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It was too much. She tried to shake her head, her body screaming in ecstasy, but his hands didn't let her move.
He kept moving.
She kept exploding.
And she bit down on his hand before she realized it, trying to find some purchase of the intense currents of pleasure zapping all her senses, making her wail and whine and whimper in her throat as she bit and bit and bit on his hand, drawing blood.
The knock came again.
The taste of copper and rust filled her mouth. He didn't remove his hand. She didn't remove her teeth.
And he thrust in, one last time, before stilling, expanding inside her before flexing his hips in reflex, exploding into his own orgasm, her walls quivering around him in stunned aftershocks. His own small, shallow thrusts spurred more from them, milking her as she milked him for all he was worth, his hand tight on her neck, a low rumbling sound the only sound from him. His breaths were rapid, quick, and shallow like his thrusts, her own matching his.
She was done. So done.
She couldn't feel her limbs. Couldn't feel her face. Couldn't even feel her teeth.
She'd never felt this.
Her eyes remained closed, her breaths rapidly moving through her, feeling him soften inside her slowly.
"Morana?" her father's voice invaded her fried brain.
As did the ice.
"Stop sulking like a child and come outside," her father ordered from the other side of the door. "You've been in there very long."
Morana grit her teeth as Tristan Caine pulled out of her, the motion almost making her want to moan. He removed his hands from her, his face towards the door as he disposed the condom and tucked himself in his trousers again, his back to her. Morana sat on the counter for a second, gathering her wits, before sliding down. Her legs trembled in her heels. Her knees were weak, her inner thighs burning and the center sore, bruised, used. Truly fucked.
She straightened herself, turning towards the mirror, and barely contained a gasp. Not a single hair was out of place on her. No handprints around her neck. Except for her bunched dress and flushed skin, there was no sign at all that she'd been involved in anything physical, not even a sprint let alone sex.
Blinking her shining, blown up eyes, she straightened her dress, pressing on the creases till it fell over her body like it was supposed to, like it had been the entire night. She took a deep breath, letting her skin settle slightly until just a slight shiver down her exposed spine was any indication of disquiet.
She became aware of him a second after she was put together, her eyes flying up to his in the mirror, taking him in. Like her, there was nothing on him indicative of what he'd been doing. She swallowed. And tasted the residual copper and rust.
Her eyes drifted to the hand where she had bitten him, shock filling her system as she realized it was the same hand he had cut with her knife at her house. The hand had been healing. Her teeth had
done some damage.
She bit back the automatic apology that came to her lips, and pressed them together, steeling her spine.
"Ms. Vitalio," the goon’s voice came loudly. "Your father demands you to return to the table."
Yeah, well. He could stick it up his ass.
She didn't reply but turned around to face Tristan Caine, deliberately keeping her face blank.
"Not as experienced as you wanted me to believe, Ms. Vitalio," he said quietly, so quietly she barely heard him.
But she did. And the rage that had disappeared after the explosion returned, not just at him, but herself. She'd let him toss her on a restroom counter, for goodness' sake. A restroom counter. She'd let him take her hard and fast and quick. She'd let him cover her mouth and muffle her sounds while her father's man had been right outside the door, in a place where her father had been dining along with so many enemies. She'd let him make her come so hard her teeth had clenched.
And she'd enjoyed it. She'd wanted it. Every. Single. Second. Every. Single. Thrust. She'd wanted it, and she'd not wanted him to stop. Had her mouth not been covered, she would have been screaming. Had he not covered her mouth, she would have been crying out for him. And he hadn't even touched her. Their clothes had stayed completely in place. She hadn't wanted to touch him.
Good lord, what had she been thinking?
One time.
Just one time.
