A small frown creased his brow. “That is all?”
“That is all,” she said. “No one has ever convinced me otherwise.”
His dark eyes were thoughtful. He broke eye contact, and kissed her bare shoulder, his tender lips moving slowly up her shivering neck.
“I am sorry for you,” he said quietly.
She was stung. “Don’t be. I’m fine with it since I learned to stop being the victim. I can outplay anyone at that game.” Except for you, you sneaky bastard.
“I do not doubt it.” He cupped her ass, holding her up as he pressed hot kisses to the skin between her breasts. The caress made her nipples tighten, and he rubbed his face voluptuously against her breasts. “Your looks and your body alone guarantee it.”
She let out a sharp laugh. “Hah. My looks and body were what got me into trouble in the first place.”
She was horrified with herself for saying it. It sounded almost like a whining plea for pity or sympathy. But when he lifted his face, there was no contempt in his eyes. Just a desire that made her breathless.
“Please,” he whispered. “Let me prove you wrong.”
Her feet touched the ground. He slid his hand up over her hips, her belly, his thumbs flicking tenderly over her nipples. Her sensitized body responded, just as she realized that he had released her hands.
She had not even noticed. She’d been too busy shivering and sighing. This was terrible. So far outside her conscious control, it was like going mad. Her reality shaking loose, breaking down.
But she couldn’t give in. She would go down kicking and scratching and shrieking, goddamnit.
She sucked in a breath, gritted her teeth, and fended it off. “Don’t feed me your slick gigolo lines, Janos. They won’t work on me.”
“No?” His hand slid down over her ass, cupping the undercurve with a tender brush of his hand. “Why not?”
“I’m not interested in playing that game with you.”
“Are you not?” His hand slid down, then up beneath her dress, curving around her bare buttock, gripping her. Fingertips circling tenderly. Sliding lower.
She steadied her voice, with conscious effort. “I have nothing to gain from winning it. So why bother?”
He hoisted her effortlessly up so that her crotch straddled his. Letting her feel his length, his hardness, his heat. “You do not convince me.” He swayed back, holding her against the wall, and looked pointedly down at his thigh. His jeans had a gleaming wet spot.
Her face flamed. This feeling was for the man, not for her. Helpless, desperate, flopping like a fish on a hook, ripe for whatever agenda he might have. She shook her head, but she couldn’t stop clenching her thighs around him. Shivers rippled down her legs.
“You want to see how a professional liar and scam artist fakes an orgasm, Janos?” she asked. “While we’re at it, I’ve always wondered how male professionals manage that trick. The technical aspects of it baffle me. Am I about to find out? Shall we trade professional secrets?”
His arms tightened around her. His hand slid up, his fingertip gliding tenderly down the cleft of her buttocks until it found her tight folds, hot and slick and yielding. He stroked her, penetrating her.
To his credit, he did not laugh at her to find her so hot and soft and drenched. His smile was oddly gentle. “Va bene,” he whispered, his lips brushing hers. “Pretend all you like, bella. And I will do the same. Pretend to the best of your ability.”
She jerked away from his kiss. “Don’t you dare make fun of me.”
“Never.” He cupped her head and kissed her again, almost angrily. His mouth coaxed hers open just as his finger slid deeper, stroking the whole length of her cunt and then delving deep.
She came instantly, almost painfully, convulsing around his hand. Sobs choked out of her with each deep, wrenching spasm.
He waited, immobile. Listening, feeling. Stroking at her lips tenderly with his own, then a delicate, careful touch of his tongue, the brush of her nipples against his chest, the tip of his tongue sliding into her mouth. No hurry, no fear. Complete mastery. She tried to breathe, tried to speak. There was nothing to say. He had bested her.
His lips caressed her cheekbone, kissing her eyelids, her brow. “The most realistic faked orgasm I ever felt,” he whispered. “A tip, bella. A faked orgasm is more realistic if you make me work for it. At least a little bit, no? Wait longer next time. I did not even touch your clit.”
She licked her dry, trembling lips. “Fuck you.” She mouthed the words, but was too breathless to voice them.
A brief smile illuminated his face. “That is what I intend to do,” he said. “But first, another fake orgasm. This time, try to wait, no? I will help you.”
She twisted against him in protest, only succeeding in lodging his fingers deeper inside her slick channel. She squeezed her thighs around his big hand as he stroked and swirled, following all her nerve pathways as if he were inside her mind.
This time, he did make her wait. He teased and beckoned, but every time she started to crest, he drew back, time after time, until she wanted to scream, writhe, beg. He drove her deeper and deeper into that altered state, mind to mind, shockingly intimate. She struggled around his caressing, invading hand. She was made of lightning, heat, steam, making desperate sounds she barely heard over the pounding of her heart, the roaring in her head. And finally, he brought her off.
The orgasm cracked her wide open.
Behind that wall was something she hadn’t known existed. A part of herself she’d thought was long dead. Something wordless and tender and unknown. It shone, dazzling her with its purity.
She must have fainted. She could not tell and did not care. Janos scooped her up into his arms long before she recovered and strode down the hall. He tried every door he passed until one of them opened. He slapped the door open, flipped on the light. It was a staff kitchen.
He set her on her feet, shoved the door to and stared into her eyes as he flipped the door knob with a deliberate “click.”
She laughed shakily. “I didn’t say you could—”
“I am not asking your permission. You would kick me in the teeth and spit on me as you walk over me with the spiked heels, no?”
She almost betrayed herself by giggling. “Bullshit.”
He grinned wickedly. “I know what you like,” he said. “A spineless dickhead with no balls who asked nicely would not arouse you, Tamara Steele. We have established this fact beyond all doubt.”
Don’t presume to know me. She wanted to say it, but her mouth was too busy frantically kissing him.
The kiss was wild, rough. A mutual devouring, and she set the tone. His grip tightened as his lips dragged down her jaw, teeth grazing the tendons of her throat as he wound his hands into her hair, pulling out clips, pins, clasps. He tossed the ornaments carelessly down onto the kitchen counter. He was not afraid of them, despite what she had done to him in the hotel. And he seemed to be sure she would not hurt him.
At least not until she’d gotten what she needed.
He unraveled her hair, spreading out braid-crimped locks and draping them over her shoulders. She felt younger with her hair loose, vulnerable. He pressed his face to her nape, wrapping thick skeins around his fists. Even her hair felt pleasure, tingling in her scalp, swirling through her at each stroking touch down its length.
He tugged her stretchy bodice down over her shoulders, her breasts. His hungry mouth followed the path of his hands, trailing slow, dragging kisses over her collarbone, her chest. His hands slid up her thighs, over