Risk the Night Read online

  She might have drifted off to sleep. The wind picked up, and the candles fluttered in the breeze, as the heavy rain followed, beating against her windows. It was coming in the open balcony, and a fine spray covered her. She closed her eyes, reveling in it, awash in the sheer sensuality of it.

  And when she opened them he stood there, on the narrow little balcony. He was soaking wet, the rain running down his stark, beautiful face in rivulets, plastering his white shirt to his chest. He was there, as she somehow knew he would be.

  He was everything she hungered for, everything that was wrong. She looked into his eyes, and her body convulsed in a tiny, shocking climax.

  She was in deep trouble.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded when she managed to catch her breath.

  He didn’t move in out of the rain, he simply let it pound down over him, oblivious to it as he leaned back against the railing. He didn’t speak, and she was suddenly, irrationally afraid. She had no fear that he would hurt her, though it wasn’t as if he seemed harmless. He was a very dangerous man indeed – she instinctively knew that, for all his indolent playboy facade.

  It was something else, something deeper, something infinitely more troubling. She managed to surge to her feet, ignoring her shaky legs, moving to shut the doors to the balcony, locking danger out in the storm.

  He caught her wrist in one strong hand, halting her, and she stared up at him, the touch of his skin a shock. In the cold spring air he was hot, burning.

  He pulled her, and she didn’t fight him. Pulled her out onto that narrow sliver of a balcony, out into the driving rain, and kissed her, his mouth hot and heavy on hers, wet, demanding. It was a lover’s kiss. The kiss of man who was ready to climax, and her hands, the ones that should have pushed him away, clutched his shoulders, holding on, as she surrendered to him.

  Surrender. There was no other word for it. His tongue was inside her mouth, pushing, demanding a response. This was no gentle seduction, this was a claiming, dark and carnal, and she gave in, willingly, feeling the rain beat down on both of them with the night air of Paris all around.

  He lifted his mouth, and everything went sideways, as her feet left the ground, and she had the sudden, crazy fear that he was going to throw her over the balcony, down four stories to be smashed against the pavement.

  A moment later they were out of the rain, and he was carrying her through her candlelit apartment, the scent of something rich on the air. She could hear Charles Aznavour on the stereo, and she thought of Piaf. “Non, je ne regrette rien.” No, I regret nothing. All the mistakes, the wrong moves, the wrong lovers, I regret none of them.

  She wouldn’t regret this. It made no sense, it wasn’t her, but she could no more fight it than she could battle a tidal wave.

  He seemed to know her apartment, another impossibility. He carried her up the two steps into her darkened bedroom and tossed her down on the unmade bed, still covered with the clothes she’d discarded earlier in the day. She sat there, the flannel robe clutched tight around her, and stared up at him. She could see the whiteness of his teeth as he flashed a grin, and he began unbuttoning his soaked shirt.

  “You might want to get out of those wet clothes, ma belle,” he finally spoke, in Italian-accented French, his voice not much more than a whisper in the night air.

  She couldn’t move. Somehow her acquiescence had gotten her this far; she wasn’t sure how much further it could take her.

  He came towards the bed, still wearing rain-splattered formal trousers, and took some of her discarded clothes and threw them on the floor. And then the bed sagged beneath him, as he knelt on the mattress and reached for the ties of the flannel robe.

  Instinctively her hands moved to stop him, covering his, but the touch of his hard hands was oddly more arousing. She didn’t want him touching Drake’s robe – it didn’t seem right or fair.

  “You’re doing this,” he whispered, and sensed his impatience. “You know you are. You already made up your mind when you saw me on the balcony. You came then, didn’t you? I could see it in your eyes, in the way your body jerked. You already knew you were going to take me then, didn’t you?”

  She did, but she wouldn’t admit it. How had he known about that tiny, unbidden climax that had hit her? “It had nothing to do with you,” she said defensively. “This has nothing to do with you. I’m simply …” The words trailed off, too damning to admit.

  “Aroused?” he supplied. “You were sitting there waiting for a lover. You had the candles and the wine and the music. But where was the man?” His voice was low and persuasive.

  “I don’t need a man.”

  She could see his smile quite clearly now as her eyes grew accustomed to the murky darkness. “You don’t need anything or anyone, do you? I think that’s what draws me to you. You just don’t give a fuck. But you will.” He leaned forward, putting his mouth against her ear, and she shivered in reaction. “You will give a fuck, won’t you?” he whispered, his breath hot against her. He bit her earlobe, and she felt a jolt of pure, animal response. She closed her eyes, knowing she should fight it, but he’d untied the robe, and the night air was hitting her skin. He pushed the soft flannel off her shoulders, down her arms, and he was looking at her, at the plain white underwear she was wearing, at the voluptuous curves that dieting couldn’t help.

  He slide his long fingers under white bra straps and began to pull them down her arms. “Denial,” he said with a soft laugh. “You knew I was coming and still you dress in a nun’s underwear. A nun’s, or a virgin’s. What does your lover think about this schoolgirl stuff?”

  Her lover. She could see Drake’s handsome, earnest face. She could see it above her, his expression set in rigid lines when he came. The memory should stop her, make her tell this man to go away. But Drake’s face vanished, as the straps reached her elbows, her breasts half-spilling from the utilitarian bra.

  He sat back. “You know, I’m finding these quite erotic after all.” One of his long fingers slid down her skin, from her parted lips, down her jaw and neck to the round tops of her breasts. He leaned forward, his rain-wet hair brushing against her skin, and put his mouth where his fingers had been. She could feel the rasp of his tongue against the beaded swell, and then his teeth, as they caught the edge of the bra and pulled it down further, so that her breasts spilled out completely, no longer shielded by the scrap of cloth.

  She knew the bra straps weren’t restricting her arms, but she felt oddly bound, unable to move as he dipped his head down further, and his teeth surrounded one nipple, a tiny pain that was oddly arousing, and she gave a little squeak of reaction as her legs shifted restlessly.

  “Ah, you’re a talker,” he murmured, lifting his head slightly to run his tongue over the puckered flesh, and she stifled her instinctive moan. “Are you a screamer as well?”

  She gritted her teeth as he blew on the damp skin, another level of arousal. She was so wet she could feel it, hotter than she’d ever been for Drake, hotter than she’d ever felt before. She needed to open her mouth, to tell him she wasn’t doing this, when he moved to her other breast, and this time his bite was harder, and she squeaked again, though whether it was in pain or pleasure she couldn’t tell.

  She wanted to lift her arms, to put them around his neck, but the bra straps were just enough to stop her, trap her. The room was suffocatingly warm, and she was covered with a thin film of sweat.

  “Do you want me to take the bra off you?” he whispered. “Or do you like bondage? I’m certain I can find something to tie you up with if you want to pretend you had no choice.”

  He’d lifted his head, and she met his gaze as steadily as she could. “Do I have a choice?”

  “Of course you do, ma belle. But you already made your choice, when you kissed me back.” His warm, strong arms slid around her, and she felt her bra come free, and she was no longer bound. He leaned back, pulling it off her and tossing it to the floor along wit
h the other clothes.

  “Can I change my mind?”

  He gave a soft laugh. “Impossible. You won’t be able to. You have my permission to say no, of course. I’ve never forced a woman in my life. But I really don’t you think you could. Not when I do this.” He put both hands on her breasts, still damp from his tongue, his deft fingers plucking at them, wickedly skillful, and she wanted his mouth, sucking at her, pulling at her, and she knew it hadn’t been arrogance on his part, merely the truth. She was too far gone. She couldn’t, wouldn’t stop.

  He had to have felt the last of her resistance vanish, because his smile was full of erotic promise. “That’s my girl,” he said in his soft French. He pushed her back on the pillows with surprising gentleness. “Now let’s get rid of these absurd panties.”

  She let him slide the cotton down and off, and then he pushed her legs apart, exposing her to his liquid gaze. Again, that shiver of fear danced across her, as he touched her, fingers parting her delicately. She was about to protest when he leaned forward and put his mouth between her legs, his tongue swirling, touching and tasting, his teeth, oh my god, his teeth, biting her again, a sharp little pain that made her cry out in pleasure.

  He made her climax, too easily, her hands fisted tight in her sheets as she tried to catch her breath, tight shudders rippling through her.

  He raised his head, and in the shadows she could only see his eyes, gleaming in the darkness. “Not good enough,” he murmured, and put his mouth against her again.

  She was absurdly sensitive from her climax, and she protested, not sure she could bear to be touched, but he ignored her. This time he only used his tongue, and when she started to climax once more he pushed his fingers inside her, sliding, pumping, until she dug her heels into the mattress, arching off the bed with a scream of helpless pleasure, her body shaking, hard, as he kept tonguing her.

  He pulled away, collapsing on the bed beside her, panting. “I almost came against the sheets,” he said. “You have a dangerous effect on me, ma belle.”

  A moment later he rolled off the bed with disconcerting energy. “Would you like a glass of wine?” he asked her with perfect courtesy. “Yes? No? I’ll bring you one anyway. You look like you need it.” He left her room, and she couldn’t move. Had her brain melted along with her morals? What in hell had just happened? She knew she should get up, lock the door, call someone, call the police, get him away from her before she destroyed her life completely, before she lost everything.

  It was too late.

  She managed to get to her feet, and she glanced down at the bed. She’d lain on Drake’s discarded robe while he’d tongued her. Betrayal was already complete.

  She followed the candlelight into the living room and stopped, shocked, when she couldn’t see him. Had he left? The idea was both absurd and reasonable, and then he moved in the shadows. He was lounging on her sofa, a glass of wine in one long-fingered hand, watching the rain come down.

  She stood in the candlelight, naked, past feeling shy. She heard his swift intake of breath as he looked at her.

  “Christ,” he said. “You’re fucking gorgeous.” He started to rise, but she was already beside the sofa, her touch on his shoulder urging him back down.

  “Stay there,” she whispered, and sank to her knees on the floor beside him. She didn’t think about what she was doing, she only acted, filled with a primal need, a deep hunger only he could satisfy. The zipper of his pants was straining over his erection, and she fumbled with it, her hands shaking.

  He laughed softly. “I’ll take care of it,” he said, releasing the zipper. He shoved the trousers down his narrow hips, ready to shuck them off completely, when she stopped him. He was gorgeous, iron-hard, and she wanted to touch him. But some last remnant of sanity held her back, and she didn’t move.

  “Put your mouth on me.” His words were quiet, and she still hesitated, even though she had started this. His hand shot out and caught her chin, his fingers rough. “Now.”

  She moved, and bit his hand, hard. He didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away, the pain ignored. “Don’t do that to my cock,” he said in an even voice.

  “Bastard,” she muttered, releasing his hand from her sharp teeth, wishing she’d drawn blood. And then she leaned over him, took him in her hand, and let her mouth sink around him.

  He said nothing, but she could feel the pleasure ripple through him, and an answering reaction spread through her naked body. She covered the head of his cock, sucking lightly, and he was smooth and cool and delicious. She took more in, loving the feel of him against her tongue, the strange sense of control and power that swept over her. This was madness, and she was giving into it. She held him in her mouth, all his strength and masculinity, his very essence, and she took more, filling her mouth with him, her fingers wrapped around the base as she sucked, kneeling over him, her hair spread over his hips, wanting more, so much more.

  She was shaking with desire. Why was this arousing her more than anything she’d ever done with Drake? How could she be on the verge of climaxing with no one touching her? She could come simply from the surging thrust of his cock in her mouth.

  “You can take more,” he murmured. “If you want to.”

  She wasn’t going to lift her head to answer. It was impossible, he was too big, but he brought his hands down, his long fingers cradling her face, massaging her jaw, stroking her with such a deft, sure touch that she opened, and the last few inches filled her mouth, and an unexpected climax shook her body.

  “Oh, Christ,” he groaned, holding still, letting her take what she wanted.

  And she wanted more. She wanted him to come in her mouth, she wanted to swallow him, swallow everything, take it all inside her.

  But suddenly he pulled her away, lifting her off him, and she let out a cry of protest, struggling.

  It was a waste of time – he was too strong. He pulled her onto the shabby old sofa, underneath him as he reached for his pants, shoving them off his legs. He pushed her back against the cushions, turning away, and then he came back to her, a silver packet it his teeth as he tore it open, taking the condom and sheathing himself in it. She closed her eyes, her legs spread around him, but his hand caught her chin once more.

  “Look at me,” he said. “I want you to watch me when I come inside you.”

  She couldn’t move. Didn’t want to move, her eyes caught with his as he lowered himself over her, and she felt him against her, the silken touch of his sheathed cock against her wetness. “Watch me,” he whispered, pushing inside her.

  She let out a little gasp. He was big, so much bigger and she wanted to close her eyes, savor the feel of him, but she couldn’t. She simply stared into his eyes as he pushed deeper, harder, taking her as she had taken him.

  She thought he was all the way in, when he slid his hands beneath her butt and pulled her up, against him. The last bit of his cock shoved home and a shudder of pure, molten pleasure exploded inside her.

  He smiled down at her. “Now you can close your eyes, ma belle. And enjoy the forbidden.”

  She lifted her hands from the sofa and clutched his shoulders. “Who’s forbidding me?” she whispered.

  “Good girl. Take what you want.” He pulled out, then thrust back in, deeper than ever, and she moaned, her head thrown back.

  “Too much?” he whispered against her mouth.

  “More,” she gasped, digging her fingers into his sweat-slick shoulders.

  It was if she’d released a whirlwind. He pushed her down onto the old feather cushions, pinning her shoulders as he arched over her. She held on to him, reveling in the feel of him, deep inside her, as a darkness began to build, something powerful and unknown, differing from the climax he’d given her on her bed, different from anything she’d ever felt before. Everything was dissolving, leaving nothing but their joining, thrusting against each other, and her body trembled with the beginning of a terrifying, impossible release.

  “No,” she gasped, suddenly frightened. Sh
e didn’t want to go there – it was death and disaster and she would be lost.

  He covered her mouth with his, silencing her cry, and she kissed him back as a climax shuddered through her, clenching around his thrusting cock.

  He growled in response but didn’t stop, pushing deeper, deeper still inside her, and the darkness closed over her. She struggled, and his mouth was hot and damp against her ear.

  “Let go,” he said, his voice a mere whisper. “Don’t fight it. Take it. Take me.” He bit her earlobe again, hard, and she cried out, sliding to a darker level of hell, shuddering in the final, building response that made no sense, she had come already, too many times, she didn’t want this, she was afraid …

  And then the last barrier fell, and she tried to scream, but no sound came out as she tumbled into the darkness, free falling, her entire body shaking apart. She clawed for something to hold onto, but he fell with her, his silent, choked gasp echoing in her ears as everything went black.

  She came back to herself, slowly, reluctantly, but he was no longer inside her, on top of her. She was lying on the sofa, a cover placed carefully around her, and she lay unmoving, trying to gather the scattered bits of herself back together.

  Had she actually passed out? Her entire body felt sensitized, bruised, her skin paper-thin with nerves pulsing beneath it. She lay where she was for long moments, staring out into the rainy night. She had no idea what time it was, midnight or dawn. The doors to the balcony were open again, and she wondered if he’d left as silently as he’d arrived.

  And then she heard the shower running.

  She managed to sit up, but just barely. She wrapped the cover around her and got to her feet, amazed that she was even able to stand. She took the two steps up into her bedroom and the bathroom beyond, glancing at the clock on the way. It was three-thirty, the empty middle of the night, when monsters roamed and souls were lost.

  She wasn’t sure what she meant to do, opening the bathroom door. It was filled with steam, and he stood there, naked beneath the pounding water, beautiful. She had an old-fashioned French shower, with no curtain, and through the steam he could see her quite clearly. He reached for her, and belatedly she tried to pull back, but he simply pushed the cover off her and pulled her into the shower, wrapping his warm, wet body around hers.