No Strings Attached

Chapter Thirty Four

“Why are there outgoing funds on your account? Russian women have pussies paved in gold or what?” his voice was a drawl – low and intense, but cold and withdrawn – horror  was all over Sebastienne’s face.

“What the ... ?”                                 

“Oh, please, you think you can keep any secrets in this place?” Nate dragged the tip of the blade down Sebastienne’s curving spine – the suspension was condensing the vertebrae, so he knew where the pressure points would be most sensitive, and he dug the blade in a little deeper. “You’re going to tell us,” he said quietly – so unlike the previously playful psychosis he’d been displaying earlier, “And then we’ll be having a little chat about the fact that you put your filthy fucking hands on my woman.”

Jayden – just at that moment – spun into a roundhouse kick that tore into the back of Sebastienne’s shattered kneecaps, as the Frenchman’s entire body clenched in a gut-wrenching scream of agony.

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It was a little after two that Nate walked back through the doors to his bungalow – they’d got their answer at least – he was bringing in fourteen year old virgins – apparently he’d been setting up the Sophie auction slowly, with a few Russian teasers.

Sebastienne never told them though, he’d passed out again, the little prick – didn’t look like he’d be much good to them at all if he wasn’t buckling to anything but blackouts. No, Clarke had called – skirting on the edges of a fucking mass homicide by the sounds of him. He’d somehow manipulated his way into the inner workings on security over the past week, Nate didn’t think to question why he wasn’t going in as client, like they’d arranged – Clarke wouldn’t have given him a straight answer anyway.

Shannon was asleep on the big grey sofa – her arms clutched around a mound of cushions – as though she missed his body next to hers. The TV was playing quietly into the darkness – its screen the only light that flickered across her sleeping face.

He dropped onto his haunches next to her, his thumb running over her soft cheek gently as his eyes ran over her delicate peaceful features, and she stirred softly, turning into his touch as her lips tilted up sweetly.

“Hey kitten,” he whispered, as her dark hazel eyes finally opened to his, “Aren’t you uncomfy?”

Her tongue darted out to pass over her dry lips, before she gave a sheepish smile.

“I was waiting for you.”

“I’m here now,” he chuckled, running his nose across hers, before touching his lips to hers, “You can drop the cushions out of your death grip and come to bed.”

“Mmm,” she agreed, sipping at his lips – her tongue lazily toying with his, and he groaned in response, giving in.

He never broke contact as he drew her slowly to her feet – loving the feeling of his sweatshirt hiding her soft curves as he led them to the bedroom. He dimmed the harsh lights until they were bathed in a low glow – echoing the moonlight that filtered through the pale curtains softly. His moan as he felt her bare skin against his fingertips was low and primal, and he stripped her quickly, and without restraining – baring her naked body to his hungry eyes.

 “God, I’ve missed you,” he groaned, his shoulders hunched as he cupped her face in the palm of his hands – keeping her as close to him as he could – which was never close enough.

“Nate,” she moaned, as his kisses trailed down her throat – protesting even as she leaned back her head – submitting to him, “We can’t ... the doctor ...”

“You said you loved me, you finally said it ... and I’ve waited too long to hear those words from you ... I need you too damn much not to ...” his voice was dark with his intense arousal – his body solid and insistent against hers, “I need to hear you say it, babe...”

“But, what if ...” her voice trailed off as his mouth laved at her taut nipple, and she fell compliantly to the soft mattress as he gently coaxed her back.

“Fuck the what if’s,” he muttered tersely, his body straddling over hers powerfully, his breaths panting against her breast, “We’ll go slow or something.”

Pulling one of her legs up around his waist, he threw his t shirt behind them, unbuttoning his black jeans and kicking them off frantically. One of his hands trailed up the inside of her thigh – over their initials – his mark – and the sheer thought alone had her bowing back into the bed – her body alive with the sensual fire that was burning between them. She was his woman, there couldn’t be any more doubt.

His fingers teasing around her core – her beaded nipples encased in the delicious cavern of his mouth, she was clutching him to her – frantic, aching need building up inside.

“Tell me how wet you are for me,” he was murmuring against her – her flesh bathed in a mist of perspiration – writhing against his, “How much do you want me?”

“I love you,” she moaned, dragging his lips back to meet her own – greedy for his kisses – starved for his touch, “I need you inside me.”

“So you’ll be my wife?” he growled, his hand running over her dark hair gently – even as his other hand continued to torment her, “Promise to love me forever?”

She swallowed back convulsively – knowing exactly what he wanted to hear from her – knowing exactly where he was taking them back to. And she felt no fear as she felt his body brushing against hers – no instinct to flinch away from the memories as she murmured her response, “I promise to love, honour and obey you until the very last breath leaves my body.”

In one swift movement, he was inside her – deliciously and completely inside her, and the ecstasy brought fresh tears to her lashes as he growled in triumph, dropping back to her mouth as he thrust slowly.

“Then I’ll fucking cherish you, baby, I love you.”

And with her body clenching around his, she flew off the waves of passion that engulfed her – the throes that tossed around inside her, even as he made a slow, sweet love to her aching, writhing body.

She belonged to him.

Finally.