Born to be Bad (International Bad Boys Book 3) Read Online Free PDF Page A

his smile and to think that her words had put it there had Milly’s heart beat a small tattoo.
    She lifted the glass to her lips and took a sip, it was icy cold and tasted absolutely delicious, but more so when he replaced the taste of champagne with his mouth in a gentle kiss that made her slightly dizzy.
    He again removed her bag from her shoulder and dropped it to the floor.
    “Another sip,” Roman said.
    Which earned her another kiss.
    Soft and delectably slow, his mouth searched her until it was a relief when Roman took the glass from her hands and put it down on a small walnut table, for her hands needed to be in his hair.
    Roman never usually lingered with kisses yet he did tonight. He liked the silent plea of her lips to press harder, he liked the knot of her fingers in his hair and the way that her tongue caressed his.
    He was filled with a need that was unfamiliar, a need to reassure, to take his time, to feel the other and to nurture the rise of want.
    “I want to dance with you again,” Roman said and he spoke into the shell of her ear before kissing it softly and intimately. The wet of his tongue, the ragged sound of his breath had her neck arch and made her feel feverish. She turned towards him, desperate for mouth to be on hers but Roman denied Milly’s mouth his own. Instead, he undressed her slowly as they danced. His large hands were surprisingly nimble as he again dealt with the zipper of her skirt and he held her waist as she stepped out of it. His rare smile returned as, compliant, she lifted her arms so that Roman could slide her top off over her head.
    Then, Roman lowered her hands by her side and took down her bra. He was used to silicone and breasts that barely moved. How he loved the drop of her heavy, soft breasts to his hands. He took off his shirt and then pulled her naked—apart from her panties and stilettos—into his strong arms and they danced a more intimate dance than the one they had shared in the club lounge.
    Milly wasn’t cold, the heating was high enough and his skin kept her warm as did his kiss.
    It was Roman that made her shiver.
    Roman was still wearing his suit pants, his erection, pressed into her naked stomach, was blissful. The scratch of the buckle from his belt had Milly wanting it to dig further in. His fingers were playing with her bottom, cupping the flesh and stroking it and then pressing her in to the beat, not of the music, but a far more private dance.
    Her breasts were splayed flat against his chest and their mouths were conjoined when he picked up her champagne glass and danced them into the bedroom. There, by the bed, he loosely held her and Milly’s breath caught in her throat as he dipped one of his fingers in the icy champagne. His wetted finger came to her breast and started to trace the pale pink of her areola and she looked down, watching the slight shrink as the skin tightened and her nipples started to peak.
    Milly watched, fascinated too, as he did the same with the other, and then with her nipples as ripe and as tempting as small raspberries he lowered his head. Milly closed her eyes to the soft exploration of his mouth on her breast as his tongue teased and cajoled her nipple and then his lips softly blew.
    She stood, trembling with the delicious pleasure of his slow perusal. Her hands went to his head, more to steady herself, or perhaps to urge that he continue. Roman took it as the latter and his mouth took in more of her right breast, his hot tongue swirling, sucking and licking. Milly moaned her pleasure as he sucked harder and she felt the rough scratch of his jaw on tender skin.
    His hand moved between her legs and he started stroking her through the damp fabric of the panties. “Roman . . . ”
    She wanted more, she wanted his mouth to continue the vacuum of pressure on her breast yet he had removed his lips. Roman hadn’t finished the delicious slow torture. He removed her panties, lowering himself down as he did so, until apart from