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He releases me in an instant.
“No!” I grab him, and he growls, spinning me around and pushing me forward into the wall. My robe is yanked down my arms and tossed aside, allowing his naked front to meet my naked back. By the time I locate the use of my arms, he’s already spread the length of me, his lips at my ear, breathing slowly in and out, wreaking havoc on my nervous system to match the state of my head. His teeth graze my fleshy lobe, dragging wickedly. His hands come up and cup my breasts, his thumbs rubbing circles around my nipples. I whimper and bend at the waist to escape, pushing my ass into his arousal.
“You feel that, don’t you, Rose?”
“Yes,” I breathe shakily.
He pinches each nub harshly, and then swivels his hips, driving deeply into me. He gasps, and my forehead falls to the wall, my shaking world calming. Peace finds me. Ecstasy clouds everything. “You feel me.” He thrusts once, pushing me farther into the wall, pausing and growling as my internal walls grab on, stroking him, encouraging him, begging for him. “Yes, you feel me.” His hands clamp down over my boobs as he retreats and buries himself hard and high. I lose my breath, lose my mind, lose sight of my whole purpose. I bend my arms on the wall, using my forearm to cushion my head. There is nothing I can do. Nothing I want to do. “And I feel you.” His advancements quicken, but every move is meticulously executed. I close my eyes and accept what needs to be accepted.
I feel him. Hear him.
And for my fucking sins, I love him.
My ass starts to sway, tingles take hold, and I’m a slave to his merciless taking of me. Not because it’s hard or forceful, but because this moment, this intimate, understanding moment, will be lost in the carnage to come.
The sounds of his pleasure drowns out my helpless thoughts, and when he drops my breasts and takes my hips, I know he’s looking for more leverage, ready for the home stretch. I build and build, get higher and higher.
My orgasm rules me when it hits, swallowing me up in its intensity and completely blanking my mind of everything other than how free I feel in this moment. I don’t cry out, just tense. The surge of pressure from Danny’s climax forces him forward, his body falling against mine and forcing me to the wall.
He takes a moment, panting into my neck, not letting one drip of his essence escape me. Then he abruptly pulls away, leaving me plastered against the wall, naked and exposed. “Get ready.” He spits over his shoulder as he walks away.
“Fuck you,” I snap in return, making him stop abruptly. He looks back and smiles. So I flip him the finger as I dip and pick up the robe, pulling it on to cover myself up, feeling dirtier than I’ve ever felt before.
Danny pivots and stalks toward me, but I don’t back up. No way.
He reaches me.
Snarls at me.
And then smashes his lips on mine.
“Get the hell off me, you asshole.” I shove him away, and he walks backward, obviously relishing my fury. This is so fucking toxic. His expression screams victory.
I go to the bathroom, shut the door, and grab the phone. I hate myself. I hate my fucking self so much right now. I’m condemning a man I love to death. Tears fall from my eyes, tracking past hollow cheeks. This is the end. I don’t know if I’ll even survive today, let alone whatever hell Nox has planned for me next. And I’m so fucking tired. I’m sick of being a pawn.
I punch out a message through a sob. It’s done. And so am I.
* * *
The boatyard today. I’m not sure what time, but it looks like we’re leaving soon. He’s making me go with him.
Chapter 21
DANNY
* * *
I feel like someone has stamped on my skull repeatedly while I’ve been sleeping. Shit, I’m sure my head could fall off my neck at any moment. The Scotch is to blame, but Rose hasn’t helped my sorry state. Neither have I.
I don’t know what I just did. What I was hoping to achieve. A slow, painful death? I scoff to myself as I lean down to tie the laces of my boots. I’m pretty sure you can’t get much more painful than this.
When I sit back up, I get a head rush, having to slowly blink to clear the black spots from my vision. “Fucking hell,” I mutter, reaching up and feeling at my sensitive scalp. What a fucking mess. I’m sweating Scotch, my stomach is revolting every sip of water I take, and my brain feels like it’s shrunk to half its size. Not the best shape to be in when I’m handing over millions of dollars’ worth of firearms.
