Part 12 (1/2)

”Let. Go!” I said, tearing savagely.

”Not until we finish this conversation.” He tugged me closer. Close so that I could smell the musk of his aftershave, see the wild glint in his baby blue eyes, the way his pulse pounded in his throat.

I grabbed the loose knot of his tie, squeezing it so hard my knuckles went white. I couldn't believe the nerve he had, not letting me go, grabbing me like that. Looking at me with eyes so blue they should have been frozen but instead burned with an incredible intensity.

I don't know who pulled the other closer, me or him. Maybe it was both of us at the same time.

In any case, it came to the same result. One moment we stared each other down, the next I felt the heat of his mouth pressed against mine, his arm snaking around my waist to pull my body against his.

I kissed him just as hard as he kissed me, pulling his bottom lip between my teeth and relis.h.i.+ng the way he groaned when I bit down on him.

That fire inside me I'd mistaken for rage earlier was something else. Desire. My inner thighs burned with the heat of it.

”This doesn't mean anything,” I said, my chest and shoulders suddenly heaving as I gulped in air, trying to meet my body's increased demand.

My breath hitched in my throat when I felt how much he wanted me, too.

”Keep telling yourself that,” he replied.

”Just shut up and kiss me.” I grabbed the back of his head, my fingers squeezing cruelly when I pulled his face to mine again.

He wrenched my messenger bag off my arm and threw it to the other side of the room. Then he started tearing at my clothes. Rather, we began tearing at each other's clothes.

His jacket dropped into the flour dust on the floor, not caring about it one bit. He popped the b.u.t.ton on my jeans and then shoved his hands down the back of my pants, manhandling me, picking me up off the ground, his fingers digging hard into my a.s.s with the sudden ferocity of his desire.

Somehow, I had the presence of mind to reach out and swing the open door shut before inquiring eyes could see what all the commotion was about. More surprising, I remembered to throw the deadbolt into place as well.

But then all bets were off.

He had me stripped down entirely seemingly before I could blink again. His mouth found my throat, leaving a trail of hot, wet love nips that traveled down to the spot where my shoulder joined my neck, all the while trying to strip out of his own clothes.

It was like all those pent up feelings, all that angry and frustration, all chose that moment to burst out. And there was only one thing to quench that fire.

He managed to shrug and step and shake out of everything without dropping me. My legs fit so perfectly around his waist, and he held me there effortlessly.

I'd already thrown his hair into disarray, running my fingers through it as our faces moved this way and that while we kissed.

And then his mouth moved lower, enveloping one nipple so hot and erect it hurt. I sucked in a breath at the heat of his mouth, at the way his tongue rubbed against my sensitive flesh.

He wasn't stingy with his desire, either, moving from one nipple to the other, then kissing up between my heaving b.r.e.a.s.t.s. His lips moved up my throat, then found my mouth again even as he bore me down onto the bed.

It creaked alarmingly beneath us, but didn't give. Not that I think it would have mattered. We nearly beyond any sort of control by that point.

Every instant we spent not together tore at me. My need was real, palpable. Painful in its intensity. I nearly took him right then and there, and d.a.m.n the consequences.

He, somehow (I still don't know), pulled his mouth away from where he worried at the sensitive skin of my throat. ”Where?”

I managed the barest of nods towards my tiny nightstand which had somehow not fallen over when we fell onto the mattress.

My back arched beneath him, my body writhing and my hips grinding back against the mattress. Every instant without him inside of me was agony. Delicious, suspenseful agony.

He found the foil wrapper in the narrow drawer of the end table. Tearing it, he rolled the contents down his length.

Then I grabbed him and guided him inside of me, impatience demanding immediate action. He groaned at my touch, the noise deepening into a growl as he sunk himself into me.

My ankles locked at the small of his back, keeping him captive inside of me. My back arched again as he filled me, the feeling of it bordering on that razor line between pleasure and pain.

His arm shot around my waist, keeping me arched like that while his mouth again slid down to envelope one nipple and then the other. He sucked until I hissed, then moved to the other.

I ran my fingernails over his broad shoulder blades again and again, every tingle and shudder of pleasure he wrung from me makes me scratch him harder. He liked it, the strong muscles of his core slamming our bodies together again and again, pounding me into submission beneath him.

When I came I grabbed my pillow and stuffed it into my mouth, stifling the scream and the little groans and whimpers that followed.

Liam tore it away from me so that he could kiss me, riding me hard through my climax.

Given the intensity of our flaming pa.s.sion, it lived a short life. We writhed together until again every muscle in me began clenching as my second o.r.g.a.s.m wracked my body.

Liam lost control then, too, flinching at the intense pleasure of that moment, throbbing inside me again and again.

He rolled off me perspiring and shaky, his arm hanging over the side of the narrow bed. I was in worse shape, my toes refusing to unclench, beads of sweat rolling down from my temples, wetting my hair, darkening it with moisture.

”I think we understand each other, now,” he said.

”I think so,” I replied, rolling onto my side. He put his arm beneath my neck, and I rested my cheek against his chest.

Right away I heard it. Thump-thump, thump-thump. As strong and vital a sound as I'd ever encountered. Also comforting and real, so real. Liam was there with me.

Not the Mr. Liam Montgomery the world saw, the billionaire playboy who seemed to go through women like a scythe through wheat, or the Liam who'd taken the business world by storm.

No, none of the ones the public could claim familiarity with.

This was the real Liam, the one left when you stripped away all those facades. This was the Liam who'd tried to find the wisdom hidden in the bronze eyes of Marcus Aurelius, the Liam who'd held me while I shared the most painful experience of my life with him.

And this Liam was mine. Just as surely as I was his.

Chapter 10.

Isabella and I sat at one of the tables in the quad outside the building where I had a cla.s.s coming up in half an hour.

It was a nice day. Lots of sun. Slightly cool with the encroachment of fall. More a threat of coolness than an actual presence. The air even had those hints of the changing seasons in it.

Lately, over the past week, I'd found myself observing people more. Watching the way they interacted, the little intricacies of their lives.

The Romans around me, for instance, they seemed to be always doing one of two things: eating or arguing. Sometimes both at the same time. It was clear to me why so much history happened here, why so much art had been created on between, and around the city's seven hills.

They were a pa.s.sionate people, and they let it show. When I say they spent so much time arguing, I don't mean that as a criticism, either. They did it in a loving way, and more often than not those arguments ended in laughter, or food. Both, usually.