanding.
“I don’t want Blake to know—”
Roman swore and pushed himself away from her. Her body felt cold once the heat of him was gone, and she wanted to call him back to her. But she couldn’t.
She sat up and pulled the sheet up to cover her breasts. “I don’t know what this is between us, Roman. How can I explain it to Blake if I can’t even explain it to myself?”
He raked a hand through his hair. “Why would you need to explain this to your nanny? He is paid to take care of your child, nothing more.”
“He’s a friend. A-and he was Jon’s friend.”
Roman’s eyes were cold. “This is about your husband? About what his friend will think? My God, Caroline, the man has been dead for over a year. I don’t think
anyone can fault you for moving on with your life!”
She brought her knees up to her chest and put her forehead on them. “I don’t understand any of this, Roman,” she said. “I don’t know why I’m here with you. Why I can’t seem to resist you, though I know I should. There’s too much between us, too much pain and anger, and I feel like this can only end badly for me. For us.”
He came to her and pulled her into his arms. She went willingly—too willingly—and wrapped her arms around his torso, burying her head against his chest. She felt him sigh, and she closed her eyes, breathing in the clean scent of his skin.
“Maybe it won’t end badly,” he said. “Maybe this time will be different.”
CHAPTER NINE
Kazarov Leaves a Trail of Broken Hearts in His Wake; Caro Needs to Beware
ROMAN WOKE WITH a start sometime before dawn. He’d barely slept at all, and now he wasn’t sure what had awakened him. A dream, maybe. He threw his arm over his head and stared up at the ceiling. Beside him, Caroline slept, her soft breaths whispering in and out regularly. She’d curled in a ball—away from him, he noted.
But she was still here. He remembered what he’d said to her right before they fell asleep. That maybe it wouldn’t end badly this time.
He had no idea where that had come from. No, he didn’t intend for it to end badly for him—but he did intend for it to end. How it ended for her ought not to concern him.
Except, for a brief moment when he’d been holding her close and feeling her soft body next to his, trusting him, he’d never wanted it to end. He’d wanted to stay just like that, holding her and protecting her always.
Insane.
How could he feel any sort of tenderness toward this woman after what she’d put him through? He’d given her his heart—asked her to marry him—and she’d laughed at him. Pitied him, no doubt. Because he hadn’t been worthy of the great Sullivan blood.
For some reason, that hadn’t seemed to matter to him when he’d been buried inside her, feeling her excitement, giving her pleasure. Like a trained monkey, he’d wanted only to give her more of the same. More, so that she smiled at him and told him how good he was. So that she kept coming to him for her fix.
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