Free Crown Jewel by Megan Derr

repeated. "What in the hells would you know about me, when you were too much of a coward to stay the night—or even say goodbye?"
    "I could not afford to stay," Celeste retorted sharply, stepping back away from him.
    Whatever he had expected Celeste to say, it was not that. "How do you know? You ran away before you ever knew the price."
    Celeste laughed bitterly. "I am not discussing this. I am not going to indulge your temper because I did not stay in the bed of a man who has no use for me. There are plenty of men who do—"
    Lazzaro cut him off by yanking him close and kissing him hard enough to bruise those pretty lips, pouring all of his frustration and misery and longing into it. He sank his hands into Celeste's hair, uncaring of the braid he was no doubt ruining, holding Celeste's head firmly in place. When he finally ended the kiss, he drew back only just enough to murmur, "I have a thousand ways and more to use you, beauty. But I am not interested in a whore. I wanted a lover, and you were the one who chose to run away."
    "And when you get tired of me?" Celeste demanded, the words weary. "What am I supposed to do then? I am a whore and I have no intention of being a cut flower."
    "Stop creating problems," Lazzaro said. He reluctantly let go of Celeste and stepped back, and as suddenly as that everything he had managed to stop thinking about came rushing back. "Santino is dead. I have a killer—"
    He froze with shock as Celeste kissed him—just stepped in close again, pushed up on his toes, twined himself around Lazzaro and kissed him so deeply and thoroughly that Lazzaro felt like he was…he did not even know. Melting? Burning? Helpless, definitely. He groaned and sank into it, sliding his hands along the beautiful body he had ached to touch and claim from the first moment he had seen Celeste. Having Celeste pressed up against him, kissing him by choice—this was nothing like stealing a kiss at the Festival of Secrets.
    Lazzaro broke the kiss after a moment, content for a moment just to admire. "I rather like you this way, all bookkeeping and—"
    "Shut up," Celeste interrupted. "No more talking." He pulled away, dragging his shirt up over his head and casting it aside. Lazzaro wanted to ask if this was for real, what had brought it on, but he sensed Celeste had meant it when he said no more talking and he did not want to ruin whatever was happening. Lazzaro wanted to trust that this meant something—to both of them.
    Reaching out, Lazzaro dragged Celeste close again, moaning as his hands smoothed over the beautiful, warm, smooth skin now bared to him. "You feel like the finest of sins."
    Celeste gave a throaty chuckle. "I am the finest of sins, your grace."
    Lazzaro smiled against his skin. "Then I will indulge." So saying, he dragged Celeste to the enormous bed, stripped off the rest of their clothes, and gave in to every want he had resisted since his first teasing taste of cinnamon-flavored lips.
    *~*~*
    Celeste knew he was a fool for giving in, but no matter how many times he reminded himself of that fact, it could not seem to overcome the feel of Lazzaro's fingers biting into his hips, the feel of his well-muscled chest beneath Celeste's fingers, the stretch and burn as he rode Lazzaro's cock.
    A lifelong career in fucking people was not a terrible life by any means, but much of it had become rote over the years, a repetitive set of actions reorganized and tweaked per the wants and needs of each of his clients. Nothing about Lazzaro felt rote; in fact, it was hard to do anything but feel. His normally cool and collected mind was too overheated to collect any thoughts at all.
    He began to move faster, pulling up and driving back down, Lazzaro thrusting up in time with his movements, matching them so seamlessly they might have done this a thousand times or more. Lazzaro opened his mouth to speak—then closed it again, clearly recalling Celeste's edict. Celeste made a soft noise of approval, grinding down on