Page 26 of Just One More Night
“Should we pretend to be tourists?” she asked, smiling up at him outside Prague Castle.
“I have never been a tourist.”
He looked down at her, still holding his hand like they were anyone. As if he were a regular person like all the other men he saw around him tonight. Soft, unwary. Was it that simple? Change his life, shed his old skin, and become what he had never let himself imagine he could?
With her fingers threaded in his, he almost believed it.
He wanted to believe it, and maybe that was worse.
“Then there’s no time like the present,” Indy declared. “We can be tourists right here.”
Stefan let her tote him along with her, walking the length of the Charles Bridge and then back again. He posed for the inevitable photographs. He even smiled winningly as they took them, which made her nearly cry with laughter.
“What? Even I know you must smile in these things.”
“Yes, Stefan,” she murmured, standing on her tiptoes to adjust the angle of her mobile. “You’re a regular old selfie-taking fool like everyone else. It’s obvious.”
And she was still laughing, later, when instead of following him back to where he’d parked his car so they could drive back to his villa, she tugged him into a dark alley. Then let her smile go wicked as she melted against him.
“Is this the real truth?” he asked her gruffly as he leaned back against the nearest wall and let her sprawl against his chest. “You cannot keep out of alleyways?”
“Let’s call it symmetry,” she whispered back.
And she wanted it fun and light. Flirty and fun.
But he didn’t.
Stefan kept it slow. He lifted her up and wrapped her around his body, then pinned her back against the wall so he could hold her there and take his sweet time.
He drew it out, teasing and tempting her, so that by the time he moved between her thighs she’d been shuddering on the edge instead of tipping over into her sugarcoated orgasms.
That was why he eased inside her, slow and sure. Filling her but never quite giving her what she needed to make it over that cliff.
And he fucked her like that, slowing down every time she tensed against him, until she was beating at his shoulders with her fists. Glaring at him, her eyes damp with her sensual misery.
“This is supposed to be fun,” she hissed at him.
He smiled and slowed down even more. “Maybe this is fun for me, Indiana.”
By the time he finally let her come, she had to bite her own fist to keep from alerting half of Prague to their illicit behavior.
When she tried to put a little distance between them as they walked back to the car at last, he didn’t allow it. He pulled her tight, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, and kept her close. Making sure she could feel the heat in him just as he could feel it in her.
As if it marked them both.
When they got back to the villa he did the same thing all over again, but this time stretched out in that wide bed upstairs until she was nothing but a sobbing, writhing, begging mess.
And in the morning when she wouldn’t meet his gaze he fed her, fucked her again, and when she made a move to leave once more, only smiled at her.
“Surely not,” he said. But lazily, as if he didn’t care one way or the other, which made her eyes darken, there where she was sitting cross-legged on the bed. “You had your fun. Surely it’s time I had mine.”
“You already had your fun,” she flared at him, pausing in the act of braiding her hair again to glare at him. “Ruining mine in the process.”
“You seem ruined,” he agreed. “But not in the way you mean, I think.”
“Whatever. I told you, this is supposed to be—”
“Fun, yes.” He lifted a brow. “I never thought I’d see my foolish girl, unafraid to walk into dark alleys and take her chances with questionable men... Afraid.”