Smoke and Sin (The Perfect Gentlemen 4)

Even more, she needed him—the connection, the closeness. The promise of their future.

She positioned herself over his thick erection, letting her palms skim over her breasts and down to her waist.

“Fuck, you’re sexy. Yes, this is what I want.” His grip tightened on her as he positioned his cock against her intimately. “If I could, I would keep you naked all the time, always ready for me.”

It was a nice fantasy. She didn’t mind entertaining that one, especially if Roman remained dressed and did all kinds of dirty, unspeakable things to cajole her complete surrender.

With a gasp, Gus lowered herself down, sliding his massive length inside her inch by inch. Slowly. God, she wanted to feel every second of his penetration, so she moved as if she didn’t have a care in the world, as if they had all night to simply feel each other.

He filled her completely. No one ever had filled her quite the way this man did. She was deliciously stretched and feeling thoroughly adored by his unyielding grip on her hips and the blistering heat of his stare.

“You feel so damn good. Kiss me,” he growled.

With pleasure… She lowered her mouth, brushing her lips against his as she found a rhythm, her hips moving in time with his. He held her so close, as if he would never let her go.

The tension built with every thrust, his cock and his tongue working in tandem to drive her out of her mind. Heat balled in her belly. Tingles snaked behind her clit. Gus held onto him, letting him take over because she was so close to finding that perfect place where nothing mattered except the wild pleasure she found in his arms.

It burst over her and she shook. Only his arms around her kept her from falling apart. He held her even tighter as he ground out his own pleasure with a chest-deep groan.

Once the sweet pleasure had subsided to a delicious little pulse between her legs, she slumped against Roman, breathless, heart about to burst with joy and something that felt a lot like love.

“Next time my pants come off,” he murmured.

She managed a laugh. “And I probably should put mine back on.”

He shifted, rolling her on to her back across the long sofa. “Not yet. We still have time, Augustine.”

Then he lowered his head to her breast, laving the starkly sensitive tips and igniting the heat inside her all over again. It looked like he meant to make the most of whatever time they had together. Gus hoped it was a long while.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Roman glanced around the cemetery, watchful and tense. What kind of twisted fuck planned a meeting at midnight in a place where everyone was dead?

Unless the informant meant the setting as a warning Augustine was too stubborn to heed.

“Stay close to me.” He reached for her hand. If someone was getting brutally murdered here, it would be him. Gus’s punishment would be going through life knowing he’d valiantly saved hers and that she would never find another lover who could satisfy her the way he did.

Three times in an hour and a half was practically a record for him these days. Not that he felt old—especially when he was with her—but lately he’d been considering how the years were passing. Lately, he’d spent far more time chasing down reluctant votes on the Hill than women.

Maybe because, despite it all, he really only wanted one.

“You’re too nervous, babe,” Gus said with a nonchalance he wasn’t sure could possibly be real. “It’s just a conversation. It’s going to be a piece of cake.”

Right…

He’d satisfied her far too well. That was the problem. She had the look of a well-loved woman, one who didn’t care that she was about to die because she’d already had the best orgasm of her life, and everything else was downhill from there. He should have held something back. Then maybe she would have rethought her whole let’s-meet-a-potential-killer-in-the-dark-of-night plan.

There was a reason he’d gone into politics. The backstabbing in the Beltway was figurative…usually.

Except what had happened to Joy—as well as Constance, Mad, and the admiral… He shoved his thoughts of the string of bodies aside. Life was fleeting, and he’d lost so many years with Gus already. He couldn’t let his idiocy continue to come between them.

“Pretend it’s a simple walk in the moonlight,” she went on, squeezing his hand.

“More like a walk in the mud,” Roman grumbled. At least the rain had stopped, but his Louis Vuitton loafers were sinking into the soft earth. Every time he pulled them free with a squishy sound, he winced.

“You are determined to be Eeyore,” she shot back. “You know some men would think this is sexy. It’s very Mission: Impossible. Connor does stuff like this all the time, and I bet when he gets home from an assignment he has incredible sex with his wife.”

There were a few things wrong with her scenario. “Connor was trained to do this stuff, and I assure you he wouldn’t be thinking about sex if Lara was in danger.”

“Bet you’re wrong.”

Maybe he was. After all, he was still thinking about sex. Roman couldn’t help it. His whole body felt languid, loose, as though his muscles hadn’t yet caught up with his paranoid brain. His cock couldn’t think about anything but how good it had felt to have Gus’s mouth wrapped around it, sucking, licking, and lavishing it with singular affection.

Damn it, he needed to get his head out of the sack and into the present.

He paused, glancing around the cemetery. “This place is surprisingly more expansive than I imagined. Any idea where we’re supposed to meet this guy? Did he give you instructions? Third gravestone from the left or something?”

In the silvery moonlight, he could see her biting that sexy bottom lip of hers as she considered the question. She scanned the area, her eyes lighting on something in the distance. “Well,

if I was going to hide, I’d do it there.” She pointed. “If you stand under that awning, no one would be able to see you since the moon’s behind it.”

He followed the direction of her finger. Up a small hill rested what looked like a damn crypt at the edge of a copse of trees. The darkest, nastiest, best-place-to-be-horrifically-murdered spot on the grounds. Unfortunately, she was probably right.

“Son of a bitch.”

Gus started up the hill. “So Everly and Lara have met this guy? Back in DC?”

He knew what she was doing, keeping him talking so he didn’t flip his shit, throw her over his shoulder, and run for the hills—not the literal hills. The killer was likely lurking there, but at the least he would run back to the B&B and call the “bizzies.” Instead, he gripped her hand and marched up toward the freaking crypt—and likely his death. “Everly met him in New York shortly after Mad’s funeral. Lara encountered him in DC a few weeks later. Now he’s hopped the pond and come after you.”

“But he never talked to Holland. Don’t you find that interesting?”

Roman had never thought about that. “I don’t know why.”

“What kind of information did he give the others?”

“Complete shit.” Roman had no idea why they were giving in to this pot stirrer. “He talks in fucking riddles. Whoever this asshole is, he’s seen way too many movies. Lara’s crazy friend Freddy has been way more helpful. He’s completely insane but the dude can weave a really tight conspiracy theory that holds together. And he’s good with PowerPoint presentations.”

When they reached the top of the hill, a shadow peeled away from the wall of the crypt. “I’m so sorry to have disappointed you, Mr. Calder. I’ll try harder this time to give you information that’s not complete shit.”

Roman frowned because that wasn’t the deep voice of a man. It was on the low side and definitely strong, but it sounded female. That made him stop in his tracks. He pulled Augustine back. “Who are you?”