Sweetest Venom (Virtue #2)(24)
“Here, Lawrence,” I reach for his hand and guide him to where I need his touch the most. Want and lust emanate from our bodies as we get lost in the heat of the moment and the erotic rhythm of our hips. “I need you here.”
Lawrence lets go of me and pushes me against the window. Belatedly it occurs to me that someone could be getting an eyeful but I can’t bring myself to care. With my back pressed against his front, I close my eyes when I feel Lawrence’s magic hands spreading my ass, rubbing me in that forbidden place, setting me on f*cking fire.
“Do you like this?” he asks, his voice husky with desire. I turn my head to stare at him as he slides down my body, kneeling behind me. I watch him bring a finger to his mouth, lubricating it with his saliva, and then he rubs me, massaging in small circles until he slowly enters me, stretching me. It’s painful. Beautiful. Forbidden. He adds another digit, increasing the pain, increasing the pleasure.
“Do you like my fingers f*cking your sweet and tight ass?”
I nod desperately. “Yes, God. I need your mouth there.”
Lawrence chuckles and withdraws his fingers, replacing it with his mouth over my tight hole, kissing, probing, and lapping with each relentless flick of his tongue. Lust flows through my veins.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
He eats me as though he is starved and I’m his last meal. Spreading my ass wider, I feel his tongue getting lost inside me, pumping in and out of me, the pace ruthless. And when he adds his fingers once more, the earth shakes underneath me and I see stars. Without saying a word, I push myself away and turn to face him. My breath is uneven and my body hurts from the lack of an orgasm, but I feel like flying.
Placing my hands on the lapels of his suit jacket, I say throatily, “Lie on the bed. I want to make love to you.”
Once Lawrence is undressed, he lies on the bed and watches me closely. His green gaze, sparking with lust, roves over my figure. I stand in front of him and deliberately allow the robe to slip down my body, leaving me completely naked. There’s nothing between us but the invisible walls protecting my hardened heart. But even those are slowly being chipped away by him.
His eyes on me, I make my way toward him, each step bringing me closer as something inside me that I don’t understand desperately calls for him. It’s not the way he touches me or the way he makes me feel when he takes me that makes me tremble with fear or with exhilaration—it’s him.
Calling for me.
And today, I go. I want to be consumed.
He reaches for me or I reach for him. It doesn’t matter. Everything becomes a swirl of emotions where my hands, my mouth, my lungs are full of him and what he makes me feel. His taste, the feel of him, his voice caressing me as his touch corrupts me. That’s all that matters. I swallow his kisses as he swallows my moans. He tortures me with his fingers and brings me rapture with his wicked tongue. And when my body aches with unfulfilled passion and I’m begging him to bring it to an end, he enters me in one deep thrust, f*cking me until f*cking ceases to be f*cking and becomes the union of two bodies seeking to be one. He f*cks me until all I see is a blinding light as I climax and heat rushes through my entire body. And when he’s buried so deep inside me, filling me with his cum, I know that, for one exquisite moment, I’m not alone.
And, maybe, that’s enough.
In bed, we’re lying on our sides and looking at one another. Lawrence looks adorable with the color high on his cheeks, his lips swollen from my kisses and his hair rumpled because of my hands. It’s hard to imagine that this man runs a multi-million dollar empire. Leaning forward, I place a peck on the tip of his nose.
He smiles a satisfied and relaxed smile. “What was that about?”
I grin happily. “I just felt like it, Mr. Rothschild.”
We continue to gaze into each other’s eyes silently while our smiles fade like the light coming from outside. In the peace that follows, I sense a stirring in my chest of something that I don’t quite understand or want to admit to myself. The truth always complicates things, and my life is already complicated enough.
So I ignore it all, bury it deep down where things are always easy to forget, and let myself enjoy the moment. “You know, after I met you, I went home and googled you,” I say.
He quirks an amused eyebrow at me. “And what did you find, my little detective?”
“Besides how much you’re worth and your penchant for models and actresses?” I slant him a wry look and then roll my eyes when he has the decency to chuckle and not deny it. “Not much. But there was an article that caught my attention. There’s this blogger who thinks that you suffered a grand disillusionment when you were young and that’s why you can’t seem to settle down with anyone. So romantically cliché, no? But I wonder, is it true?”
Staring at his own hand, Lawrence begins to trace a path on the curve of my waist, drawing small circles. The gentle stroke raises goosebumps over my skin. A shadow crosses his eyes momentarily, darkening them. “Don’t you know that curiosity killed the cat?”
I close my eyes and turn flat on my back, surrendering myself to Lawrence and his wandering fingers. My breathing becomes uneven as his hand searches every nook and cranny of my body, learning it, memorizing it, and setting it ablaze.
He hesitates momentarily, seemingly waging how much to tell me. “She was seventeen years old when I met her, and completely out of my reach. I was a serious, stoic and humorless twenty-eight year old man going on forty, or so my friends used to joke. Pursuing her was out of the question. In my defense, I didn’t know how old she was when I first saw her. All I knew was that I had never met a more beautiful woman than her.