That tongue was a weapon, wielded by a wicked, kinky, eternally horny man, who was wrinkling the hell out of his formal wear and thrusting his hips like he didn’t have a care in the world.
No, that wasn’t true.
In a disturbing, deeply moving way, he cared about her. She felt it in the massage of his fingers on her thigh, heard it in the unbridled rush of his breaths, and saw it in the beautiful, extraordinarily thoughtful design he’d carved into her skin.
She’d never been this close to anyone, physically or emotionally, and she felt forever bound to him. Not by handcuffs or threats or the cock inside her. This connection ran deeper, beyond anything she could touch with her hands or see with her eyes.
They were joined on an inexplicable level, and it scared the hell out of her. Because nothing was more terrifying than the beautiful, dangerous threat beneath her and his total and utter possession of her senses.
Pressing closer, she ate his mouth with all the confusion and passion burning inside her. Her hips moved with abandon, chasing the release they both needed.
Tongues moving in tandem, hands kneading and clinging, they groaned together and came up for air.
A pained sound pushed past his lips. The muscles in his face pulled taut, all those gorgeous, masculine angles unable to conceal his discomfort.
“What’s wrong?” She froze. “Did I hurt you?”
“Trying not to come.” He captured her hand and pressed it between her legs. “Touch yourself.”
That she could do.
Sitting up, she circled her fingers around her clit and quickly found the right pace and pressure. Swift, consistent movements, in sync with the snap and twist of her hips.
His gaze smoldered, bouncing between her eyes and her touch, back and forth. He licked his lips, bit down on the bottom one, and his legs began to tremble.
He was fighting it, trying to hold back his orgasm, waiting for her.
Watching his groaning, shaking effort was enough to send her over. The climax tore through her in dizzying, magical ripples of electricity.
“Kate,” he moaned, clutching her waist and staring into her eyes. “I’m coming. Ahhh, fuck!”
With a guttural groan, he jerked into her erratically and buried himself deep, holding her against him as he filled her with his come.
“Fucking amazing,” he said on a long, languorous sigh. “Thank you.”
“That’s a first.” Twitching with the sparkling remnants of ecstasy, she collapsed on his chest.
“Which part?”
“You thanking me for anything.”
“I’m working on rectifying that.” He brushed her hair behind her ear and blew out a breath. “We need to go.”
“I’ll get a towel to clean us up.” She lifted, letting him slip from her body.
“Don’t.” He straightened his pants and tucked his dirty cock behind the zipper. “You’re going to wear my come to dinner.”
“How romantic.”
He rose to his feet, pulling her with him. His hands smoothed over the dress, straightening and adjusting, and all the while, she could feel his ejaculation leaking down her legs.
She would just have to use the bathroom on the way out and clean up the mess.
As if reading her mind, he sneaked a hand under the gown and smeared the come down her thighs and in her pussy.
She gasped. “What the—?”
He rubbed those same fingers across her mouth. “Let’s go meet the President.”During the two-hour drive to dinner, Kate fretted over whether she reeked of sex or had a wet spot on the back of her gown. As it turned out, the President of Venezuela was in no position to notice.
Not only was he a busy man, life hadn’t been kind to him in the hygiene department.
As Tiago clasped his outstretched hand in greeting, she had to hold her breath and stifle her gag reflex.
The elaborately-decorated, so-called dictator smelled like a burnt cigar soaked in the anal gland discharge of a dead skunk. She wasn’t even sure which part of his body the offensive odor was coming from.
Maybe it was best she didn’t know.
Thankfully, the introductions lasted just long enough for a handshake, a distracted smile in her direction, and a brief conversation with Tiago in Spanish. Then his brigade of uptight assistants ushered him off to the next partygoer.
Tiago hooked an arm around her back and touched his mouth to her ear. “The air is safe to breathe again.”
“Jesus,” she whispered on an exhale. “What was that?”
“The aroma of corruption and power.” He steered her toward the bar.
“You don’t smell like that.” She smirked.
He smirked back before calling out his drink order to the bartender.
On the way to this majestic beachfront mansion, he’d explained they were going to a private island owned by one of the President’s diplomats. The last jog of the journey had involved a car ferry from the mainland. She hadn’t been able to see the ocean in the dark, but for the first time in her life, she’d detected the scent of salt and brine and heard the roll of waves.