Page 136 of Lease to Love

Neither did the candles.

Neither did the petals.

Neither did the city glittering beyond the glass.

There was only him.

And me.

And getting each other out of our clothes as quickly as possible.

Before I could blink, his hands were under my ass, hauling me up. I gasped, my legs automatically wrapping around his waist, my arms locking behind his neck. He walked me backward — not toward the bed, but toward the window. The glass was cold when my bare back slammed against it, a shock that ripped through me. I cried out, the sound sharp and high, but Roman's mouth was already on mine, swallowing it.

"Too high for anyone to see," he murmured against my lips, reading my mind.

He dropped to his knees.

My back was still pressed against the glass, my legs thrown over his shoulders, my weight braced on his hands as he gripped my thighs. The first stroke of his tongue was long and flat and devastating. I bucked against his face, my head falling back against the window with a thud.

The city sprawled below us, lights glittering like scattered coins. I could see the river. I could see the bridges. I could feel Roman's tongue circling my clit, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of my thighs, and I thought I might pass out from the sheer impossible magnitude of it.

He ate me like a man starving. There was no other word for it. Wide, wet strokes up the center of me, tight spirals around my clit, his lips sealing around the sensitive bud and sucking until I sobbed. When he added two fingers, I shattered. The orgasm tore through me, hips jerking against his mouth, one hand fisting in his hair, my cries echoing off the glass.

He didn't stop.

He curled his fingers inside me, found that spot, and worked it with a relentless, unapologetic precision that had me climbing again before the first wave had even fully subsided.

“Roman… Fuck… Yes… Right there!”

I babbled half-formed pleas and curses and his name, over and over, until the second peak hit and I went momentarily blind.

When I came back to myself, he was on his feet, his mouth on mine, and I could taste myself on his tongue. I moaned into the kiss, my hand reaching down to find him hot and throbbing against my palm.

He turned me around.

One hand pressed flat against the glass beside my head. The other lined up his dick and pushed inside me from behind in a single, brutal stroke that drove the air from my lungs.

"Fuck," I gasped, and the word fogged the window in front of me. I watched our reflection — his body caging mine, my own face flushed and desperate, my breasts pressed against the glass.

The sight was devastatingly erotic. I was watching myself be fucked by a billionaire against the DC skyline.

The sheer audacity of it, the raw sexuality, sent a new, violent surge of heat straight to my core.

He fucked me hard. Each thrust drove me forward, my cheek pressing against the cold window, my breath misting the glass in uneven bursts. His hand found my hip, then my breast, then my throat, gentle but present, a reminder of exactly who was in control.

"Watch yourself come for me, Sunshine.” he growled, his lips at my ear. “Come watching me own this pussy."

I did. I screamed his name, my body clamping down around him, and he pulled out before I could drag him over the edge with me.

The emptiness was a shock.

But then he was carrying me —lifting me from the floor like I weighed nothing — and laying me on the bed. My back hit the sheets. The ceiling above was mirrored. I had approximately one second to register that before Roman was above me, lifting my ankles to his shoulders. He turned his head and pressed a kiss to that tattoo on my ankle.

The kiss was soft. Tender. It didn't match the fire in his eyes as he looked down at the juncture of my thighs.

“Look at this mess. All mine.”

He pushed inside me in one smooth stroke, my pussy still slick and swollen and impossibly hot, and I cried out.