Ryan pulled out slowly.
The slick, wet sound of his retreat made Diana whimper, her body instinctively chasing the loss of heat.
She collapsed entirely against the marble island, her face turned to the side, her eyes closed in a haze of absolute exhaustion.
The ruined black lace of her bodysuit hung off her shoulders, her skin flushed a deep, feverish pink.
Ryan didn't give them a moment to catch their breath. The Warlord Protocol hummed in his blood, a dark, insatiable frequency that demanded total, unrelenting consumption.
He reached down and grabbed Diana by the upper arm, hauling her off the counter. She stumbled, her legs useless, her heels scraping against the hardwood.
"Walk," Ryan commanded, his voice a low, echoing rumble in the quiet penthouse.
He didn't wait to see if she could stand. He hooked his other arm around Zara's waist, pulling the supermodel off the edge of the island.
