She reached down, impatient, and fumbled to free him from the black denim, the snug black briefs. She grabbed his cock.
His hand covered hers and squeezed. Stroked.
Yes. She made an involuntary sound like a satisfied cat. He was long, heavy, rock hard. Scalding hot, velvety smooth. Every beat of his heart throbbed hard against her palm. She swirled his thick, blunt, cockhead in her palm. It was flushed a fierce, hot red. Very large.
Excellent. She’d never given a damn about size before, but she liked it that Janos’s cock was big. She liked excess, she liked overkill.
She’d been hungry for so long. Bring it on. Loads of it.
He shuddered, his fingers fumbling with the condom from his pocket. She wanted to bat the latex out of his hands, hungry for naked contact with his hot skin, but a last, lingering shred of sanity stayed her hand. She’d abandoned the pill after the Novak debacle, figuring contraception would never be an issue in her life again. She doubted she was particularly fertile even without it, but life was full of inconvenient surprises. And there were diseases to consider.
Not that she was in any condition to consider anything. That and all other rational thought melted away to nothing at the sweet shock of contact. Janos slid the head of his thick shaft slowly up and down her cleft, seeking out the strokes, the angles that made her gasp.
He surged deep inside, filling her. Impossibly thick and deep. She didn’t recognize the way her body felt. She had no frame of reference at all for this experience. Her body was entirely new, shivering around that secret place inside that had flushed with heat, burst into bloom.
Each surging, rhythmic twist and thrust of his body into hers was a discovery. She lifted herself for more, gasping at the intensity, building, swelling with each deep, slick stroke, sliding over and over a marvelous hot spot inside her that got hotter, hotter. Dear God, there was no end to it, no controlling it. She could feign an utterly convincing orgasm, but she had no clue how to survive real pleasure, to stay on top of it like a canoe in the rapids, to not drown in it, faint from it, go mad from it. He pumped his big, powerful body slowly into hers, his hips swiveling, stirring her into a writhing, moaning frenzy.
The climax drove her still deeper into that magic inner place that she had glimpsed before. He came with her, the force of it reverberating through her body, harmonics blending with hers into a deep chord, unbearably long and sweet and lingering. He was there with her inside that secret place. Souls brushing, melding.
Tam floated in that magical dream for a moment of timeless bliss…until reality began to intrude. Her mind, always independently crunching the data, and presenting its cool, considered conclusions. Whether she wanted them or not.
She didn’t want them, but there was no escaping them. The realization of what he had done stung like a poisoned needle. She’d hidden the truth from herself because temporary relief from that agonizing tension had been so irresistibly pleasurable. But the truth had been right there. That glow, the floating, the gaga mellowness that couldn’t be explained by a few glasses of wine.
Staring her in the face. So fucking obvious.
Drugs. The whole thing had been chemically induced. He’d slipped her something subtle, sophisticated, to mellow her ever so slowly and delicately, and then wrangled her into a state of sexual surrender. She’d thought she was good, but he left her in the dust.
She was incapable of speech for minutes. They were poised together, braced against the door. Still joined. The hot, animal smell of sex rose between them. His arms circled her, trembling with strain. His cock was wedged so deep inside her, it pressed up against her womb. Pleasure jolted stubbornly through her limbs. Her body had no pride. It didn’t care if it had been grossly deceived, drugged, tricked. Pleasure was pleasure, and her long-suffering body got precious little of it.
Her voice shook with self-loathing. “What exactly did you drug me with, you lying son of a bitch?”
The flash in his eyes, the tension in his mouth confirmed it. Somewhere in her mind, she had still been hoping she was wrong. That this was just her standard paranoid freak routine.
She cringed inside. Hated herself for hoping, hated herself for falling for it, hated him for doing it, hated herself for hating it.
Janos cleared his throat. “I’m…sorry.” He pried the words out like rusty nails.
Sorry? Holy shit. She was dumbstruck at the raw nerve of him.
“Sorry?” she repeated. “You’re sorry? You prick. Get away from me. Get out of me.” She shoved at the expanse of his chest. She felt trapped, immobilized by the sheer mass of his body, that huge, throbbing member jammed up inside her. She felt invaded.
He withdrew. The slide of his thick shaft still felt shamefully wonderful. Tiny muscles inside her clutched him, unwilling to let go. Her helpless response was humiliating.
He stopped, a question in his eyes, caressing her with the thick bulb of his cock. Ready to give her more, although he’d just come, and explosively, too. The man was a world-class fucking machine.
But what had she expected? He was a professional, after all.
She spat in his face and dissolved into tears.
Chapter
13
Val wiped spit off his face and pulled out of the silken clutch of her body, staring down at the shining pink folds distended around his cock. She left a slick sheen of gleaming lube on the latex.
She hid the tears behind her hand. He tried not to look. He didn’t want to see them any more than she wanted them to be seen. She was proud, haughty. Not the kind of woman who used tears as a weapon. God knows, she had plenty of other weapons in her arsenal.
This outcome exceeded his wildest hopes, and yet he felt shattered. He had obtained the means to keep Imre alive for a few more days, but he felt no triumph, not even relief. Just a sickening sense that he was sliding ever deeper into a pit that had no bottom.
It shook him that he had actually lost himself in the experience. He had forgotten Novak, Imre. He had forgotten about the hidden camera. He had forgotten every agenda but that of his own pounding body.
And he could fuck her again, right now. Gladly. All night long.
He disposed of the condom and arranged his erect penis inside his jeans as best he was able. The silent weeping was driving him mad.
“Stop it,” he broke out harshly in Italian. “Stop crying, for the love of God. I cannot stand it.”
“Vaffanculo,” she shot back. “I can’t control it, and it’s your own goddamn fault that I’m stoned. So deal with it, dickhead.” She tugged her skirt down. One of her stockings had slipped loose of the garter and rolled halfway down her thigh. He sank to his knees in front of her and rolled it up. The skin of her upper thigh was exquisitely hot and smooth. Lily petal soft. So fucking perfect. Her legs shook. She wobbled on her flimsy, eight-hundred-dollar spike heels.
His legs would shake, too, were he standing.
He did not want her to see the look on his face, so he leaned forward and pressed it against her mound, kissing her. A wordless apology that he knew she would reject violently, but he could not help himself. Could not resist breathing in more of her hot female scent and then more. Letting his secret tears soak into her skirt.
She made a catlike hissing sound and slapped at his face, but without much force. He looked up from that supplicating position at her face, flushed and wet, eye makeup blurred into a mask that just made her brimming eyes look brighter.
So beautiful, it made his chest clench.
He wanted to shove her skirt up and beg for her forgiveness with his tongue, but she would kill