Page 36 of Ruin
Warm fingers against bare skin, sliding under the fabric to grip my hip with a pressure that sends heat pooling low in my stomach.
"You just commanded a room full of killers," he says. Low. Close. His mouth near my ear. "You made Marco Salieri shut up for the first time in sixteen fucking years."
"I know."
"And now you're going to tell me what you want."
I pull back enough to look at him.
His eyes are dark. Hungry. But waiting.
He's giving me the lead and we both know why.
Tonight was my coronation. This is the after-party.
I push him backward into his chair.
He drops into it without resistance.
I hike the dress up around my thighs and straddle him the same way I did the first night, knees sinking into the leather, except this time I'm not desperate. I'm not starving.
I'mdeliberate.
"I want them to hear me," I say.
His pupils blow wide. "The doors are closed."
"The walls are soundproof." I roll my hips. Slow. Grinding against him through the fabric of his pants. I feel him harden instantly. "But there are still people in the corridor."
His hands find my hips. Grip. Bruise. "Then I guess you'd better be loud."
I kiss him. Deep, slow, controlling the pace with my hand fisted in his shirt.
His tongue meets mine, and I bite down on his lower lip, not hard enough to split it this time but hard enough that he groans into my mouth.
I reach between us, unbuckle his belt, unzip and wrap my hand around him and stroke with a grip that's firm, deliberate, possessive.
His head falls back against the chair.
The cords of his neck tighten, and I press my mouth to his throat, tongue tracing the pulse that hammers beneath his skin.
"Tonight I proved I belong here," I murmur against his neck. I shift my underwear aside and sink onto him.
The sound he makes is low and broken and so raw it makes my toes curl.
I don't move, not yet.
I let the fullness settle, let the stretch burn, let him feel me around him without giving him anything else.
His hands tighten on my hips hard enough to bruise.
His jaw clenches. Every muscle in his body goes taut with the effort of not thrusting upward.
"Selene."
"Not yet."
I wait. Ten seconds. Twenty.
