“Unbutton my jeans,” he ordered against her mouth. He didn’t stop kissing her. He couldn’t. He was fairly certain if someone were stupid enough to walk in on them and stop him, their life would be in danger. He needed. It felt good to need. The vicious ache in his cock felt good because it was real. More, even better, she wiped away the long years of emptiness, the dark, ugly memories of living day to day in other roles with the sole purpose of killing. She took all of that away and replaced that darkness with her fire. With her skin, and the hot pleasure of her mouth. The promise of paradise in her body. Real paradise. Not the unemotional detachment and discipline his body was forced to perform when touching a woman.
Her hands didn’t just drop from his shoulders, she moved them down his body, branding him with her touch. Little flames seemed to dance over him. The room temperature went up along with the heat centering in his cock. His heavy erection pressed so tight against his jeans he was afraid the material would burst – or melt.
Her palms continued down his body, gliding over his skin, lingering until he wanted to take command, but at the same time, with her feeding his natural hunger, the craving and anticipation grew in him, and he loved that. Loved he could feel so intensely. Her hands dropped to the waistband of his jeans riding low on his hips. She didn’t fumble, but she did tremble. Emotion burst through him. A desire to protect her. To hold her to him and keep her safe from everything and everyone – even him.
He took a deep, shuddering breath and dropped his hands over hers. “Giacinta.”
She looked up at him with her incredible blue eyes. He tried not to fall. Not to drown in all that blue. “I’m Lissa now. My sisters don’t know me as Giacinta. I haven’t told them yet, but if I get back to them, I will.”
He nodded. Understanding. “In this bedroom, I’m Casimir and you’re Giacinta. We have to be real. And you have to know what I am. The things I’ve done. Not once, but many, many times.”
She continued to look up at him for a very long moment. An eternity while time stood still for him. His blood thundered in his ears. Need pulsed in his cock. His entire being centered on her. Her lips began a slow curve. She ducked her head. Shook it. Her hands, beneath his, began to work on the buttons of his jeans, slowly, one by one, with his hands covering hers, opening them.
“Do you know what I’ve done, Casimir? You were there today, with Belsky. You knew I was there playing my role of Patrice Lungren. Patrice is still me when she goes after targets.”
His jeans were open and her hands went to the waistband. Inside. Palms against his bare skin, thumbs hooked in the band. Her head tipped back and she looked up at him. Shyness, yes. Fear, no. She began to slowly divest him of his jeans and underwear. Her hands slid over his hips, down his thighs. She crouched, taking them lower to his ankles. He dropped a hand on her shoulder and lifted one leg at a time until he was stark naked, and his cock was harder and fuller than it had ever been.
She stood up, slowly, her hands on either side of his thighs, burning a brand there while her eyes locked on his cock. She stared at the length and thickness of his erection. She was close enough that he felt her breasts skimming against him. Hard little points that beckoned. Soft, lush curves that he craved to get his mouth around. His tongue on. His teeth. She was short enough that when she bent her head, he felt the breath of her on his broad, velvet crown. Small droplets leaked out. Her tongue swept the full curve of her lower lip.
Instantly every fantasy he’d ever had about her mouth flooded his mind. His cock jerked. As if mesmerized, her hands moved up his thighs, gliding over the muscles there, claiming him before they moved inward, cupping his heavy sac. His breath left his lungs in a rush. His mind slipped further into chaos. Into need. Into a place he’d never experienced. A fire roared. Threatened to break free and run wild.
He didn’t stop her. He couldn’t do that. He didn’t have that kind of strength, when he’d been so certain he was stronger than any man alive, other, perhaps, than his brothers. He’d been sure he was more disciplined, had more control. All that was swept away by her small, delicate hands and her touch that burned through skin, straight to bone.
“You have to know what you’re doing, Lissa. We do this, you give yourself to me, there’s no taking it back. Not once it’s done. You have to understand that. I get this, you hand it to me, you can’t just take it away.”
Her hands moved over his balls, so gently, reverently, as if she were memorizing the shape and feel of them. He could only see the top of her head as she bent to examine that part of him.