More Than A Vow. Michelle Reid

back, pulling her hips into his. In heels she was eye level with his mouth, and they both moaned with pleasure at how perfectly they fit together.

      The buzz sounded again from inside her purse.

      They broke away.

      She threw the clutch toward the sofa, missing. It hit the floor and slid while they stepped into tight contact again, lips meeting without hesitation or clumsiness. Her same distant thoughts of how and why penetrated, but she honestly didn’t care. He was the man who did this to her. She couldn’t turn away now that it had started. And there was no evidence of his trying to slow things down as his fingertips dug into her buttocks and he rotated to press her into the door.

      Oh, the weight of him felt good!

      Pushing into his thighs with her own, she incited where he was already hard.

      He ground back, making a growling noise as he drew back just enough to smooth the fine hairs from her neck, then nipped and nibbled his way to her bare shoulder. The action was both tender and feral, as though he was asserting his dominance but with gentle care, demanding her capitulation in the exposure of her throat to him, rewarding her with caresses that trickled delicious fire through her whole body.

      Threading fingers into his hair, she moaned his name, helpless to the onslaught of pleasure. Weak against the masculine power that didn’t need muscle to overwhelm her.

      “Feel what you’re doing to me,” he said, lifting his head and dragging her hand to his neck. Beneath her palm his artery pulsed in hard, rapid pumps.

      “Mine’s going to explode, too,” she said, drawing his hand to her chest, where her heart raced in such a rapid tattoo it alarmed her.

      He slid his palm lower, cupping her breast, watching as he plumped the swell and circled the tip with his thumb, nipple tight and straining against silk.

      Showers of delight glittered through her. She slid her hand to the back of his head and urged him to kiss her again.

      He did, once, hard, then lifted his head. “I want to do it right.” He clasped her hand, drew it from his hair so he could kiss her wrist. “I want to take our time and do it because we make each other feel so damned good. Stay with me.”

      It meant trusting him. Trusting that afterward he wouldn’t throw her out and ruin her life.

      Her stupid purse hummed, making her look past his shoulder with an anguished noise. When she tried to step away from him, he resisted letting her go. For one long second his muscles locked in refusal. Then he sucked in a breath and stepped back, hands up with frustrated surrender, shoulders hitting the wall next to the door as he accepted her rejection with a stoic face and a knock of his head into the wall behind him.

      Paris, she thought. And, Be nice.

      Looking back at Roman, at the way he’d lowered his eyelids to hide his thoughts but couldn’t disguise the way his mouth had gone flat with dismay, she shrugged off doubts and skepticism. All she could think was I want him.

      She walked over to kick her purse so it skittered under the sofa, then looked over her shoulder at him.

      He came off the wall, alert.

      Swallowing, she reached behind to begin lowering the zipper on her dress.

      As it loosened across her bust, his breath hissed and his chest swelled. He came across to help.

      She wanted to smile, but her gown puddled on the floor around her spiked heels. She hesitated, wearing only her bra and thong underpants, the vulnerability of the moment striking her with a sudden chill.

      The way he looked at her bolstered her courage, though. His gaze ate her up while he shed his jacket, then pulled at his bow tie.

      “Condom?” she managed to ask, trying to hang on to some shred of sense.

      His expression blanked, hinted at panic, then he reached to pick up his jacket and swiftly went through the pockets, coming up with his wallet. Showing her the two foil packets he removed, he pushed them into his pants’ pocket, dropped his jacket and chinned toward the opposite side of the room.

      “Bedroom,” he said in a graveled husk. “Or I’ll have you over the back of this sofa. You make me insane, Melodie.”

      Yet he looked completely in control. It strained her trust, made her wonder for a bleak second if she was being reckless again. But the idea that she might have some kind of ability to provoke him was incredibly exciting.

      She let her hips roll in a wicked sway as she walked ahead of him, providing what she supposed was a lurid view of her buttocks atop her long legs, but the thought made her feel sexy and desirable for the first time. With another twist of her arms behind her, she shed her bra as she went, leaving it on the floor, not turning around, smiling at the idea of teasing him.

      “You’re enjoying this,” he accused, not sounding the least bit displeased as he came up behind her next to the bed and caught her back against him, one firm, confident hand capturing her breast as if he owned it.

      It was both comforting and deeply provoking, especially when he gave her breast a firm caress and nearly buckled her knees with the catch of her nipple in a light pinch. She leaned into him weakly, legs shaking as he fondled more deliberately, playing with her nipple until she had to cover his hand to slow him down. It was getting too intense too quickly.

      “Roman,” she whispered, part protest, part plea.

      “I want it to be so good for you that you know without a doubt that it’s only about this, Melodie.” His other hand slid to the front of her lace undies, fingertips slipping under without hesitation, cupping, massaging, working with gentle but insistent pressure to part and find her slick center.

      Gasping, she wriggled back from his hot touch only to feel the thick ridge of his erection against her buttocks. She stilled with surprise.

      “Yes, you’re arousing me as much as I’m arousing you.” His caress became deliberate, flagrant, pressing her into the thrust of his clothed hips against her backside as he drove her relentlessly toward orgasm.

      Her head fell back against his shoulder while he took full advantage of her capitulation, biting the side of her neck.

      “I want us to be together,” she gasped, trying to still his hands on her, growing completely overwhelmed.

      He lifted his mouth from sucking a mark onto her neck and said, “We will be. I’m going to lose it any second.” His voice grated roughly, as stimulating as his touch. “Look,” he said, shifting her slightly and there they were, caught in flagrante delicto in the mirror, his hands possessing her, his expression over her shoulder so filled with masculine intent she would have been alarmed, except then he strummed her again.

      And told her how sexy she was, how badly he wanted her, how this was only the first of many so let him watch. Give him this because he needed to see he could make her feel good—

      She cried out, embarrassed by the sight of herself losing control, so weakened by the buffet of climax she was wholly dependent on his support as he made it play out for her in lingering strokes that caused pulses of fading delight.

      When she hung in his arms, he pressed hot, dry kisses and sexy compliments to her damp temple, finally turning her into his embrace so he could kiss her properly.

      She belonged to him then. He utterly and completely owned her, and she didn’t care. If misgivings surfaced, she brushed them away before she could identify them, too busy cradling his face so she could kiss him, telling him with her lips and body how incredible he made her feel.

      He was hard, so hard all over. Absolutely primed with arousal, chest like sun-warmed bronze as she opened his shirt and caressed his hot, hard muscles. When she kissed her way across his chest, lightly brushing his beaded nipples with her fingertips, he threw back his head and groaned at the ceiling.

      His reaction wasn’t fake. What man as contained as he was would let her see the blind passion