“That is one lucky woman.” Claire threaded her arm through his as Callum headed toward the stage, notes in one hand, his public smile firmly in place.
“Funny. I was thinking the sheikh was a lucky man.” He glanced at his sister. She was always so reasonable, so intellectual. “You don’t think it would be hard to live in a way the rest of the world thinks is wrong?”
“Who cares what the world thinks, Rory? The world doesn’t hold you at night. The world doesn’t take care of you. So no, if I had the chance, I wouldn’t give a damn what the world thought. I would choose love.” She nodded to the stage. “Good. After Callum’s speech, we can start closing this thing down. I’m rather tired after all the dancing. Say, have you seen Oliver?”
Yes. He’d seen Oliver stalking after Tori like a lion about to tear apart a luscious little antelope. “No,” he lied. “I’m certain he’s around here somewhere.”
He had to hope Oliver wasn’t ruining the future for all of them.
* * * *
Oliver pressed Tori against the door, his cock shooting to life. Months—years, really—it seemed as if the damn thing had been completely apathetic. Oh, it functioned for the most part, but only in an obligatory capacity.
Now, fire rained down and passion pelted him. His cock pulsed with life, strictly because of her.
He covered her body with his, pressing his chest against the softness of her breasts, dying to be inside her. He wanted tonight to last because it was all he would ever allow himself to have of her.
“I’m not going to play the gentleman like my brother.”
“I don’t want you to.” The last thing she wanted now was gentle.
“Good, because I’m going to get inside you and I’m going to stay there for a good, long while.” He would take her again and again. When he was fully sated, maybe this terrible longing to be near her would dissipate and he could get back to his real life.
And she would move on with hers. Away from him because after tonight, Callum would have to see the sort of woman she really was.
But he didn’t care now. All he could think about was how soft she felt and how fucking sweet she seemed. He didn’t care if all that was an illusion he no longer believed. Right now, all that mattered was sinking into her for a few hours and forgetting anything else existed.
“Take it off. Now.”
“My dress?” Her breath caught. “I can’t reach the zipper.”
“I meant the ring. I’m not making love to you with that bloody thing on your finger.”
“I’m sorry.” She gripped it with her right thumb and forefinger and tossed it away as if it meant nothing. He heard it ping on the hardwood floor as it rolled away. “I shouldn’t have even tried it. I was very foolish. It’s nothing, Oliver. It was a stupid idea.”
Yes, marriage was a very stupid idea, especially with her. She was dangerous to his peace of mind, and he wouldn’t marry again. His brothers and sister could do all the heir making for the family. He was through with silly notions of faithful love.
He pressed his hand up her body and cupped her pert breast. Even through the material of her gown, he could sense how soft that skin was going to be. Touching her was what mattered. Sex with her right now mattered. He could scratch his itch, then send her back to the idiot who planned to marry her. And if she thought she’d traded up… Well, he would make sure she understood the way of the world come morning.
He slammed his mouth over hers, taking possession with a slow grind of his hips timed to his moving tongue. She opened to him, softened under him, throwing her arms around his neck and clutching him close. Those pretty lips flowered open under his sensual assault and her tongue came out to shyly brush his.
Pure fire whipped through his system. He craved her, needed her—and that rankled him. He’d nearly lost her to a thug who’d meant to gut her with that knife. Now, he needed to drag her skirt up and shove his cock deep in order to remind himself she was still warm and alive.
He fumbled for the zipper at her back and jerked it down. He lacked all his usual grace and nearly ripped the designer gown off in his haste to touch her skin. Now that he was kissing her, giving in to his desire, he wouldn’t tolerate anything between them.
She gasped as he tugged at the bodice of the dress, freeing her breasts. She raised her hands, covering the plump mounds.
He stepped back with an arched brow. Was she going to play innocent? “No games, Tori. You either want me or you don’t. If you do, I want to see what you’re offering me. Show me your breasts.”
She hesitated, biting her lip and breathing hard. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders. Her blue eyes clung to him, almost pleading. But he’d told her what he needed from her—his stare on her body now.
When she didn’t obey, he almost turned away. His cock practically howled at the notion, but he wouldn’t get on his knees and beg and pledge his devotion. This wasn’t about love. It was about possession. Obsession. He needed to take her once and purge the emotion forever.
“All right.” Her voice shook. “But if you laugh at me, I’ll kick you in the groin, and right now that looks like it could hurt.”
Slowly, Tori lowered her hands, revealing her breasts. They weren’t huge, just two perfect handfuls. Creamy ivory skin with pink-tipped nipples teased him. Those hard tips looked like they longed to be sucked and tormented with his teeth and tongue.
“Why would I laugh?” He sidled closer again. “You’re fucking beautiful.”