He wasn’t surprised that she didn’t look away. It was one of the things he loved most about her. She held her own with him, made demands of him like no one else dared.
He remembered the way she’d forced him to kiss her in bed, back when he’d been wise enough not to cross that line. The way she’d spread her legs so he could see every inch of her glistening pussy, then threatened to leave if he didn’t comply.
She was a master at breaking down barriers he swore he would keep between them, and he both feared and admired her for the skill. He, the Lion, a man who feared no other man, feared his new wife for her hold over him.
Her lips were parted, an invitation he was all too eager to accept.
He leaned in, brushed his nose against her cheek, heard her sigh as she dropped her head to the other side, giving him better access to her throat. He dropped kisses along her pale skin on his way to her ear, then nibbled at her earlobe.
“Turn around,” he said into her ear.
He wondered if she would question him as she sometimes did, if she would demand he look at her, kiss her.
Instead she complied, turning to face the painted wall.
He captured her wrists in one of his hands and lifted them over head, placing her palms flat on the wall, holding his hands over her own. He stepped closer, sank into the welcoming swell of her body, an erotic contrast to the hard planes of his own.
He lowered his head to her hair, inhaled the scent of her shampoo, and ran his hands down the silky skin of her arms.
He wedged his knee between her thighs. “Don’t move, Kira. Not a muscle.”
His hands traveled over her shoulders, down the side of her body, the silk of her blouse gliding like a whisper under his palms. He lifted her hair, thick and lush, and set it over one of her shoulders, then reached around to unbutton her blouse with one hand.
He slid his hand inside to free her breasts from her lace bra and cupped one in each hand, teasing the nipples between his fingers.
She gasped.
His cock pulsed in his trousers, desperate to be buried inside her. He slid his hands down the gentle swell of her stomach, continued over her thighs until he reached the hem of her skirt.
He gathered the fabric in his hands and pulled it up around her hips, stifling a groan as her ass came into contact with his hands. He grabbed her panties and gave a hard tug. They ripped and he tossed them aside.
“The men…”
The door to the hall was open, the men still at work in other parts of the club.
“Do you care if the men find me fingering you?” He reached around and slid two fingers inside her. She was so hot, so slick with desire, that it was almost too much for him. He had to force himself not to unfasten his pants, not to drive into her hard and fast.
She moaned long and low as he worked her pussy with his fingers and circled her clit with his thumb,
“Do you want me to stop?” he asked.
“No,” she gasped.
“What if they find me eating your pussy? Will you want me to stop then?” he asked.
“No…”
Her hands dropped from the wall.
He stilled his fingers. “Hands on the wall, Kira.”
She returned them to the wall. She was already close to coming. He could feel it in the way her pussy clenched around his fingers, the way her breath became more and more shallow.
He removed his fingers and unfastened his pants, then freed his cock. He pushed it between her luscious ass cheeks until the tip was pressing against her dripping entrance. “What about if I was fucking you?” he asked in her ear. "Do you want me to stop so the men don’t find me fucking you?”
She moaned and slapped the wall with her hands.
A dark chuckle erupted from his throat. “Answer the question, Kira. I can button up right now, help you put your clothes in order. Or I can fuck you until you scream. It’s up to you.”
“Shut up and fuck me, Lyon.”
He grabbed onto her hips and drove into her.