Her back arched.
A current zinged through her body, making her toes curl in her heels, the scent of her own arousal wafting up to her, making her even wetter. One of his hands circling the front of her neck, the other plowing into her folds expertly, his eyes holding hers captive.
Morana realized in that moment how much control he was exerting over her, how much control she was giving him. And with the realization came a wave of hatred and rage. Her body might betray her, her mind wouldn't.
Removing one hand from the counter, resting her weight on the other palm, she placed it right over his bulge, gripping it like he was gripping her neck, squeezing once. His hips thrust towards her sharply, barely missing the edge of the counter as his eyes flared with temper. He knew what she was doing. He'd made her vulnerable. She'd made him. Bingo.
His fingers never penetrated her, just kept circling round and round, completely avoiding her nub, just straying around her opening, sending currents of pleasure and such deep, utter need through her she would have begged had it been anyone else. She barely controlled anyways, biting her lip to keep the whimper of need from escaping, refusing to give him the satisfaction.
Her fingers tightened over his length in response, and a low sound rumbled in his chest, barely heard because of their proximity. Had he been anyone else, she would have taken a moment to admire the control he had over himself. He felt big in her palm, bigger than her hand, bigger than she could hold all at once, and her walls clenched with desire as hunger for flesh gnawed at her. Her breaths came out in soft pants as her heart thundered, completely beyond her control now.
And he stopped.
Removed his hands.
From both her neck and her folds.
She'd kill him, truly kill him, if he stopped now.
He removed his wallet from his pocket, his fingers glistening with her essence, the sight of her own desire on his rough digits, the realization that his fingers had been there, sending another wave of unchecked heat through her body. At this rate, she would combust before he even got inside her.
He pulled out a condom, tearing the wrapper with his teeth. Morana didn't look down as he unzipped his trousers. Neither did he.
And suddenly, before she could take another breath, his hand came back to her neck, this time the back of her neck like it had at the penthouse, his other on the granite beside hers.
She felt the tip of his erection brush against her clit, and her breaths quickened, the realization that she was doing this, with him of all people, thrilling some deep-rooted part of her. She wanted this. She hated it, and she was mad at herself for it. But she needed this.
She needed him to rut against her and make her explode, not like a bomb but like a woman, so, so badly. God, she needed to scream her lungs out as he fucked her like his eyes promised every single time he'd looked at her, like they had promised since they'd met. She needed to feel wanton, sexed-up. And she hated it. Hated that need. Hated him for making her need like a desperate maniac.
A rapid heartbeat passed.
And suddenly, he thrust inside, burying himself to the hilt in one stroke.
A cry left her mouth before she could stop it, the burning sensation, her own wetness lubricating him, his big size spearing into her depths in that one stroke, making her breath catch, her heart hammering as the pressure of his presence filled her. He pulled out before she'd even felt him completely, hitting back in, hard, without waiting for another breath. This time she bit her lip, hard, containing her cry of pleasure as sensations assaulted every inch of her skin, the fire rising to a crescendo inside her body as her breasts bounced once from his hard thrust.
He pulled out again before she'd even acclimated to his size, bending his chin down to his chest, hiding his face from her.
She deliberately closed her eyes, not wanting to remember his face when he felt every inch of her walls squeezing him like they were, her body unable to hide any reaction from his. She didn't want to see the gloating triumph or the smirk or worse, genuine pleasure. She didn't want to see anything but stars behind her eyelids as he pulled her apart.
He pulled out, snapped back again.
Currents traveled up and down her body, her breaths coming faster and faster, her heart beating wilder and wilder, the smell of sex and his woodsy scent filling the restroom quickly. She got wetter and wetter with every thrust, wetter than she'd ever been before, wetter than she should have been, barely containing her moans of pure bliss, her body going in a state of nirvana.
The sounds of their rapid breaths and barely contained sounds filled the room. Her blood pounded loudly in her ears. Her palms ached from being pressed so hard into the granite. Her back arched as her spine curved, legs hitching higher on his hips to get a better angle as he got into the rhythm of the movements, quick, fast, hard, his hand hard on the back of her neck the only other place he touched her.
And then another sound penetrated her lust induced daze.
A knock.
Fuck.
Her eyes opened, flying towards the door as he stilled, turning his neck towards the door as well, his erection completely still inside her for the first time, throbbing like an electric wire with a pulse. Her walls clenched tightly around him as she felt him completely filling her more than she'd ever been filled, so, so tight a fit she felt like a custom made sheath around his blade.
The knock came again, making her blink, making her realize where she was – in a restaurant full of people with weapons, men of the mob, and her father, his enemies, just a door outside.
Someone actually stood a few feet away, just separated from them by a thin wooden door. And she sat there on a counter, fucked up, with Tristan Caine throbbing inside her.
Holy expletives.
"Ms. Vitalio?" a man's voice penetrated her consciousness, making her eyes widen slightly on the door. "Your father has asked you to come out."
Oh lord.
She was close.
So close.
The door was close too.
Ah…
She saw Tristan Caine turn his face back towards her, his face blank, his eyebrows raised. Nobody seeing him would believe he was standing in a restroom, buried balls deep inside her, getting harder by the moment. What did the man seriously eat?
Her eyes locked with his, and he tilted his head to the door, telling her to answer silently.
She took a deep breath, an action that caused her inner walls to spasm around him, shooting heat up her spine.
And Tristan Caine pulled out suddenly, thrusting in just as hard.
Holy…!
Her mouth opened instinctively to cry out loud at the suddenness of the movement, and his other hand clapped over her mouth, muffling the sound. Her eyes widened on his, stunned.
Had he just covered her mouth? Actually covered her mouth?
Her father's man was right outside the door, waiting. Right outside the door. Was this man insane?
As though in answer, he snapped his hips into her sharply, the angle hitting a spot inside her that made her eyes roll back into her head even as sounds tried to escape her, muffled against his large hand. His pace increased suddenly, becoming more rapid than it had been, becoming faster than she'd thought a man could possibly ever move, becoming so quick he was in and out of her before she could even breathe.
If she'd been incoherent before, she was barely lucid now. The friction, the pressure of his hips pistoning into hers, the sheer thrill of being fucked while her father's man stood outside the door, her mouth covered and neck held made heat singe through her.