Roxanne St. Claire - Make Her Pay

And if she could see his potential now… she could actually love him then.

He hid the scepter in the step again, making sure the stone was secure. The papers in the metal box were coming with him.

Lizzie would go absolutely crazy with happiness. But first, he was going to make her absolutely crazy in a totally different way.

Lizzie curled up under the cloud of duvet, her hair wet from a shower, her body screaming for rest. She’d wanted to stay at the clinic longer, but there wasn’t anything she could do for Brianna except let her sleep, and the two nurses were quite capable of watching over her.

Remarkably, Bree was in stable condition, drifting in and out of sleep, but not in any danger. The doctor in Corvo had been competent and spoke English, but Con promised to get her to a specialist in Lisbon as soon as possible and then back to the States. She’d have a scar just in front of her armpit, but with plastic surgery and physical therapy, she’d be fine.

An inch or two lower… or a few minutes longer in that mechanism… and Bree would have been dead. Lizzie shivered and tucked deeper into the mountain of down, just as the door opened.

She peeked out from the comforter to see Con filling up the doorway, a dark expression on his face, dried blood over his eyebrow from a cut he’d sustained in the windmill.

“Con.” She barely breathed the word.

He just looked at her, his eyes narrowed, his chest rising and falling. No smile. No greeting. Nothing but waves of intensity rolling off him and threatening to flatten her.

He kicked the door closed behind him and dropped a box of some sort on the floor with a clunk. All she could do was stare at him, gripping the duvet in her fists as her heart rate climbed with each second.

He ripped off his T-shirt and threw it on the floor.

Her stomach took a roller-coaster dip.

He unsnapped his pants, kicked off his shoes, and pushed his jeans down, naked and fully erect underneath.

She opened her mouth to say something but nothing came out.

He stepped out of the pants and closed the space between them, the only change in his expression a tightening of his jaw, dark with whiskers and smudged from the battle with the windmill.

“Whatever you have on under there,” he said gruffly, “it’s coming off.”

She dropped the duvet cover, letting it fall to her waist.

His gaze burned her bare breasts and he took a slow, deep breath. “That’s a good start.”

She removed the cover deliberately, exposing more and more of her bare skin.

A whisper of a smile curved his lips. “That’s even better.”

“Con… what… why…”

“Lizzie, what is obvious, why should be obvious, and anything else, you can ask later.” He set something on the nightstand that she hadn’t even realized he held. A condom.

He put a knee on the bed and then straddled her, his hard-on pulsing over her stomach, his chest looming like a rock wall. He cupped her cheeks as he lowered his whole body onto hers, holding her gaze.

“This,” he said as he closed in for a kiss, “is the last gentle thing I’m going to do until after you scream.”

He kissed her mouth with… love. That was the only way she could describe the tenderness, the sweetness of the kiss. His eyes stayed open, locked onto hers, both of them lost and completely connected.

Her heart hammered, and so did his. Their tongues touched in a caress, a delicious silent overture that made her body warm and achy. She closed her arms around his shoulders, pulling him against her, opening her legs to get every inch of him against every inch of her.

He finally lifted his head, lasering her with his intention as he took her arms from around him and pinned them with one hand over her head.

His smile was dangerous as he licked his lips, tasting her kiss, then coming down for another-much hotter, much more demanding. If the first one was love, then this kiss was pure sex, burning, wet, slanted, deep, mouth-to-mouth fever.

And he didn’t stop there. Still holding her wrists in his hands, he trailed fiery kisses down to her chest, making her gasp and moan as he licked one nipple to a peak, then the other. She pushed against his hand, dying to have hers free so she could guide his head, dig her fingers into his hair, somehow have some control, but it was impossible.

He suckled and kissed her breasts and flesh, his left hand sliding down her waist and over her hip.

He cupped her buttocks and moaned as he kneaded the flesh, and she bowed her back in helpless response, his hot hands making her rock with need for more. He finally slid his fingers between her legs, letting out another groan of pleasure when he touched her wet, swollen center.

He murmured her name, circling his finger over her clitoris, then rolling it gently, kissing her just to make her completely insane. He slid his tongue between her lips the very second he slipped his finger into her, in and out in precisely the same rhythm but in opposite strokes. Tongue in, finger out. Tongue in…

And she couldn’t touch him. He still hadn’t released her wrists, heightening the sensation of being taken by him, maddening her, torturing her, blissing out every pleasure center in her body.

“Con, let me touch you,” she urged when he returned his mouth to her budded nipple.

He just looked up, a smile threatening as he shook his head. Moving to the other side, his fingers curled inside her and twisted more pleasure out of her.

“This is me…” He stroked her flesh. “Doing you.” He nibbled her nipple. “And you…” He thumbed her clitoris. “Coming apart.”

“I am,” she admitted.

“Not yet, you’re not.” He flattened his tongue over her breast, then sucked again, shooting sparks behind her eyes, in her belly, between her legs. His thumb twirled over her, his fingers flicked and fluttered, over and over until the need to free her hands was long forgotten, her brain only able to focus on bits and pieces.

The smell of salt on his skin. The achy thrum in her core. The zing of her nerve endings, the tickle of his leg hair, the wetness of his kisses, the moans from his chest, the feel of flesh against flesh, mouth against mouth, man against woman. His erection pressed against her thigh, burning and branding and making her beg to touch him-but he didn’t relent.

“Now you come apart.” One more shocking kiss. “Now.”

The demand was incendiary, intoxicating, impossible to ignore as he stroked her inside, licked her outside, fired her everywhere.

She panted breathlessly as the shudder started low inside her and built, the orgasm almost within reach.

Her eyes closed, she couldn’t think, couldn’t let go of the sensation about to overtake her.

She felt his fingers withdraw, heard a condom packet rip, and opened her eyes to see him position his hardon between her legs. He thrust into her, all the way, shocking her, taking her, owning her.

He plunged in again, holding perfectly still, suspending them both, then pumped fast and furious until her orgasm exploded deep and intense and long, making her cry out.

Then he finally let go, releasing himself into her with crushing, insistent strokes and a sweet, sweet moan of satisfaction.

Lax and spent, he laid on her, their breathing labored and ragged, their skin heated from the rush.

After they finally quieted, he said, “Now you can ask questions.”

She smiled. “You answered them all.”

Con shifted to his side. “But I need to tell you something, Lizzie. I shouldn’t have waited, but I couldn’t help it.”

She put her hand on his lips. “Don’t.”

“You don’t know what I’m going to say.”

“It doesn’t matter what you’re going to say. I want to say something first, without you making any speeches or statements or confessions or announcements.”