He swallows hard and only slightly increases the pace. My hand moves to his forearm, and I squeeze gently.
Until a few days ago when he laid me on the bed, months had passed since I'd been intimate with a man, and my body seems to remember this desperately, making me forget who he really is. Forget that this man is the head of the Polish mafia. That his touches, however tender they are now, come from hands stained with blood.
And yet, when he touches me, when his lips explore my skin, I forget all of that. I forget that he's just another layer of danger I'm adding to my already complicated life. That this closenessto him is like dancing on the edge of a cliff, knowing I'll fall but unable to stop.
"I love how your mind tries to push me away while your body knows who you belong to," he says through clenched teeth, his gaze taking on a dangerous edge.
I'm pressed so tightly against him that it's impossible not to feel his erection touching my abdomen, and I have to swallow a gasp at how badly it affects me to see him like this.
"Damien, we don't have time." But my voice is weak.
Far too weak.
"Then come for me, Roxanne. Come for your husband. It's that simple."
His lips don't give me time to respond, and the moment his tongue touches mine, a too-loud moan escapes me. The sound that follows comes from him and shows me that I'm not the only one who feels there are too many layers of clothing between us.
His fingers continue to penetrate me, and when he intensifies the movement, his mouth moves to my neck and he bites me...hard.
I take a well-deserved gasp of air, and in that moment, my entire body locks up as I come. My walls clench around his fingers, and the sounds filling the room make heat rush to my cheeks.
Damien withdraws his fingers, dragging them over my slick skin, spreading the mess he’s drawn out of me until I’m trembling again. When he brings those same fingers to his lips and tastes me, letting out a growl, I’m certain my pulse doubles.
"Hmm, sweeter than any fantasy of mine. See you in the garden,slonko." And he leans down to kiss my cheek.
I'm too numb from the orgasm, from his gesture, that I know I stand there for two minutes, staring at the door he left through.
How the hell did I cave in less than ten minutes around him? This marriage is going to eat me alive. I just know it.
Over sixty people are milling about downstairs. Each table is decorated with Franklin tea flowers because my future husband somehow got hold of an entire truck full of them and made me coordinate where they should be placed.
I'm fidgeting at the entrance when suddenly two hands wrap around me from behind, and I jump.
"This is what happens when you don't visit me more often," Henry's voice rings out behind me.
"You scared me." But my voice is light and amused.
He makes me do a few spins, and his eyes shine with delight.
"You look divine,amorino."
My heart leaps in my chest because when he's near me, I feel my mother's presence. I feel like I'm not so alone.
I take his hand and have to remind myself not to rush my pace, to give him time to walk at his own rhythm.
I show him every detail, and when we reach the garden, I have to suck in air because everything is perfect.
"Wow, someone didn't spare any expense." His tone is amused, but I feel him tense.
My uncle lives in a modest house in Austin, has had the same car for ten years, and religiously wears a linen shirt I gave him when I got my first paycheck, so I understand why in his eyes this location is overwhelming. It would be for most people.
I look for Damien, but my eyes land on Roman, who, sensing my gaze, turns and comes toward me, leaving the man he was talking to hanging.
His eyes narrow in my uncle’s direction, and taking a step in front of Henry, he extends his hand.
"Roman Borisov."
"Henry, Roxy's uncle," he responds, swallowing hard, and I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes because Roman has activated his "I'm the head of the Russian mafia and can break your legs with a thought" side.
