“Are you saying that you want to reintroduce sex into our dynamic?”
“Well, that just sounds like a business merger.” She rises onto her tiptoes and barely skims her lips over mine. “And there’s nothing sexy about a business merger. What you and I do to each other is fucking sexy, Carmine.”
I sigh, wanting nothing more in this moment than her. And in about six seconds, I’m going to have her.
But we need to get something straight first.
“There’s no pretense here, Nadia. No act.”
“It’s just you and me, who we really are, enjoying each other, Carmine. I know that.”
“Good.”
I don’t waste any time. I lift her against me and hurry to the bedroom. “If anything hurts—”
“Trust me, this doesn’t hurt.”
I grin and set her on her feet next to the bed. “Leave the shoes on.”
Her eyes are full of pure female satisfaction as she reaches behind her and unzips the dress, letting it pool around her ankles.
“Leave the necklace on, too.”
“Any other requests?”
I laugh and urge her back onto the bed. “No. Let me do the rest.” I take her right foot in my hand and kiss her ankle bone, right above the shoe. “Do you have any idea what these fucking shoes do to me?”
“Why do you think I wear them?”
She leans back on her hands, watching me as I kiss up her leg, then spread her wide and lick a wet trail from her inner thigh to the pink lips of her glistening pussy.
“You were always good at this.”
She sighs and lays back on the mountain of pillows as I take her on the ride of her life—all with my mouth. I lick and suck, then lick some more. I vary the pressure and speed, and when I push two fingers inside of her, she comes apart spectacularly.
“Good girl,” I murmur as I kiss up her flat stomach to her breasts. “I love your tits. You know that, right?”
“They never grew in.”
“Excuse me?”
She laughs and brushes her hand through my hair. “When I was young, I was desperate for them to grow so boys would notice me. Much to my dismay, they stayed small.”
“I see zero things wrong with these.” I brush my tongue over a hard peek and then kiss her neck passionately.
I fumble in the bedside drawer, find a little packet, and make quick work of protecting us. But before I can slide home, she pushes me onto my back and straddles my hips.
She always loved this position the best, and she’ll get no complaints from me.
She rides me hard and fast and reaches back to cup my already-tight balls.
“Fuck, Nadia.”
“Yes, fuck Nadia,” she agrees and clenches her core around me.
I don’t want to come yet, so I grip her hips in my hands, lift her, then shift our position so I’m behind her. Then, I push back inside. Her round ass is in the air, and I give it a loud smack as I fuck her from behind.
“God, Carmine.” She clenches the bedsheets in her fists and pushes back against me. “Yes.”
Three more hard thrusts are all it takes to have us both coming apart at the seams, crying out in ecstasy.
“Oh, God, I love this.”
She’s wearing a white hotel robe and nothing else, and we’re sitting on the terrace, a large tray of food on the table between us as she eats her weight in shrimp cocktail.
“I mean, just look at the lights.”
The New York lights are stunning. We’re not far from the World Trade Center memorial and can even see the lights of it from here.
“It’s a beautiful place,” I agree and reach for a taco. Tacos aren’t on the menu, but they made them for me tonight. “If you love it here so much, why don’t you live here?”
“Because I’m a Tarenkov,” she reminds me. “There’s no way the Sergis would allow that. Especially Billy. That little worm.”
She sips her chocolate shake and scowls.
“He did seem a bit angry with you today.”
She laughs at that and then switches from her shrimp to the dessert she ordered: crème brûlée.
“He’s a baby. Worse than Alex,” she says as an afterthought. “I would keep an apartment here in a heartbeat, but it’s not possible because of the family drama. The Sergis don’t trust us, and we don’t trust them either, truth be told. But once a year, I do come shopping. I send Mick an email, and he always replies cordially, giving me a four-day pass to spend some time here. It’s the best four days of my year.”
“This is still a free country, Nadia.”
She turns sad, blue eyes up at me. “Come on, Carmine. You know that isn’t true for people like us. Never has been. Men who claim to love us dictate our lives, but they wouldn’t hesitate to use us for personal gain if they saw the need arise. It’s a game we play every damn day of our lives.”
She eats more of her dessert.
“But you know what? I don’t want to talk about that.”
“What do you want to talk about?”
“I don’t want to chat at all. I want to lick what’s left of this crème brûlée off your penis.”
My eyebrows climb at the suggestion. “I’m not saying no.”
“I didn’t think you would.”
Chapter 7
~Nadia~
I wake up in the center of maybe the biggest bed on Earth, all of the blankets rumpled and in a pile in the middle, with me draped around them like the big spoon.
Carmine, however, is nowhere to be found.
I sit up and rub the sleep from my eyes. I’m sure I have mascara shadows under my lashes because I didn’t bother washing my face before Carmine carried me in here and had his way with me.
I grin and stand, feeling the pull of tender muscles. The soreness feels good, though, not at all like it did as I recovered from the attack. I feel good and sexed.
I pad naked into the living space to see if Carmine is reading the news on his iPad, but he’s not out here, either. So, I walk into the half-bath in the hall, use the restroom, and then find the white robe on the floor where Carmine let it fall, wrapping it around myself.
I journey back through the bedroom to the master bath and lean on the doorjamb with a grin.
Lounging in the white porcelain soaking tub is Carmine, up to his neck in sudsy water. He’s laid his head back, and his eyes are closed.
I cross to him and let my robe fall to the floor.
“Don’t you smell nice?” I murmur. He opens his eyes. They immediately warm, then travel the length of me. “Looks like there’s room for two.”
“Why don’t we find out?”
I grin and climb into the hot water, straddling his hips and rubbing myself against him playfully. “I didn’t peg you as a bath guy.”
“It feels good to soak now and then.”
I sniff the air. “Is that rose oil, I smell?”
“What’s wrong with a little rose oil?”
I lean over to bite his neck. “Like I said yesterday, you’re just a little high-maintenance.”
“I like luxurious things,” he says, but his voice doesn’t sound defensive. He’s simply stating a fact. “Whether that’s a private jet or a soak in a tub the size of Manhattan, it doesn’t matter.”