4

LISSA’S heart pounded so hard she felt the beat of it pulsing in her slick, hot, feminine core. Pulsing. Pounding. Demanding. She was in such trouble. Tomasso’s voice was pitched low. So low it was only the fact that his mouth was against her ear when he spoke that she could hear him. She felt his breath stirring tendrils of hair. His lips brushed her skin intimately. Teeth slid down the curve of her ear and then tugged on her lobe. A million butterflies took wing. There was a definite spasm in her sex. Very definite. Strong. Maybe a quake more than a spasm.

He’d issued the threat so casually. Matter-of-factly. That frightened her more than anything else. He wasn’t making an empty threat. He was capable of killing every one of her uncle’s bodyguards and even Luigi himself.

“You wouldn’t do that.” She needed air. Needed to breathe. Because she believed he would. She absolutely believed that this man was capable of killing them all in a fight, and more, she knew the Prakenskii brothers. Each and every one of them, when cornered, would be capable of killing and walking away without a backward glance.

“I wouldn’t have a choice, and you know me. You know exactly what I am. Don’t play games and get someone hurt because you’re afraid. You know I won’t hurt you. You came into my bedroom at night. In the dark. Alone. You forgot to change your perfume, but I’d know both scents anywhere.”

She closed her eyes and allowed her head to fall back against the door. It was him. She’d been right all along. He had saved her life tonight. She owed him thanks, but the words just refused to come. He was too close, his body too hot. The air still pulsated with danger, and suddenly she wasn’t altogether sure why she’d come to his room alone at night. She had told herself she wanted a confrontation, that she intended to lay down the law to him, but she didn’t need to do that in his bedroom.

Lissa had suppressed her own passionate nature for so long she hardly recognized the well deep inside that was already waking. Coming back to life. There was no stopping it now. For so long she refused to operate on any level but calm and peaceful, with little or no emotion, and she’d almost convinced herself that that was who she was. Now, the real Lissa was back with a vengeance. One couldn’t have hair the color of hers without having the passion to go with it.

“Tell me your name,” she whispered.

His tongue touched the soft skin behind her ear. His lips followed. The touch was light. Barely there. But she was branded. That soft stroke sank deep into her bone, sent little darts of fire streaking through her bloodstream.

“Casimir Prakenskii.”

“You left the book behind for me to find. You did that on purpose knowing I’d know exactly who you were. What changed? Why are you doing this?”

“Because you’re mine. You belong to me, and I’m taking what’s mine.”

Her heart stuttered in her chest. Simultaneously her stomach flipped and her sex spasmed. Went damp. Wanted him. She tried to make herself smaller, shrinking back against the solid door without appearing to do so. She couldn’t think clearly with him so close. And he was close. The more she pressed her body into the door, giving ground, the more ground he took.

“You didn’t feel that way a few hours ago,” she pointed out. Why in the world didn’t she just knee him and run for her life instead of standing there like a ninny waiting for something huge to happen? Something irrevocable that she could never take back?

She hadn’t allowed herself to come alive, to be a woman. Not once. Not ever. She didn’t make mistakes like that. She didn’t dare. Her life was one of playing a role, and that meant she couldn’t ever get close to anyone. Her sisters—were different. Still, they didn’t know who she was. They couldn’t know. To protect them. To protect herself. So she could have them, have some semblance of a family. People to love her the way she could love them. Fierce. Loyal. Still, they didn’t know her.

The temptation of his heat was unbearable. She was pure fire—bound to that element—and she responded to heat. To fire. She tried to suppress her nature, but it was already loose, already answering him. Her body, of its own accord, went soft and pliant. She felt the rush in her veins, like an addicting drug. Fiery passion burned at her deepest core, and now, with one touch of his tongue, the whisper of his lips against her skin and his body close, he’d opened the cage and allowed her true nature freedom.

“You met with Ivan Belsky. There would only be one reason for you to do that, Lissa. You’re planning on killing Uri and Kostya Sorbacov. Don’t bother to deny it. Gavriil made me suspicious, but I didn’t really believe it. Not after I laid eyes on you. Not when I flew all those miles with you. I established my cover here and then traveled to Sea Haven to meet with my brothers.”

She stiffened. Her free hand went to his chest with the idea that she’d move him back, away from her, but the moment she touched him, she knew it was a terrible mistake. He had no shirt on, his chest bare. His body was inflexible. No give whatsoever. All male. All muscle. Hot as hell. So hot her palm seemed to melt right into his chest. Her breath slammed out of her lungs, leaving her burning for air. Raw with need.

She couldn’t see his chest, not really. But she could feel it, his skin so hot. So tough. Her hand could feel his muscles, defined and rippling subtly beneath his skin, like a tiger, still, but coiled and ready to leap on her and tear her to shreds. She could move her hand. It was madness to leave it there, because he was more than a tiger, or a jungle cat, he was at the very top of the food chain and he was hunting. She knew he’d set his sights on her—he’d admitted it. He’d set a trap with that book and she’d stupidly walked right into it.

Lissa moistened her lips and tried to stay on target. “You met with your brothers?” She knew he had six brothers. All trained in the same way he’d been trained. An assassin, a product of those brutal schools no one ever talked about. No one wanted to admit they had ever existed. So much so, that Sorbacov, both father and son, wanted to make certain the existence of those schools never saw the light of day. They had put out a hit on all their graduates, men and women who had served them and were now considered disposable.

It hurt that his brothers would hold a secret meeting about her, that Gavriil would betray a confidence. She considered them family, at least the ones who lived on the farm. Lev, Rikki’s husband, in particular. He’d been there the longest, and she’d spent quite a lot of time in his company. They both had worked with her other sisters on self-defense. It had taken a lot of discipline to keep Lev from knowing she was far better than she let on. Still, she had developed genuine affection for him.

“Gavriil was worried, I could tell. The others just wanted you safe, they have no idea who you really are. I’m certain Gavriil knew, but he just told me that I was to stick with you, no matter where that led. He didn’t come out and say you might go after the Sorbacovs, but he alluded to the fact that he was a little worried, that you were a fire element and unpredictable. He said you were very close to Lexi and now that he was there on the farm as a Prakenskii, you knew that Uri Sorbacov would send anyone he could after him and the others. He also was afraid Uri would use you to get at our family. He would know you meant something to us. We protected one another in the schools by allowing them to torture us to keep the others alive; of course he’d know we’d do the same for you.”

She lifted her chin. “Essentially, he told you enough that you could figure out my past. You know that my parents were murdered.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. Her chest felt tight, as if it was impossible to breathe. The burn behind her eyes surprised her, as did the sudden clogging in her throat. She hadn’t allowed herself to think about her parents and that terrible day in a very long time and now, over and over, that door seemed to creak open.

Casimir’s hand, anchored in her hair, slid lower. His palm curled around her throat as if feeling her pulse beating there. Warm. Bringing fire to her skin. To the nerve endings so her body couldn’t settle—didn’t have time to do anything but react to his touch.

“My parents were murdered as well. My family was torn apart,” Casimir reminded, his gentleness disarming. “I know what it feels like to need to bring those who committed those crimes to justice. My brothers, Viktor and Gavriil, hunted down the men who had been there that night, the ones following Kostya Sorbacov’s orders. It took them a long time, years, to find out which ones pulled the triggers, but in the end, they killed every one of them. Only Kostya remains. None of my brothers could get near him. They’re too well known.”

She knew then. There was no getting air. No getting her breath back. “You become different people. You were that horrible man on the plane, bugging me every time I turned around just for your own amusement.”

Above her head, he nodded.

Her lungs burned. Felt raw. “You were Tomasso and then the man in the cappuccino bar and now you’re someone else. You’re planning on going after them both. To keep your brothers safe. That’s why, when you had the chance, you didn’t put your mark on me.”

She knew all about that claiming mark. She’d seen her sisters rubbing their palms. She knew they each could press their thumb into that mark and call their man to them. They belonged. They were cherished. They were loved. She wanted that and yet . . . She didn’t have the personality needed to be with a man that dominant. The Prakenskii brothers, each and every one of them, were extremely dominant men. Total alphas. How could they not be, trained in the schools to become essentially weapons?

She had secrets just as all of her sisters did, but hers were dark and ugly. “I need to breathe and I can’t with you this close,” she said, uncaring that she revealed too much to him. She didn’t know what she was going to do, but if she didn’t get air, she might faint, right there, at his feet.

His hand didn’t loosen from around her throat. His thumb brushed her chin and then lifted it. Easily. She was very short in comparison to him. He tilted her head at an angle that forced her to look into his eyes. His eyes were startling mercury. Silver. The only other person she’d ever seen with eyes like that had been his youngest brother, Ilya. It was no wonder he wore tinted contacts all the time. Those eyes were memorable. Totally rare. Eyes that left a woman weak. He had scars on his face. Lines of silver in his hair where the scars continued. She sucked in her breath, wondering how those faint white lines got there.

He stared down at her for what seemed an eternity. He bent his head slightly toward hers. She found herself wanting to go up on her tiptoes, to cover those last few inches, but she locked the soles of her feet firmly to the ground. She wasn’t going to get in any deeper.

“I really can’t breathe,” she whispered again. Hoping he’d let her go. She couldn’t make that move herself, so he was going to have to come to her aid.

“I’ll have to breathe for both of us,” he said gently. Softly. His voice a stroke of velvet, caressing her skin.

His lips touched hers. Just touched. Rubbed. Softly. Barely there. Her bottom lip. Her top lip. His tongue outlined both. Traced the curve of her lips and then along the seam. “I had a lot of hours on that plane to stare at your lips. I memorized the shape of them. I dreamt of them. Fantasized about them.”

When he whispered the words to her, his lips brushed against hers, sending a million darts of fire streaking through her body straight to the very feminine core of her. She felt each one strike, igniting more and more of that terrible need growing in her.

“Open for me.”

“No.” She whispered the denial. She needed to stay strong. If she didn’t, if she opened her mouth to him, she’d be lost.

Casimir was so hot. His mouth would be hotter. The fire inside would break free and she wouldn’t be able to rein it in ever again. Not with this man. He would own her. He would. She knew it just by standing there. He didn’t have to touch her or kiss her. She felt him around her. In her. His passion called to hers. The wildness in him, buried deep, suppressed just as the fire in her was suppressed, called to her.

“Yes.” His mouth moved over her face, lips tracing her jaw, her cheekbone, her eyes, moving back to her lips.

He was gentle. Patient. Persistent. He knew she was already lost. He knew. She saw the knowledge in his eyes. The possession there. The absolute resolve.

“I can’t, Casimir.” She didn’t sound determined or sure, she sounded pleading. More, with her head tilted this way, she could see the hunger in his eyes—for her. No one had ever looked at her with precisely that look. She was melting for him, and that wasn’t a good thing at all.

His tongue teased the seam of her lips, his lips, firm and hot and very, very tempting teased at hers. “Open for me, malyshka.”

“Not I won’t. I can’t. There’s a difference.” She tried reason. Her brain screamed at her to push him away. This was self-preservation. Self-preservation was strong in her. She had duties. So many of them. She had taken a vow with her uncle when she was just a little girl. She’d kept that vow. It didn’t include having a man or a family. It meant, ultimately, she would probably die. But until she did, she had to stick to her absolute purpose.

“Golubushka,” he murmured against her mouth. “You can. You will. I have waited a very long time and I never thought I could have you. Now, even if it is for a brief moment before we both die trying to save those we love, you have to give yourself to me.”

He couldn’t have said anything else that would induce her to let him have her. He intimated they would be partners. That he understood her vow. That he would never try to stop her from carrying out her plans.

Just this once, just this moment, she could have him for herself. She could be a woman. Real. Allow her fire to burn with his. She could let down her guard and just be herself. She opened her mouth before she talked herself out of it.

His tongue swept in and swept her away. There was no way to think, only feel. He kissed like he did everything. Sure. Confident. Perfect. Hot. So hot she knew she was melting, and it didn’t even matter. She wanted to melt into him. Skin to skin. She didn’t care if she paid the price later on. Right then, his mouth was all that mattered to her. All she focused on.

Hot lava poured into her veins, and melted her insides. Her legs went weak. He angled her face, poured himself down her throat. Took her breath, gave her his own. He was sweet and gentle and then rough and demanding. Coaxing. Commanding. He kept her wanting more. Needing more. He allowed her to come up for air and then she didn’t know if she initiated another kiss, or if he did. She only knew she was lost in him. In pure feeling. So good. So perfect. Better than anything she’d ever imagined or dreamt.

His hands slid down her back to her bottom, shaping, kneading, pulling her up and into him. She wanted to be closer. Wanted to be skin to skin. He had no shirt, but she was fully clothed. Would it be so wrong to take this night? Flames burned through her body, settled low and sinful. She didn’t know him, yet she did. She recognized him. She saw him. Casimir Prakenskii. She probably saw him better than he saw himself.

She hoped he saw her. She was Lissa Piner now, and she thought of herself as Lissa, but she wanted him to see the woman she really was. Giacinta Abbracciabene. Passionate. Needy. Greedy even. For him. For his body. For recognition that that woman existed.

His hands moved on her, sliding up her spine, under her blouse, slipping the material up over her head, tossing it aside. “I have to touch you.”

She knew what that felt like, having to touch him. She had her hand back now that he’d moved her closer to him, imprinting her body onto his. She was free to explore, to run her hands over his chest, to feel the heavy muscles, ropes of them on his arms and shoulders, yet his body was still lean enough to have that amazing definition that allowed him to assume any build he chose.

She wasn’t surprised that he didn’t have tattoos. Those marks would be identifiable and he couldn’t afford to be identified. His fingers made short work of her bra, and he slid it from her body, tossing it aside with her blouse. His mouth took hers again, a little rougher, almost fierce. She could taste possession. She could taste the male in him demanding she surrender.

She could do that—surrender herself to him for this one night. Whatever happened after, she’d have this. She never expected to have it. Such a gift. He obviously knew what he was doing, and she was ready to follow wherever he led.

He tugged her lower lip between his teeth. Bit down gently, just enough that she felt the little bite of pain flashing through her, and then his tongue was there. Soft velvet fire, teasing and stroking. He nibbled his way down her chin to her jaw, using the edge of his teeth and then his tongue. She had never considered that anything like that would be hot, but it was. So hot, she knew in another minute he was going to have to hold her up.

His hands slid around her back to her sides, shaping her waist, then sliding up her rib cage to settle at the sides of her breasts as if memorizing the very shape of her. She had no idea she could be so sensitive, but she was aware of his every touch, like a fiery brand, burning into her skin. His mouth was even hotter as he kissed his way down to the upper swell of her breasts. His thumbs moved, brushing her nipples, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Cried out.

Chaos reigned in her mind. Pleasure ruled. She reached up to cradle his head in her arms, loving the way his spiky hair felt against her skin. Keeping her eyes open to watch as his mouth moved over her breasts, sucking at her very sensitive skin, scraping with his teeth, soothing with his tongue. She could see small strawberries left behind in his wake, but her body was on fire. It was all she could do to watch such an erotic sight and not scream for more.

She heard her own panting lungs, the ragged breathing she couldn’t control. Her body didn’t feel like her own, it belonged to him. She couldn’t take her eyes from the sight of him feasting on her breasts. Her nipples ached. Hurt. Needed. The hunger in her was so sharp, so terrible, she gripped his hair in her fist and thought to push him toward the straining twin peaks. She couldn’t. She could only cling. Her pulse pounded in her clit. Slick heat gathered so that her panties went damp. Her heart hammered. She moistened her lips with her tongue. Waiting. She thought she might die with the wait. His mouth kept moving, following the path she wanted him to take, but slow, far too slow.

Then he was there. His tongue lapped at her nipple and fire streaked. Raged. Flames rushed through her bloodstream, hitting her core like a fireball. She gasped. Cried out. His mouth closed over her breast, drew her nipple into the scalding, moist cavern, flattening the hard peak against the roof of his mouth. He suckled. Her knees buckled. She was forced to hang on to him or fall.

“I can’t stand up,” she admitted, gasping the truth when she wanted to scream with pleasure.

Casimir spent a good deal of time being a lover. He was expert at it. He could be anyone and easily became whatever his mark was looking for. Whatever they needed. He had complete command of his body at all times. He was that disciplined. He’d learned that discipline in a very hard, brutal school, but that had served him well over the years. His body never spun out of control. His cock never went hard and hot and aching, so painful he thought he might burst, not like now. Never without consent. Until now.

He’d lost that control somewhere in the hours on that plane, somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean. He’d been into his role, deliberately, for his own amusement, annoying her, getting under her skin, and somehow, she’d gotten under his with her soft-spoken kindness. His body forgot those long hours of harsh lessons and spun out of control. By the time they’d reached Italy, he was a walking hard-on, something he hadn’t experienced since he was a boy.

In his youth, before he realized there was no escaping the life monsters had chosen for him, he dreamt of a woman of his own. Fiery. Passionate. Oddly enough, a flaming redhead. Lissa was definitely everything he’d ever dreamt of. She’d been so calm on the plane with all of his taunting, but he’d seen the fire in her. Caught glimpses of it. She would catch fire fast, burn hotter than any volcano and come apart for him.

Her skin was softer than he thought possible. He’d managed twice on the plane to get into her space enough to feel the satin under his fingertips. Any more than twice and he would have totally creeped her out. She wasn’t a woman to be trifled with. The heat in her eyes warned him so he’d resisted touching her. Now, he couldn’t get enough of sliding his hands over her narrow rib cage to cup her breasts while he fed.

She was sensitive. Very sensitive. He took every advantage of that. His body might not be in his complete control, but he had enough experience to know when a woman liked something and when she loved it. Especially when something drove her out of her mind with pleasure.

He wanted her hands on him. His cock was so full he was afraid he’d burst with the urgent, demanding hunger roaring through him, but he couldn’t rush this. Couldn’t let his own need make him lose sight of what was most important. She had kissed him back, her kisses better than anything he’d ever experienced because she was kissing him, Casimir Prakenskii, not one of his many aliases. She knew who he was and she wanted him, not one of them. He might not know who he was, but everything he knew about himself was definitely hers. All of him. What there was left of him. It might be miniscule, but the real man was there somewhere, and that man belonged to this woman.

He hadn’t realized just how far gone he was. A man could only live so long in the shadows without an identity before the darkness consumed him. He’d made up his mind to try his hand at killing the Sorbacovs, both father and son. He knew they would be expecting those from the school to come after them, and they would be waiting. Kostya Sorbacov knew each of those students and what they were capable of. He would be looking for the master of disguises and suspicious of every man coming near them. Casimir didn’t expect to come out of the encounter alive, but he was fairly certain he could kill at least one, if not both of his targets.

Holding Lissa in his arms, his hands moving over her soft skin, his cock pressed tight against her body, his mouth on her breast, touched something deep in him, something he hadn’t known existed. She was like the sun itself. Hot and bright, burning for him. Giving him that light when he needed it the most—when he was all but lost. Her breathy little moans filled his ears. Music. Beautiful. Filling his soul.

He wasn’t a poetry kind of man. He’d skipped the lesson on hearts and flowers, but there it was. He needed her to see him. To want him. He needed her like he needed air just to breathe. All along he’d been swallowed by the shadows, but somehow, she found him and her bright light burst over him.

He kissed his way back up the slope of her breast, her throat, nibbled on her chin and took her mouth again, needing to catch one of those soft little moans and swallow it. Her mouth was like velvet, but so hot he thought he might burn there forever. Her nails bit into his shoulders, scored down his back, and she went a little wild against him. He loved that no one else had kissed her. He knew they hadn’t the moment her tongue danced so shyly with his. She was only for him. Made for him. Her body’s reaction was real. For him. He loved that. Needed it like a man starving.

She shuddered. Trembled. He deepened the kiss and slowly began to walk her backward toward his bed. He wanted to take her against the wall, right there, or the floor, anywhere at all, but this first time had to be the bed and he had to find it in him to be gentle. To keep the brutal need, so stark and raw, from swallowing them both alive.

“Unbutton my jeans,” he ordered against her mouth. He didn’t stop kissing her. He couldn’t. He was fairly certain if someone were stupid enough to walk in on them and stop him, their life would be in danger. He needed. It felt good to need. The vicious ache in his cock felt good because it was real. More, even better, she wiped away the long years of emptiness, the dark, ugly memories of living day to day in other roles with the sole purpose of killing. She took all of that away and replaced that darkness with her fire. With her skin, and the hot pleasure of her mouth. The promise of paradise in her body. Real paradise. Not the unemotional detachment and discipline his body was forced to perform when touching a woman.

Her hands didn’t just drop from his shoulders, she moved them down his body, branding him with her touch. Little flames seemed to dance over him. The room temperature went up along with the heat centering in his cock. His heavy erection pressed so tight against his jeans he was afraid the material would burst—or melt.

Her palms continued down his body, gliding over his skin, lingering until he wanted to take command, but at the same time, with her feeding his natural hunger, the craving and anticipation grew in him, and he loved that. Loved he could feel so intensely. Her hands dropped to the waistband of his jeans riding low on his hips. She didn’t fumble, but she did tremble. Emotion burst through him. A desire to protect her. To hold her to him and keep her safe from everything and everyone—even him.

He took a deep, shuddering breath and dropped his hands over hers. “Giacinta.”

She looked up at him with her incredible blue eyes. He tried not to fall. Not to drown in all that blue. “I’m Lissa now. My sisters don’t know me as Giacinta. I haven’t told them yet, but if I get back to them, I will.”

He nodded. Understanding. “In this bedroom, I’m Casimir and you’re Giacinta. We have to be real. And you have to know what I am. The things I’ve done. Not once, but many, many times.”

She continued to look up at him for a very long moment. An eternity while time stood still for him. His blood thundered in his ears. Need pulsed in his cock. His entire being centered on her. Her lips began a slow curve. She ducked her head. Shook it. Her hands, beneath his, began to work on the buttons of his jeans, slowly, one by one, with his hands covering hers, opening them.

“Do you know what I’ve done, Casimir? You were there today, with Belsky. You knew I was there playing my role of Patrice Lungren. Patrice is still me when she goes after targets.”

His jeans were open and her hands went to the waistband. Inside. Palms against his bare skin, thumbs hooked in the band. Her head tipped back and she looked up at him. Shyness, yes. Fear, no. She began to slowly divest him of his jeans and underwear. Her hands slid over his hips, down his thighs. She crouched, taking them lower to his ankles. He dropped a hand on her shoulder and lifted one leg at a time until he was stark naked, and his cock was harder and fuller than it had ever been.

She stood up, slowly, her hands on either side of his thighs, burning a brand there while her eyes locked on his cock. She stared at the length and thickness of his erection. She was close enough that he felt her breasts skimming against him. Hard little points that beckoned. Soft, lush curves that he craved to get his mouth around. His tongue on. His teeth. She was short enough that when she bent her head, he felt the breath of her on his broad, velvet crown. Small droplets leaked out. Her tongue swept the full curve of her lower lip.

Instantly every fantasy he’d ever had about her mouth flooded his mind. His cock jerked. As if mesmerized, her hands moved up his thighs, gliding over the muscles there, claiming him before they moved inward, cupping his heavy sac. His breath left his lungs in a rush. His mind slipped further into chaos. Into need. Into a place he’d never experienced. A fire roared. Threatened to break free and run wild.

He didn’t stop her. He couldn’t do that. He didn’t have that kind of strength, when he’d been so certain he was stronger than any man alive, other, perhaps, than his brothers. He’d been sure he was more disciplined, had more control. All that was swept away by her small, delicate hands and her touch that burned through skin, straight to bone.

“You have to know what you’re doing, Lissa. We do this, you give yourself to me, there’s no taking it back. Not once it’s done. You have to understand that. I get this, you hand it to me, you can’t just take it away.”

Her hands moved over his balls, so gently, reverently, as if she were memorizing the shape and feel of them. He could only see the top of her head as she bent to examine that part of him.

“You know neither of us has much time, Casimir. If we were always meant to be together, and I’ve seen that bond between your brothers and my sisters, then we deserve this night and any other nights we manage to get in before we make our try.”

The heat of her breath was on his cock. Fiery hot. Scorching him. Her fingers rolled and kneaded for a moment and then her breath was there—right the hell on his balls—and he felt the first tentative touch of her tongue. This time his breath exploded from his body. His entire world narrowed to his balls and cock. There was nothing else but that part of his anatomy.

She licked over him. Like an ice cream cone. Clearly tasting him. Very gently she sucked at the tender flesh of his balls and then rolled them again before her tongue took a leisurely foray up his shaft. One hand still cupped his balls, but the other went exploring right behind her tongue, her palm sliding up his length and teasing the underside of his flared crown.

He threw back his head, trying not to roar with need. His hand cupped the back of her head, desperate to push her head down, to feel the velvet heat of her mouth surrounding him, but he knew better. His control wasn’t in shreds yet, although she was fast bringing him closer to that edge.

He was aware of the way she massaged his balls, sending streaks of fire racing through his groin while her tongue continued exploring. She licked the droplets off of him, one fist closing around his shaft at the base. He knew she wasn’t experienced, but the intensity of her investigation coupled with her obvious enjoyment sent his senses reeling. She made him feel more than he’d ever felt before with any of the experienced women he had deliberately seduced.

Casimir drew his hand down the length of her silky hair, fingers weaving and sifting, trying to distract himself enough from the fire spreading through his groin, from the need to have her mouth take him deep. She didn’t. She used her tongue to get to know his size and shape, but denied him that one thing he craved.

“Are you afraid, Lissa?” His voice wasn’t his own. He sounded husky, almost hoarse. His cock raged at him. At her. With needs all its own. Needs he had never felt before, not like this. Not real. Not without him forcing his mind to go there, thinking to pleasure a woman to get the information he needed.

Lissa wasn’t looking to be pleasured by him. She made it clear she was giving him pleasure. That she wanted to know every inch of him. His thighs. His balls. His cock. She’d showed attention to his chest, his back and shoulders. She was exploring, taking her time about it, trusting him to let her do what she was comfortable with. But she was killing him slowly.

“Golubushka, tell me if you’re afraid of this.”

“No. I want to get to know every inch of you. I want to claim you. I know once I’m on that bed with you, you’ll take over, and that’s a good thing. I want that. But I need to do this for me. I’m trying to tell you something about me. About us. About what is important to me, and this is the only way I know to do it.”

She didn’t lift her head, but her gaze met his and once again that pure blue drew him into her. She wasn’t pleading. Lissa Piner didn’t plead. She wanted. Him. She was making that clear. Staking her own claim in her own way. She was claiming every inch of him, making him hers, branding him. His woman might be shy about this, but she wasn’t afraid and she had confidence in them together.

He caught one hand and drew it beneath his balls, pressing her finger against that soft spot between his balls and anus, the one that could bring a man a great deal of pleasure just by stroking. He showed her and then brought his own hand back to her bare skin. Stroking caresses as her finger and mouth drove him mad.

His palm itched, the burn in the center reminding him that she belonged to him. That once he marked her, nothing could come between them. His mark would create a pathway between their minds. The silk of her hair brushed against the mark, and he felt it as if her tongue had glided over him, leaving behind a trail of fire.

“Give me this, Casimir, and then we do everything your way. I truly want that, but I need this.” She didn’t stop stroking him. Learning what pleased him that fast.

Her breath was hot now, bathing the velvet crown of his cock in scorching flame. His hips moved convulsively, thrusting toward that heat, and to his shock, her lips parted and she took him in. Her mouth was scalding. Soft. Moist. Everything and more than he’d fantasized over. Fingernails raked down his thigh and then around to his buttocks. She cupped him, drew his hips toward her, her fist tightening around the base of his cock as her tongue swirled over the crown, catching every leaking drop.

He was large. He knew that. In some cases it was a good thing. When it came to being in that hot, sacred mouth, that paradise he’d unconsciously sought his entire life, maybe not so much. He wanted all the way in. All the way. He wanted to bury himself deep, feel his balls against her delicate chin, the head of him with her throat squeezing around him. He wanted it all. He stayed in control, but just barely, he was losing it fast. She shredded it with her mouth and fingers so easily.

She used her tongue and then sucked him deeper. An inch. Cautious. Still exploring.

“Lissa, I have to tell you the truth here. You’re done with claiming. I’m branded. Yours. No one else. You alone. I’m not going to be able to take much more, so let’s move this to the bed.” He meant it. He was more than about done, he was already gone. His icy, rigid control had melted under the siege of her fiery mouth and he had to end this before he began thrusting deep and scared the hell out of her.