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"I can't be what you want," he said, his voice wooden.
"Yes, you can." Opening her eyes, she lowered her chin. This time she put every bit of a Mistress's challenge in her expression and voice. "I can prove it. Give me something real, Marius. Tell me something you want, from your gut, your balls and your heart. Better yet, show me. Put all the bullshit aside and just show me."
She saw the flash in his irises, a storm lit by lightning. Then he straightened, pinning her against the rail. She closed her hands over the metal bar on either side of her; he locked his hands over her wrists, holding her there. Her eyes never left his as the two of them stayed motionless a few charged moments. His groin pressed against her pelvis, his erection growing harder with every breath she took.
Since she hadn't worn heels, she had to raise her chin about an inch. It made her aware of how close their mouths were. She didn't flinch or retreat, letting the energy build. His gaze swept down, where her breasts were against his chest, the position giving him a more revealing look down into the lace cups of her bra.
As he studied the flesh cradled there, something flashed across his expression. For a second, she was almost sure he would bend and put his head there, nuzzle and lick. If she'd been sitting, he would have knelt between her spread thighs to do it, cradling the curves, handling them with gentle fingers and a relentless grip.
But he lifted his gaze and fastened his attention on her mouth. Her lips would be full and wet-looking, thanks to her gloss.
"Something real, Marius," she said, a husky whisper. "Don't drag your ass."
"I'm not even kissing or fucking you, but I feel like I am." His voice was husky. As if he expected her to fight him, his hands slid up to her biceps and gripped. He used his strength to bring her up on her toes and his mouth to hers. He did it like an avalanche, deceptively slow and ponderous, and then all that brutal power, the ability to bury everything in its path with its weight, was upon her.
Careful what you wish for. Wasn't that the saying?
This embrace was raw, animalistic, like the night of the fight. It was as if he was locked in combat with her, though she was giving herself to his embrace, her hands sliding up his abdomen to his chest, pressing against the hold on her biceps until he let her reach his neck. She gripped and held on, feeling his pulse hammering against her palm. He didn't let go of her upper arms, though. If anything, his grip became more bruising.
Hard, hungry, painful. He needed to make it hurt, because he was hurting. It was too much light for a denizen of hell, as he'd said. When she parted her lips under the demand of his, his tongue slid in as he tried to dominate the kiss. She evaded him with slippery, wet heat, tangling and embracing his mouth instead of letting him fight with hers. His body was pressed as insistently against her as was possible with them both clothed. He hiked her up on the rail, her feet leaving the ground as he pushed himself between her legs, grinding against her core and banding his arms around her, one hand gripping her ass and the other flat against her back.
Her back was to the water and they were in a brace of shadows, but there was no mistaking this was over the line of socially acceptable PDA.
He didn't care. She could feel it, and a reaction shuddered low in her belly, strumming through her upper thighs. He wanted to take her down and fuck her right here. The thing that lay at the core of Duncan Marius Walczek was untamed and uncivilized. Rabid.
The night of the fight, she'd seen a lot of men don personas to add to the drama. He had unmasked himself. By doing so now, he resurrected a primal throb she'd been carrying deep inside her, ever since seeing him fight.
He wanted her to fight him. She refused, for entirely selfish reasons. She was too busy enjoying all that male heat, unleashed and uncontrolled. Not practiced or charming at all, praise God and Goddess both.
But in time, she did start to soothe the beast with a quiet noise against his mouth, with the stroke of her fingertips along his neck and shoulders, and by easing her body off the rail so she stood against him. She wasn't sure what helped him power down, but if she had to make an educated guess, she'd say the unbelievable potency of that kiss had freaked him out.
Gradually, control of the kiss moved back into her court, though the weakness of her knees and a million feathers brushing inside her thighs and stomach said his aggression hadn't been unwelcome. When she broke the kiss, she kept her mouth close, brushing it against the corner of his, along his cheekbone. His fingers flexed on her hips.
"Let me take you somewhere and fuck you." He said it in a hoarse growl. "That's as real as I know how to be."
"This is enough. This is everything." She stroked his jaw and drew his eyes to hers. Still wild and filled with animal heat, but he was getting a grip on himself.
She'd like to take a grip--of the hard, impressive shaft pressed against her pelvis. She'd guide it into her cunt and let him pleasure them both, but it was all too soon. She had to rein herself back as much as he did.
"I want you to know something, something that might trigger your asshole reflex," she said softly. "But I'm saying it anyway so you can think about it later. I wasn't kidding at the concert. This is the best date I've ever had."
He stared at her with that searching look that was confusion and anger, and so many mixed up things. He parted his lips to speak, but he was interrupted.
"Some spare change for a flower, son?" A wizened, dark-skinned man carrying an old fishing bucket had stopped behind them. The flowers in the bucket were created from the type of reeds used to make baskets. He'd twisted them into spiral roses. "You can have two if you want," he added. "They're not hard to make."
He wore clothing in a nondescript meshing of colors and which had a loose fit on his aged frame. His thin face was cloaked by a shaggy beard, and his fishing cap had seen many better days. If he wasn't homeless, he was close to it.
"Live flowers are pretty," he told Regina. "But they fade. These never do."
Regina managed a smile. Marius dropped the rest of his change into the man's hand, chose a flower and nodded. "Thanks, old timer," he said.
"Hang onto her," the man said, moving on down the Riverwalk, the bucket clasped in one hand. "Else you'll be like me, even if you're in a fancy suit and office somewhere. Alone is alone, no matter where it is." He turned the last comment into a blues riff and scatted it out, earning smiles from other people as he passed them doing soft shoe.
"Curious bastard," Marius commented. Meeting her gaze, he offered the flower. "I had a good time tonight, too."
Regina smiled and took the offering. "He's right. As pretty as a real rose might be, I like this one better."
"Of course you do. It was made by a lost soul."
