Page 73 of Release Me
He’s gone too far this time.
I fire him the filthiest look I can manage, then take Rebekka’s small hand in mine and lace my fingers around hers. The contact sets molten lava straight through my bloodstream.
‘Come on,’ I murmur, tugging her through the crush of bodies. The bass pumps beneath my feet, mimicking the thundering of my racing heart.
Heads swivel as we pass. Women in sequins and satin drink me in with hungry eyes. Several tilt their champagne flutes in an obvious invitation. Men call my name, reaching to clasp my hand, to congratulate me on Elixir’s rebirth. I offer them polite nods, nothing more. The only thing I’m interested in, is the woman moving beside me, and the way thesilk of her dress sways like liquid over her sultry hips. And what lies beneath it.
We pass by the VIP booths where my brothers sprawl with their partners. Five suited security guards surround them, including my driver, Callaghan. Ivy’s face lights up when she spots us.
‘Bekka! You made it!’ she calls, patting the space beside her.
‘Come join us!’ Avery waves us over, her engagement ring glinting beneath the lighting.
Rebekka’s eyes flick towards them, then back to me. For a heartbeat, I think she’ll peel away, change her mind, retreat to the safety of their circle. Instead, she threads her fingers tighter through mine and squeezes.
‘I’ll catch up with you in a few minutes,’ she calls over the music.
Avery arches a brow, amusement glittering in her eyes. She smiles knowingly and clinks her glass against Ivy’s.
I tighten my hold on Rebekka’s hand, guiding her past the velvet booths towards the discreet staircase at the rear. Every instinct I have is fixated on getting her somewhere quiet, somewhere away from prying eyes—before I do something neither of us can take back in the middle of the room.
Chapter Thirty-Two
REBEKKA
My heart is hammering like a jackknife. Desire floods my veins. Seeing Anthony out there tonight provided the perfect excuse to do what I’ve been dreaming of since that night in the De Courcy library.
Rian pushes open a heavy door, and I step into a room that feels nothing like the buzz downstairs. It’s quiet, dim, and unmistakably his. A wide leather couch dominates the centre, the colour of dark coffee, soft enough to sink into. Opposite, a sleek modern fireplace runs the length of the wall with ribbon flames flickering behind the glass. A low table holds a bottle of Beckett’s Gold and two crystal tumblers, catching the light from a single downlighter above. Beside it, an open humidor shows off a neat row of cigars, each wrapped and lined up like soldiers.
The air smells faintly of leather and smoke. I spin on my heels to face him, a hundred decadent possibilities dancing through my mind. Electricity pulses between us, vibrating with years of pent-up yearning.
He steps closer, his face hovering millimetres from mine. I open my mouth to speak, but before I can utter a word, hegrowls, ‘fuck it,’ before his lips crash onto mine, hot, hungry, and claiming. His hands roam hungrily over my breasts as his tongue sweeps against mine. I press my hips into his, seeking friction. I need him. Want him. Have done for as long as I can remember. And nothing else in this world matters right now.
He nudges me backwards without breaking our kiss. My calves hit the couch and I drop down, sinking into its softness, grabbing the lapels of his suit jacket to pull him down on top of me. I lie flat on my back, parting my thighs as his hips thrust between them. His rock hard cock hits my clit, and I moan into his mouth, so greedy for more. We dry hump like horny teenagers, my hands mapping out every inch of his muscular torso before gliding round to grab the firm globes of his ass.
I pause my lips long enough to say, ‘I need you.’
He halts his hands on my breasts as his big black pupils bore into mine. ‘Here?’
‘Right here, right now.’ I pull on his bow tie.
‘I feel like the first time I fuck you should be in a four-poster bed scattered with rose petals or something,’ he admits, pressing a kiss to my neck.
‘The first time?’ I tease breathily. ‘What makes you think it’s going to happen more than once?’ I pull his ass cheeks, forcing his dick against my throbbing pussy.
‘Sweetheart, once I get my cock in you, I may never take it out.’ His black eyes blaze with a hunger that mirrors my own. ‘I’m going to fuck you fifty ways to fucking Sunday, then fifty more. I tried to stay away from you. Tried to do the right thing. But no one else is, so why the fuck should we? I’m fucking obsessed with you, woman. I want to worship your body every way I know how. Take your dress off and let me show you.’
I don’t need to be told twice. He rocks off the couch togive me space to undress. The crotch of his suit is tented like a fucking marquee. My mouth waters. ‘Get naked.’ It’s not a request.
He grins at me then, and I can’t help but grin back.
His fingers move expertly over the buttons of his shirt, revealing inch after inch of solid slabs of taut tanned muscle. I yank my dress up and over my head as quickly as possible, desperate not to miss a second of the show.
He hisses as his eyes roam over my breasts. The dress didn’t permit a bra, so I’m left in a silk thong and the sandals I slipped on. I reach down to unfasten the delicate buckle at my ankle, but he shakes his head. ‘Leave them on.’
‘Yes, sir,’ I pretend to salute him.
‘Don’t call me sir, unless you’re prepared to surrender to me.’ There’s a devious glint in his eyes as he shrugs off his suit jacket, then his shirt.
