The VIP Room(129)
“Who is it?” she called.
There was no answer.
She hesitated again, then told herself she was being silly. Who, but a friend, would be at her door this late in the evening? She opened the door and immediately regretted it.
“Fucking bitch!”
He grabbed her throat and pushed her into the apartment, slamming the door with the back of his foot as he shoved her up against the wall. Emma wrapped both hands around his wrist, tugging at his hand in an attempt to free herself. But his grip was stronger than anything she’d ever felt before.
“You did this. You ruined my announcement.”
She tried to shake her head, but she could barely breathe, let alone speak.
“I’ve worked nearly four years on this project. Today was supposed to be my pinnacle, my ultimate peak. But you…” He pushed her hard against the wall, knocking her head against it hard enough to rattle the dishes in the cabinet on the other side. “All anyone can talk about now is your banner, your stupid cause, these damn people.”
“Good,” she managed to croak out past the death grip he had on her throat.
He stared at her like he couldn’t believe what she had said. Anger burned in his eyes, a slow, bright burn that could have melted steal if it was a real fire. But then it changed, softened, as she stared right back with all the defiance she could muster. He leaned in close to her, his breath washing over her like a cool, summer breeze.
“What is it about you?” he hissed. “Why can’t I stop thinking about you?”
His grip loosened on her throat, but didn’t disappear altogether. But his thumb, instead of digging into the tender flesh just below her right ear began to stroke her throat, moving in slow circles against her bruised skin.
“Leave us alone,” she said. “Let these people keep their homes. Let me keep my home.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
Emma started to shake her head, but he was there, so close, she couldn’t move an inch without brushing her nose against his cheek, without becoming overwhelmed with the scent of his cologne. She couldn’t breathe without each breath coming mixed with the air from his lungs.
“Let me go.”
“Believe me, I want to.”
And then his lips were on hers. It wasn’t nearly as violent as it could have been under the circumstances, but it was heated, passionate. He didn’t just request entrance, he demanded it, tasting everything she had to offer in a breath after their lips touched for the first time. He explored with the same challenging attitude, going where he wanted to go without waiting for any sort of consent on her part.
It wasn’t like she was fighting him, though. He caught her by surprise, but that didn’t completely explain why she buried her fingers in his shirt, twisting them around the soft, linen and tugged him closer to her. It didn’t explain why her chest felt like it was about to explode, why her lower belly began to quiver, why her palms itched to feel his flesh, his skin and bone and muscle, underneath it.
His hand slid from her throat to the neck of her bathrobe, a small tug all that was necessary to pull it open. She’d made it easy for him, not bothering to put on much more than a pair of panties when she got out of the bath. His hand was instantly around her bare breast, her nipple standing on edge as he ran his hand hard against it, shoving it upward as he moved his hand up, then back down, then in a small circle that made her cry out against his hard mouth.
He pulled her forward, jerking the bathrobe from her shoulders. And then his hands were on her back, on her ass, his hands kneading her flesh like it was a glob of bread dough. His mouth moved down to her throat, drawing another moan from between her lips as he nibbled along the solid edges of her tendons. She was against the wall again, her knees growing weak even as she tugged at his shirt, as she slid her hand underneath and touched flesh that quivered beneath her hands.
He lifted her, his mouth coming back to hers, capturing it like a cop nabbing his perp. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her hands dragging the jacket from his shoulder, tugging his shirt up over his head, buttons popping and flying all around her small kitchen. He pulled his lips from hers and she instantly felt naked, as though someone had ripped an important element of her soul away. And when he came back, his roughness, the power behind his touch, made her feel oddly protected. She should have been frightened. He had his hand on her throat when he barged his way into her home. But, somehow, that didn’t matter.
He ripped her panties away, the flimsy cotton material no match for his powerful hands. When he touched her, reality disappeared. Everything was gone but his fingers, his lips, his hands. She couldn’t think of anything but the pleasure that was dancing through her body, but the need that burned so deep inside of her that she was positive nothing could ever quench it. She moved her hips slightly, groaned as his fingers grazed her clit, as they sank deep inside of her before sliding back out, repeating the motion over and over again.
She couldn’t…she couldn’t take much more.
She wasn’t even aware of him undoing his pants. She didn’t know he’d freed himself until she felt his head kiss her lips for the first time. When he slid inside of her, her body was so ready that he encountered no resistance. He groaned, the sound of surrender, his admission that this was the one thing that could ever have power over him. He rolled his hips, another groan slipping between those perfect lips before they once again devoured hers.