by Dani Collins
‘So glorious. So magnificent…’ Roman’s words were a continuation of the seduction his body was performing.
His hand swept around her neck, cupping her chin in his palm, and she couldn’t help but bend into it, taking his finger into her mouth where his tongue had been, sucking on him, consuming him in any way she could.
She felt him tremble behind her, the action sending fierce satisfaction through her to have this man as weak with need as she was. And then he turned her in his arms once again, to face him, a raised eyebrow taking in that power she felt, appreciating her own power, encouraging it even. The harsh slash of red across his cheeks speaking of his arousal, the ferocity of his gaze speaking of his need.
‘Will you let me give you this, Ella? For just this one night?’
She knew what he was asking. That, no matter how much of a villain she had painted him in her mind, he would not give what she would not willingly take.
And she did want to take it. She wanted to take him. All of him.
‘This will be the end of your thoughts and plans of revenge. I will grant you the divorce you wish for.’
Something deep within her rent apart. She knew, with more certainty than she had ever thought he’d loved her, that this was not a condition but a gift of sorts upon parting. It was this that would symbolise the removal of Roman from her life. Not a signature on a piece of paper, but one indelibly written on her body.
‘Yes.’
* * *
As if the leash had been loosened on the last threads of his restraint, Roman claimed her once again. His lips crashed against hers, his tongue, glorying in its freedom, pressed into the warm wet heat of her mouth.
If he’d known what she would be like beneath his touch, his kiss, he would not have been able to leave her untouched previously. Every inch of him was drenched with a need he’d never before experienced. He sought not to disguise the way his body trembled but to relish it as he realised that it fed her own desire, her own want. He had not lied when he’d promised to prostrate himself before her. Nor had he lied when he’d proclaimed he’d die a happy man.
His hands went to where his fingers had tripped over the zip as he’d caressed her body, pulling at the tab at the side of the dress and sliding it downward.
She stood before his gaze, unwavering. Only the pulse beating erratically at her throat, her cornflower-blue eyes almost black with desire, the flush across her cheeks speaking of how desperately she was clinging to her own control. And, bastard that he was, he wanted it gone, he wanted her completely at the mercy of her own desire. For if this was to be it, if this was to be their one and only night together before he signed the divorce papers severing their connection, he would give her everything she’d ever wanted in the way that her fiancé had never been able to.
‘Take it off,’ he commanded.
He saw the flash of defiance spark in her eyes, saw her internal war as she battled with his demand, battled with what she wanted and what she thought she should want.
He hadn’t lied when he’d told her that seduction was the giving and taking of power. And if Ella had even an ounce of an idea of how much power she wielded in that moment she would have used it to destroy him completely.
Her hands swept up to the straps on her shoulders and brushed aside the scarlet material. His gaze locked on to the acres of smooth pale skin it revealed as it fell from her body and she kicked it aside with feet still encased in the highest of red leather heels. Her perfect breasts were bare to him, nipples taut and deliciously teasing, as she breathed in deeply beneath his gaze. Her narrow waist flared at her hips, where the smallest of thongs remained to hide the last vestiges of her modesty.
Red. He would always see her in red. And suddenly the memory of the red cape he had bought to replace the one damaged on their first meeting flashed into his mind. But now was not the time for thoughts or fantasies of the past. Now was the time for taking.
He stalked towards her in one powerful stride and halted the moment she placed a hand between them, stopping him in his tracks.
‘Now you,’ she commanded with the power he thought she did not realise she could wield.
He inhaled quickly, sharply, impossibly aroused by her self-possession.
His hands went to the tie around his neck and levered it free, pulling at the silk and casting it aside carelessly. The more she watched, the more her gaze consumed his actions, the more want and desire raged within him. Slowly and deliberately he freed the buttons of his shirt one by one, pulling the cotton from his chest and toeing off his shoes.
When his hands grasped the buckle of his belt, he almost halted his actions, torturously delaying the moment, testing the limits of his self-control. For, no matter how self-possessed Ella appeared to be, he could not forget that she was innocent. That this would be her first time. But he would make sure that this night would be everything he could never give her in the cold light of day. Or any day from here on in. Because this was the last time he would see his wife.
A wife who, for all his protestations, he had manipulated, had coerced into doing his bidding. Well, now he would willingly do hers.
He drew aside the leather belt with a snap, slipping it through the loops holding it in place and tossing it aside. As he drew down the fastenings of his trousers, Ella turned away, once again halting his progress in an instant.
‘If you have changed your mind—?’
‘No,’ she said, bringing her gaze back to his.
‘Then see. See what you do to me,’ he demanded as he removed his trousers and boxers in one sweep and stood before her, more naked even than she. Bearing every caress of her gaze, proud and powerful beneath it. ‘I am yours to do with as you wish,’ he said. ‘You wanted your revenge, you wanted the loss of the innocence you claim to no longer have. You threatened to take some unworthy other. But I am here. The heart of your vengeance and most definitely worthy of it. So take me.’
As if he had given her permission to feel, to want, to have…she closed the distance between them and claimed his lips with hers. To be on the receiving end of such a kiss nearly undid him. Instead of wrapping her arms around him as he had expected, her hands went to his thighs, her nails digging in deliciously to the hardened corded muscle before they swept around to his backside, moulding, pressing, gripping and he allowed her to feast on him.
His hands reached for her hips, pulling her against him, the skin to skin full body contact stoking an already out of control fire between them. But while she took her pleasure from him, he wanted more. To give more. Picking her up, he marvelled at the slight weight of her in his arms. As she wrapped her legs around his waist, he maintained the kiss as he walked them through his apartment to the bedroom beyond.
With one arm still wrapped around her, holding her to him, he gently laid her back across his bed and took just one moment to capture the image, burying it deep within him, knowing that, as much as he might deny it, he would remember it for the rest of his life.
Pressing a trail of open-mouthed kisses from her neck to her navel, his hands traced down her sides and beneath her to her hips.
‘Do you trust me?’ he asked.
Her eyes locked with his. ‘No.’
An ice-cold shard cut through him, deep.
‘Do you trust me in this?’ he roughly bit out, knowing that he would stop if he needed to, but battling and raging against it.
‘Yes.’
‘Turn over.’
* * *
As he smoothed a hand down the length of her spine, Ella practically curved into his touch, still unable to account for why having him pressed against her back made her feel safe, made her feel secure.
She hadn’t lied to him. She might not trust him with her heart, but she did trust him with her body.
She felt kisses against her shoulders, a tongue against her skin sending shooting sp
arks to her nipples and between her legs. Her hands gripped the cotton sheets beside her and she wanted to both curl and unfurl into them at the same time. To protect herself against the onslaught of need he was creating and open herself up to it, to take it in, to relish nothing more than the passion that was burning between them. Her whole body ached with the desire for something intangible to her, throbbing and building, both wanting and fearing the dizzying incomprehensible need within her.
He gently pulled at her hips, her body moving, lifting to where he wanted her. She felt his hands part her legs slightly as she levered herself up on her hands and cried out in both shock and pleasure when she felt his tongue at her core.
The growl of his own pleasure made her wanton as he sucked on her, his tongue delving into her from behind, her heart almost stopping from sheer ecstasy. Her arms began to shake with need, her body overriding any sense or sensibility, pressing gently back against his mouth and when she would pull away his hand at her hip held her fast, refusing her the ability to hide from this, refusing to halt the insurmountable pleasure beating harder than her heart in her chest.
His hand stretched out across her body to grasp her own where it gripped the cotton sheets, the feel of his fingers intertwining with hers a touch that moved her deeply. An assurance that she had not known she needed.
He whispered in her ear, telling her in Russian that it was okay, that she could let go. But she didn’t know what she should let go of, clinging instead to the precipice of some unfathomable, undefinable point. The hand at her hip released her and she felt his knuckle against the soft throbbing core, wringing even more pleasure from her. But when she felt his finger thrust into her she fell, blindly and willingly, over the edge, while his arms held her, turning her onto her back, enfolding her so that she never hit the floor.
* * *
Watching Ella come apart in his hands had been almost indescribable. Almost, because Roman couldn’t halt the words taunting his mind—words like incredible, unimaginable, impossible—or the feeling of awe within his chest. But, more terrifying, was a feeling of humility—something he could afford to neither voice nor consider.
As Ella ran a shaking hand down the arm that held her, and further towards his hip and groin, his body flared beneath her touch, reigniting an almost painful want within him. But tonight wasn’t about him—it was about her.
‘What do you need?’ he asked her.
‘You.’
That simple declaration unfurled something infernal within him, a need of his own that he’d never before experienced. He reached to the bedside table and retrieved a condom, feeling her gaze scrape against his bare skin as he tore the foil casing. The weight of her eyes on him furthered his arousal as he rolled the latex over his length.
Her body, still damp from exertion, shifted beneath him, her legs unconsciously widening to make room for him. Only the slight hesitation in her eyes gave him pause.
‘Will it hurt?’
Not as much as the vulnerability in your eyes hurts me now, he thought.
‘Perhaps a little. For a moment. But I will do everything in my power to lessen it.’
She nodded, the uncertainty replaced with conviction and determination as desire overrode her concern. He picked up her hand, placing a kiss in the palm, a gesture he had never before given another woman. The smile on her lips cut him to the quick as her hand reached for his shoulder and drew him towards her with a kiss full of the trust she had offered him only for her body.
A kiss that quickly morphed into one of passion and need. Roman settled between her legs and gently, slowly entered her. He felt her muscles surround him, caught the hitch in her breath and stopped as she acclimatised to the feel of him within her. A slow exhale, slightly stuttered, burned him. He hated that he was causing her physical pain, piling it onto the emotional damage he knew he had caused.
All the hours of this evening he had seen her as worthy, never once really understanding that it was he who was not. Not worthy of the gift of her innocence, of her body. He braced his arms, looking down at her, watching as she began to settle into the feeling of him. Locking his gaze with hers, he saw nothing but wonder, awe—all open to him, offered to him. And, bastard that he was, he wanted to take it all.
He pressed further within her and she gasped, a pleasure-drenched sound that caught at his heart. Holding himself there, glorying in the feel of her around him, joined with her in a way he’d never imagined, he strained against the leash of his control. Even without moving he could sense her arousal beginning, reaching, spreading through her body into his. Her sighs turned into moans of pleasure, and still he had not moved. Feeling her body tighten around him, his own arousal teased and taunted by hers, was an indescribable pleasure he’d never before tasted. Beneath his stillness, Ella began to shift gently against him, drawing him into her own passion, seducing him towards his own orgasm, closer and closer, and still he had not moved.
Her moans became gentle cries, words no longer possible, simply the sounds of need and want passing between them. He held himself still as inexplicably he felt the roll of her orgasm build, enticing his own, both fearing and wanting the moment it would end.
His last thought, before everything came crashing down upon them, was that he had not moved. That they had both come together in a moment of stillness that changed everything.
* * *
The sound of the shower roused Ella back to consciousness. Sunlight streamed in from the uncovered windows, warming her skin in a way that felt inadequate to how she had felt throughout the night as time and time again they had reached for each other, losing themselves in a wanton sensual dream. A dream that she did not want to wake from. A dream that her body clearly hadn’t as it throbbed with want and need anew.
She turned onto her back, relishing the stretch of muscles, the gentle ache from where Roman had been between her thighs. As she reached for the covers, seeking the soothing caress of the cotton against her heated skin, she took in the sight of his room—the windows, the long bank of cupboards on the opposite wall, the side table. And her heart stopped.
The envelope she had brought with her the night before, the one that had been nestled within her handbag, now lay on the side table, the paperwork levered open, a yellow tab pointing alarmingly to the space where no signature had previously been, but now was.
The sight of the divorce papers nearly robbed her of breath. And suddenly she needed to leave. Needed to get her things and go. Wanted to hide, not only from the papers but from what had happened last night. She hated the feeling that coursed over her skin, leaving goose bumps in its wake. She hated that she felt the need to hide…again. Roman had been right. She had set out to get her revenge and only given him his.
CHAPTER SIX
If there had been a moment when the wolf could have turned back, could have changed his mind and left Little Red Riding Hood to her own devices, it was long since gone. He’d had a taste of her now. There was no going back.
The Truth About Little Red Riding Hood
—Roz Fayrer
ROMAN HAD HEARD nothing from Ella for three months since he’d emerged from the shower, breath locked tight in his lungs, knowing that she had left his bed, his apartment. His life.
He’d made himself retrieve the papers from where he’d seen them in her handbag. He’d signed them even as his hand had shaken from the most powerful encounter he’d ever shared with a woman. Signed them as he’d promised he would. But perhaps that was why. Ella wasn’t just any woman but his wife. Apparently she hadn’t been the only one to succumb to the fantasy he’d woven about them on his path for revenge.
At least that was what he’d told himself that morning—that his unacknowledged hesitancy at the time had been down to sensual shock. But in the days and months since then, that moment had intruded on his thoughts. It was the pause—most likely imperceptible if anyone had been looking on—
that taunted him. A heartbeat of a moment in which he’d seen a future, a whole lifetime of possibilities…
But each and every one of those possibilities required something from him that he was unable and unwilling to give. It had been a dangerous moment—poised on a precipice of temptation and damnation.
But he’d known then, and he knew now, that such a thing was impossible. Laughable even. As if he were or could ever be something other than what he was. The Great Wolf. The Lone Wolf.
And the sheer fact that it’d even given him pause was enough to put pen to paper, to punctuate his signature with a full stop that nearly broke through the page. But he could not deny that he’d begun to avoid his apartment. Avoid the memories of that one night as they gripped him from beyond the past into the present. A possessiveness he couldn’t shake had taken hold and every day he searched for the signed divorce papers in his mail, every day he looked for emails from her lawyers that he’d previously ignored—anything to sever a connection he feared he might never achieve—but none came.
Dorcas had resumed her sulk, seemingly betrayed by the scent of her mistress but the absence of her presence, and happily heaped the blame at his feet. Perhaps Dorcas would have been better off with Ella. It was a thought he couldn’t quite shake.
Nor could he seem to shake the almost constant state of arousal he was in. One night with his wife had not been enough to satiate the ragged beast within him, the one that prowled the edges of his mind as he had prowled the corners of his apartment in Moscow.
For three months since that night in Moscow, he’d barely been able to focus, to concentrate on what needed to be done for both his own business and the dismantling of Vladimir’s. And it was three months too long as far as Roman was concerned. Which was why he was now standing outside an unassuming apartment block in Paris. Because, more than anything, he wanted to draw a line under it all.
His fist pounded on the door, perhaps a little too harshly, but he refused to keep himself in check. Instead, he relished the fury coursing through his veins. The fury that was directed solely at himself. He never should have allowed it to happen. He never would have, but she had turned up at his business, at his home, and he’d signed his own fate the moment he said, ‘So take me.’
