Marrying The Master_Club Volare

by Chloe Cox

  He bit her neck, keeping her right where she was, while he reached down with his free hand, the one that wasn’t torturing her breast, to grab a fistful of her skirt and pull it up over her hips.

  This was already out of hand. Already out of control.

  Lola could barely breathe. Her eyes flew open, and she heard herself moan. Her voice didn’t even sound like hers. It sounded desperate, drugged, starved.

  “I’ll do anything you want, Roman,” she said. “Anything.”

  And she meant every damn word.

  Roman released her neck and pulled her head back to look her full in the face. His eyes blazed and his jaw clenched, and he looked utterly triumphant. Roman the conqueror. She loved him like this. She loved that he was like this because of her. And she couldn’t look away.

  That was all the trouble, right there.

  Roman took another deep, satisfied breath, and then wordlessly spun her around so her back was to him. Too surprised to speak, Lola reached her hands out instinctively and gripped a shelf in front of her. She tried to look behind her, but Roman still had hold of her hair.

  “Yes, you will,” Roman said, and she felt her underwear pull against her as he twisted them in his hand. The sound it made as he ripped them from her body sent another shiver through her. “You will do anything I want, whenever I want. And you will thank me for the privilege.”

  Lola thought she was going to come right there. The pressure between her legs had grown, the dull throb rising to a deafening crescendo, driving out all thoughts except the desperate need to come with Roman Casta inside her.

  She wasn’t thinking about the ceremony anymore, that was for sure.

  Roman slid his hand between her legs, pushing them wider apart. Her wetness had seeped out onto her thighs, and she heard him grunt as he pushed a finger inside her.

  “The way you feel inside, Lola,” he said in her ear, fucking her slowly with that finger. “It’s addicting.”

  Lola’s legs started to shake as her inner muscles clenched around him. She was still a little sore from how hard he’d fucked her the previous night, and she was reminded of it with every stroke. It made her almost dizzy, and she arched into him, unthinking.

  He laughed softly.

  “Here is what I am thinking, torronet. I do not want you to feel afraid. I never want you to feel afraid. So you will go to the ceremony with me in just a few minutes, and you will not be able to think of anything besides how well you have just come for me, and how hard I have just fucked you. You will go to the ceremony with my scent all over you. And you will wonder all that time what else I will order you to do. You will not have time to feel afraid. And everyone will think it is just because you love your husband.”

  Husband.

  Roman took his finger away and Lola almost whimpered in protest, until she felt him. Him. His rock hard erection, poised just at her entrance. She needed him now.

  “Oh God…” she heard herself say, and a current of anticipation rippled through her core.

  “Say it, Lola,” he whispered, gripping her bare ass and spreading her even more. “Say this is mine.”

  Lola groaned again. She felt obscene, made obscene by this man, this man who’d become totally new to her in only the last four days, this man she’d thought she’d known…

  “It is,” she panted. “This belongs to you. Please…”

  “Please, what?”

  “Please, Roman, just fuck me!”

  He surged into her, the thickness of his cock stretching her until she cried out. Roman brought his hand up to her face and gently covered her mouth; she could smell herself on his fingers.

  “Quiet,” he said, removing his hand and kissing her neck.

  He thrust into her hard, shoving her breasts up against her hands where they gripped the shelving. When he reached around and rubbed her clit with one expert finger, Lola groaned into his hand, spurring him on. He fucked her in hard, definite strokes, the rhythm shaking cans of cleaning fluid across the shelves, until the intensity was almost too much. Tears streamed from her eyes, and he paused, wiping her cheek.

  “Don’t stop,” she said. “Oh God, please don’t stop, I can’t take it if you stop.”

  There was a beat, and then he drove himself into her with even more force. He let her hair go and she slumped forward on the shelf, her body incapable of anything but taking what Roman gave her.

  Her orgasm didn’t build normally, didn’t gather slowly in her center and pulse out over the rest of her. It happened everywhere, all at once, a freak storm, like there was just too much energy and it had nowhere to go. She bit down on her hand, and her left leg buckled. Roman caught her, his arm around her waist.

  “You are not done,” he said into her ear. “Come for me again, Lola.”

  In just a few moments, she did.

  And then she did again.

  She was dizzy, and when she tried to speak her lips felt numb and her words didn’t work. Roman was still buried deep inside her, still thrusting, and she was aware that he was talking to her. Slowly, she came back to herself, like rising to the surface of a lake, and she heard him as clear as day.

  “Lola,” he said. “My Lola.”

  And he came inside her, his weight on her back, his lips on her neck. She didn’t know how he held her up while coming; she could barely remember her own name. And it felt like a long time after that before her brain functioned properly. She just rested while Roman cleaned them both as much as he could with a handkerchief that disappeared conveniently back into his pocket, and she stood there while he rubbed her shaking legs so she wouldn’t cramp.

  He was buttoning her shirt before she really felt capable of coherent sentences.

  “Oh God,” she mumbled. “What did you do to me?”

  “If you become worried before we finish the ceremony,” he said, straightening her skirt, “I will have to do it again.”

  Lola laughed weakly. “Promise?”

  Roman stood to his full height and looked down at her, serious as the grave. “Do not test me, Lola. You will already be disciplined for hiding from me in a…a broom closet.”

  “Disciplined?” she said.

  The corners of his mouth twitched into what was surely a smile. “Yes. I look forward to it.”

  Lola blinked. She did, too.

  Oh. Shit.

  Roman locked eyes with her. The two of them stood there like that, again at a loss for words. There were times when the absurdity of their situation crystallized, and there were times when it was clear that Lola, at least, had no idea what they were doing. Like now, in a broom closet, right after Roman had fucked her brains out.

  A dark look flashed across Roman’s face, and before Lola could speak he bent down to kiss her. It was more of a brand than a kiss, and it left her breathless.

  “Let’s go,” he said, pulling away. “Before you remember that in reality you would never marry me.”

  Roman Casta smiled brilliantly, took her by the hand, and led her to their wedding.

  chapter 1

  FOUR DAYS EARLIER…

  “You want me to be your wife?”

  Lola’s outrage shone on every inch of her beautiful face. Her green eyes actually seemed to glow, pinning Roman where he stood. Her creamy skin almost glistened, and even her hair, if it were possible, somehow seemed redder.

  Every gesture, every breath, every word that passed over those soft lips was infused with passion. No straight human male could help but think about how that passion might manifest in bed. She was just one of those woman who was cursed to be maddeningly attractive when she was angry.

  And she was already attractive to start. “Attractive” didn’t quite describe her. Roman had always thought there were no words adequate to describe Lola Theroux, even if she was the one woman who would always be untouchable to him.

  And she would remain untouchable even if—when—he had to marry her.

  Roman rolled his neck in an attempt to get his own frustratio
n under control. Lola’s reaction to the news that the two of them would have to marry, and quickly, in order to save Club Volare did not cast him in a particularly flattering light. If he didn’t know better, he might have been insulted.

  “Are you insane?” Lola continued.

  “Perhaps we could continue this conversation in private,” he said evenly.

  Had he the option, Roman would not have chosen to approach Lola about the situation surrounding Club Volare in public. He certainly would not have chosen the very small theater space that Jake Jayson had recently purchased for his charity. A space that was currently being used for a rehearsal, and that apparently had excellent acoustics. Everyone present had heard Lola’s exclamation.

  But Lola hadn’t given him a choice—she’d avoided Roman since he’d had to reveal his involvement in the Sizzle article exposing Club Volare, and himself as the owner of the club. He’d actually had to track Lola down with the help of Catie, Jake’s fiancée, when Lola had announced that she was taking her first vacation, ever, and had stopped answering his calls. This was especially irritating because Lola had apparently already forgiven Catie for her part in the deception involving the Sizzle article, when Catie had actually been a planted spy, while Lola’s anger at Roman burned as hot as ever.

  He had never seen her so angry, and never for so long. Roman had begun to fear it had done permanent damage to their relationship, a relationship that, though he would never permit himself to let it go further than friendship, was among the most important in his life.

  But while Lola’s stubborn refusal to consider all the facts surrounding his decision to manage the Sizzle story by himself had long infuriated him, now that stubbornness posed a risk to Volare. And he could not allow that.

  “Lola,” he said again, keeping his voice calm. “Let’s talk about this somewhere else, yes?”

  “I don’t want to go anywhere private with you, thank you,” Lola said, lowering her voice. The people working in the theater—Jake’s people, mostly, and some friends of Catie’s—had all very deliberately gone about their business, pointedly directing their attention elsewhere. Even Jake and Catie had departed up the center aisle, giving them a wide berth. It was obvious everyone was trying very hard not to make Roman and Lola the center of attention—which meant, of course, that they absolutely were the center of attention.

  It was just human nature. There would be gossip. There was always, always gossip. In fact, Roman’s plan to save Volare with this fake marriage depended on it.

  And Lola had just tried his patience.

  “It was not a request.” Roman took her elbow and walked her toward the entrance. Lola resisted, but quickly acquiesced when she saw the look on his face. If she were going to yell at him, it would be in private.

  Roman pulled her into the small coatroom he’d seen near the ticket office and shut the door behind them.

  “What the hell?” she demanded.

  Lola was even angrier now. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she breathed, and Roman couldn’t help but notice her breasts, full and ripe under the stylish suit she wore. Roman scowled. The first button on her shirt was low, very low, and showed quite a bit of luscious cleavage. It was a suit that was designed to be aggressively sexual, a power play that reveled in the sexuality of the owner rather than trying to hide it.

  It was…unfair.

  “Lola, listen to me,” he said, and wrenched his eyes away from her chest. He looked into her eyes, and for just a moment he thought he saw more than anger there—she looked hurt. Instantly, he changed tack. If anything were wrong, if anything truly hurt her, he wanted to know about it. He’d failed to protect her the last time she’d been hurt by her ex, that pathetic coward Benjamin Mara; he would not fail in that regard again.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  Lola shook her head, her red tresses waving softly. She gave him her toughest look, the one that said she would be giving nothing away. “You dragged me in here. Please tell me how you could possibly think I’d agree to marry you.” After a moment’s hesitation, she added, somewhat grudgingly, “And why you’re asking.”

  So she was still going to punish him. He sighed.

  “Because Club Volare is under attack, and I have been advised that this is the way to save it,” he said. “Do you remember that Ford told us that he received several inquiries from various agencies of the state after the article ran in Sizzle?”

  “State agencies,” she corrected automatically. His English was practically perfect except for random idiosyncrasies, and Lola was the only person who could make him smile with every correction.

  “And it was your Sizzle article,” she went on, her eyes narrowing. “Of course I remember those inquiries; they were nerve-wracking. But Ford said they were nothing.”

  “One of them has proved to be more than nothing.”

  Roman paused. He did not look forward to this. Not least because Lola would blame him, not entirely without cause, and become even angrier about the way he’d decided to keep the Sizzle article from her. She hadn’t even given him a chance to explain his reasoning for keeping secrets from her, and he did not foresee this helping his case.

  But Lola looked up at him expectantly. Even in the poor light of this dull room, she was stunningly beautiful. He treasured moments like this just as much as he dreaded them. She couldn’t know how much he wanted her. How he had dreamed of having her. How he had dreamed of what she might look like when she came, screaming his name.

  Of what she might taste like.

  But Roman’s obligations remained unchanged: Lola had been his responsibility at the most vulnerable time in her life, when she was much, much younger. It would be a terrible violation of her trust to take advantage of that intimacy and take what he’d long wanted, especially considering Roman’s own limitations on romantic relationships. Yet it was becoming harder and harder to avoid thinking about her in a sexual way, harder still because of what they were about to do.

  Try harder, he thought.

  “There is a state senator who has taken an apparent personal offense to us,” Roman said. “To who we are, and to what we do. To Volare. He has found a very old law that forbids an establishment with the licenses we hold to be operated by an unmarried woman. You are not married. He will try to take away all of Volare’s permits and licenses unless you marry, and he will likely succeed, at least temporarily, because he has what Ford calls ‘political juice.’ Ford tells me that the political ramifications would be serious. Not even our friends in Albany can afford to publicly support a sex club. Volare will close.”

  Lola stared at him.

  He went on, “Unless you marry me, to be precise, since one of my holding companies owns most of the Volare assets.”

  “What law?” she said. She’d lost the edge to her voice now.

  “It is a very old law.”

  “How old?”

  Roman had hoped to avoid this, too. It would only cause unnecessary conflict.

  “I believe it dates from the seventeenth century,” he said, as evenly as he could. “The early seventeenth century.”

  “Are you freaking kidding me?”

  Roman grimaced. “Yes, I am kidding you. This is all an elaborate joke to trick you into speaking to me again.”

  He regretted it immediately. Lola’s face frosted over, and she looked at him with…he didn’t know the word for that look. As though she had just retreated as far into herself as she could go, a place where Roman Casta, in particular, was no longer welcome. The passion he’d always associated with her was gone, and for the first time he truly worried.

  Lola only looked away and sighed.

  “Look, I get that you don’t take this whole thing with Sizzle seriously, Roman,” she said. “That is pretty obvious. But it’s difficult to work with someone who doesn’t take me seriously. Impossible, really. It might honestly be better for everyone if I simply quit.”

  Roman Casta was speechless. If she had said that in ange
r, he might have understood. He could respond. But she had not. She’d said it without a trace of emotion. He was stunned: quit? Volare without Lola?

  No, not under any circumstances. It was insane.

  “It would solve this crazy problem, wouldn’t it?” she went on. “And, without getting into it, it doesn’t seem like you really need me anymore.”

  She was serious.

  And she was moving towards the door.

  “No!”

  The word exploded into the small room, ricocheting off the walls, shattering any pretense of normalcy. Roman’s hand shot out to pin the door closed, and Lola turned around in alarm.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” she said.

  That is an excellent question.

  Roman kept himself motionless, breathing deeply while his mind raced. Normally he had an orderly mind, a very analytical mind, but Lola’s presence this close to him presented some kind of interference. He could smell her. She always wore Chanel, but it could not hide her own sweetness.

  “Lola,” he said. “You have not given me a chance to explain my reasoning. It is not like you to make such a decision without hearing all the evidence.”

  She opened her mouth as if to object, then thought better of it.

  “You owe me the chance to explain myself.” He took another deep breath and tilted her chin up towards him. She still wouldn’t look at him. Why? Had he really done anything that terrible?

  Had he truly miscalculated that badly?

  “And in the end, Lola, you can always decide to leave if you think that is best. But do this thing after we save Volare. Please.”

  He watched her close her eyes, and he thought he heard his own heart speed up. He hadn’t seen her look so devastated, so vulnerable, since the years when he’d first known her, after her father died. She’d been young and naïve in many ways then. That person had been only a shadow compared to the woman he had run into, by random chance, at a BDSM club in the city five years ago.

  He knew she was still dealing with the aftermath of heartbreak because of Benjamin Mara; he knew it had wounded her far more deeply than she generally let on. But this seemed more. More even than her anger at him.