Samson's Lovely Mortal
Page 28

Distraction.
Less than ten minutes later, she stood at the door of the apartment, having been buzzed up to the top floor. She barely had time to straighten her dress when the door opened.
Amaury gave her a once-over. As always, he looked sexy as the devil, which was exactly what she needed tonight.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” he drawled.
She walked straight past him into the open-plan living area. “I never knew you to be one for clichés.”
Amaury shrugged his shoulders and let the door fall shut. “Things change. But I see you haven’t.” No. She was still as gorgeous and as coldhearted as ever. Some things never changed.
He watched her as she leaned against the bar. “How have you been, Amaury?”
Raising his eyebrow, he didn’t bother answering her question. “What do you want, Ilona? Did you break your vibrator? Or why else would you be here?”
She pursed her lips. “Are you always this crude?”
“Only with you, darling, ‘cause that’s how you like it, don’t you?”
“And?” She paused. “Are you planning to deliver?”
Amaury looked at his wristwatch. “I have an hour to kill. It’s an option.” He could do with some sex. He could always do with sex.
“If you only have an hour, we’d better not waste time by chatting as if we were old friends.” She parted her lips, allowing her tongue to dart out. She licked her lower lip, and he followed her gaze as it dropped to his groin.
Amaury knew what she saw: a vampire ready for some action between the sheets. He was always ready. Merely talking about sex could get him aroused. It was both a gift and a curse.
It wouldn’t be the first time he bedded Ilona and probably not the last one either. She had a great body, and she liked her loving rough. Rough worked for him. Especially with a woman like her.
“Why tonight?” He wasn’t ready to let her have her way yet. The longer he’d stall her, the more randy she would get. And a randy Ilona promised a great fuck.
“What do you care? I’m here, aren’t I?”
He could tell she was hiding something, pretending this was like any evening for her, but he sensed her frustration. Deep down. Something had ruffled her feathers. That’s why she needed him: she needed the tension released. He knew just how.
Amaury took several steps toward her, stopping inches from her. “What are you wearing underneath this frock?”
“Nothing.”
Just like he’d told her after their first sexual encounter. He let out an appreciative grunt. He preferred his women to come prepared. No use wasting time by dealing with pesky underwear. He never wore any himself.
“Since we both know that you don’t like sucking cock, let’s just get to the main event, shall we?”
He didn’t give her a chance to respond. Instead he hauled her over his shoulder and carried her to the couch. She didn’t show any rejection to his treatment, and he didn’t expect any. He dropped her facedown onto the soft, cream cushions.
Amaury let himself fall onto it right after her and pinned her underneath him. He ground his loins into her, pressing his erection into her thigh.
“Missed my cock, did you?”
“Arrogant bastard,” she hissed and tried to push him off.
He grabbed her wrists and let her struggle for a while. “Yet you keep coming back. I guess there’s something you want from me. And we both know it sure isn’t my charm—which only leaves my cock.”
He knew it was all a game for her, pretending she didn’t really want this. But the scent of her arousal betrayed her. He absorbed her smell, making it obvious to her what he was doing.
“How rough would you like it this time?” He did not allow her to avoid his gaze. She’d have to tell him what she wanted, and then he’d decide whether he’d give it to her or not. Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn’t. It depended on his mood.
Ilona pressed her lips together, and he couldn’t suppress a grin. As always, she wasn’t prepared to ask for it. Just as well.
“I guess I have my answer then. Maybe a slap on your ass will loosen your tongue.”
An interested flicker animated her eyes.
Exactly as he’d suspected.
“You savage!” Ilona’s voice didn’t carry enough anger for him to even consider it a protest. More of an invitation, actually. Not that he needed one.
A second later, he rolled to the side and flipped her onto her stomach. Holding her wrists with one hand, he used his other one to lift up her dress.