here she was now, rendered vulnerable to an emotion far more all-consuming than fear and terror.
Here she was, surrendering to a fully grown man’s mastery over her body with no more fight than a whimpered groan.
Surrendering willingly. Despite the fact they were in a parking lot. Despite the fact her brother was somewhere in the hospital above her, injured due to a suspicious situation.
Surrendering and aching for more. Aching for Aslin’s total and utter possession of her body.
Weak.
Vulnerable.
Defeated.
Oh God, she’d never felt so damn on fire. So damn alive.
She pressed her hips to his, rolled them, wanting to feel the solid steel of his erection trapped by his jeans grind against the curve of her sex.
He growled into her mouth. That was the only word for it, a growl, animalistic and dominating. Her pussy turned to liquid need at the purely male sound. She raked her nails over his shoulder, knotted her fingers in the hair at his nape. He lashed his tongue against hers, his rigid cock pressing into her belly.
Her head swam. Her sex throbbed. She gave herself over to his control, the kiss igniting a need within her she could no longer ignore.
He circled his hands around her waist and, without tearing his lips from hers, hauled her from the ground. She moaned into his mouth as he spun her around and deposited her onto the seat of his bike, wrapped her legs around his hips and slammed his trapped cock to the junction of her thighs.
Chapter Five
The last place Aslin wanted to make love to Rowan was on the back of his motorbike. First against a wall in an alleyway, now an uneven bike seat in a cold, concrete parking lot. The trouble was the second, the very second, she looked up at him with those mesmerizing blue eyes of hers, any sodding notion of controlling his lust vanished.
Kissing her wasn’t enough.
He needed to be inside her. Now.
He dug his fingers into the firm muscles of her arse cheeks and squeezed, pressing his cock to her heat as he did so. Pleasurable pain shot through his groin and he groaned into her mouth, hauling her harder to his erection. She raked at his shoulders with her nails, her thighs squeezing his hips, her own moans loud in the near-empty parking level.
Stop, boyo. Not here. Not like this…
But he couldn’t. His hands roamed her legs, up her ribcage, over her breasts. She gasped into his mouth when he pinched one nipple through her shirt, her nails scraping at the back of his neck in response. He liked it. A lot. He’d never been one for BDSM, but the pain Rowan wrought on his body was delicious.
Pinching her nipple again, he steeled himself against the agony of her nails on his flesh. The pain came, sending fresh hot blood surging through his straining dick and he groaned again. More pain followed, pleasurable pain, when she snared a fistful of his hair and tugged. Fast and hard.
He tore his mouth from her lips, sucking in a steady breath as he stared down into her eyes. “I can fuck you here and now, Rowan. On my bike. Where anyone can stumble upon us. I don’t care. I’m beyond caring. But it’s your call. I don’t want you to—”
A sudden white flash bleached Rowan’s face, followed by another, and another.
Aslin spun around, his glare falling on a familiar man standing but a few feet away, a large SLR camera held up to his face.
Aslin’s gut clenched, cold fury storming through him.
Holston.
“Now that’s what I call an action shot, Rhodes,” the notorious Australian paparazzo called out, removing the memory card from the camera with swift hands. “You been taking lessons from that boss of yours?” He shoved the card into his back pocket with a smirk. “How is Nick by the way? Fucking around on his wife yet? I was hoping you’d lead me to him, but instead I found—”
Rowan stiffened in Aslin’s arms. For a second. Only one. And then she was off his bike and sprinting toward Holston, a feline grace claiming her body.
The paparazzo froze. His
Here she was, surrendering to a fully grown man’s mastery over her body with no more fight than a whimpered groan.
Surrendering willingly. Despite the fact they were in a parking lot. Despite the fact her brother was somewhere in the hospital above her, injured due to a suspicious situation.
Surrendering and aching for more. Aching for Aslin’s total and utter possession of her body.
Weak.
Vulnerable.
Defeated.
Oh God, she’d never felt so damn on fire. So damn alive.
She pressed her hips to his, rolled them, wanting to feel the solid steel of his erection trapped by his jeans grind against the curve of her sex.
He growled into her mouth. That was the only word for it, a growl, animalistic and dominating. Her pussy turned to liquid need at the purely male sound. She raked her nails over his shoulder, knotted her fingers in the hair at his nape. He lashed his tongue against hers, his rigid cock pressing into her belly.
Her head swam. Her sex throbbed. She gave herself over to his control, the kiss igniting a need within her she could no longer ignore.
He circled his hands around her waist and, without tearing his lips from hers, hauled her from the ground. She moaned into his mouth as he spun her around and deposited her onto the seat of his bike, wrapped her legs around his hips and slammed his trapped cock to the junction of her thighs.
Chapter Five
The last place Aslin wanted to make love to Rowan was on the back of his motorbike. First against a wall in an alleyway, now an uneven bike seat in a cold, concrete parking lot. The trouble was the second, the very second, she looked up at him with those mesmerizing blue eyes of hers, any sodding notion of controlling his lust vanished.
Kissing her wasn’t enough.
He needed to be inside her. Now.
He dug his fingers into the firm muscles of her arse cheeks and squeezed, pressing his cock to her heat as he did so. Pleasurable pain shot through his groin and he groaned into her mouth, hauling her harder to his erection. She raked at his shoulders with her nails, her thighs squeezing his hips, her own moans loud in the near-empty parking level.
Stop, boyo. Not here. Not like this…
But he couldn’t. His hands roamed her legs, up her ribcage, over her breasts. She gasped into his mouth when he pinched one nipple through her shirt, her nails scraping at the back of his neck in response. He liked it. A lot. He’d never been one for BDSM, but the pain Rowan wrought on his body was delicious.
Pinching her nipple again, he steeled himself against the agony of her nails on his flesh. The pain came, sending fresh hot blood surging through his straining dick and he groaned again. More pain followed, pleasurable pain, when she snared a fistful of his hair and tugged. Fast and hard.
He tore his mouth from her lips, sucking in a steady breath as he stared down into her eyes. “I can fuck you here and now, Rowan. On my bike. Where anyone can stumble upon us. I don’t care. I’m beyond caring. But it’s your call. I don’t want you to—”
A sudden white flash bleached Rowan’s face, followed by another, and another.
Aslin spun around, his glare falling on a familiar man standing but a few feet away, a large SLR camera held up to his face.
Aslin’s gut clenched, cold fury storming through him.
Holston.
“Now that’s what I call an action shot, Rhodes,” the notorious Australian paparazzo called out, removing the memory card from the camera with swift hands. “You been taking lessons from that boss of yours?” He shoved the card into his back pocket with a smirk. “How is Nick by the way? Fucking around on his wife yet? I was hoping you’d lead me to him, but instead I found—”
Rowan stiffened in Aslin’s arms. For a second. Only one. And then she was off his bike and sprinting toward Holston, a feline grace claiming her body.
The paparazzo froze. His
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