Two heartbeats passed, his gaze a dark, stormy night that charged the air with electricity.
“That’s a bad habit.”
“Mm,” was all I could manage, my entire body vibrating beneath the surface.
I exhaled when he slid a thumb across my cheek, and a satisfied, villainous look so akin to him touched his lips. “Don’t worry, kotyonok . . .” He leaned in and nuzzled my neck, his warm breath raising goose bumps on my skin. “Ya vyyebu vsyu lozh iz tebya.” The statement sounded like a threat, but there wasn’t time to ponder it.
He ripped my romper open.
Buttons popped off and scattered across the floor. The thin seams tore easily down both thighs, leaving only the skinny straps intact.
I wasn’t wearing a bra—which was a normal wardrobe adjustment since being here—and as soon as the cool air touched my bare breasts, so did he, molding the soft flesh of one to fit his hand before squeezing.
My skin was so sensitive it hummed. The roughness of his palm worked a tremble through me. I was burning everywhere, the simple friction of Armani branding me with a hot and uncertain edge. I couldn’t seem to do anything but lie there, my wrists remaining where he’d put them above my head.
I sighed, my fingers curling into fists, when he sucked a nipple into his mouth. Pleasure slid south, compelling me to raise my hips to meet his erection. With a scrape of his teeth, he pulled back, leaving the tips of my breasts tight and aching.
As he tugged my thong down my thighs, I suddenly knew there wouldn’t be any more foreplay involved; the hands on my body were rough and selfish. Although, this man had one mortal weakness: the covetous haze in his eyes that told me he was past the point of reason. The sight should scare me. Instead, I only desired to let him take whatever he wanted from me.
With a half-lidded gaze, I watched him lift my legs to pull my thong off. He tossed the fabric to the side, then gripped the undersides of my thighs and edged them back toward my stomach. A flush consumed me at how exposed I was, but the warmth of his stare on my sex, like he wasn’t sure what to do with it first, swelled a raw ache inside.
I let my calves fall to touch the backs of his hands and instinctively spread my legs farther. A heated glance met my eyes before he dropped one of my thighs, ran two fingers across my clit, and pushed them inside of me. As hot pressure expanded, I arched my back, a moan passing my lips. I gripped the edge of the couch cushion above my head, unable to do anything but rock my hips against his hand to stroke the fire.
Ronan dropped my other leg, gripped my face, and forced my gaze to meet his. “Eto moye.” This is mine. He punctuated the harsh words by scissoring his fingers inside of me.
My eyes rolled back, stars flying. Pleasure licked at my veins, building and building, until the feeling was all that existed.
Panting, I lifted my head to watch his hand between my legs, then dropped it back to the couch with a moan when he rubbed my G-spot. I was so close to release—so close I’d do anything to get there.
“Don’t stop,” I breathed.
“Ty dash’ mne trakhnut tebya?”
I didn’t know what he said, but I wasn’t sure I’d comprehend the words even if he spoke them in English. I could only close my eyes and chase friction until he pressed his lips to my ear and demanded, “Otvet’ mne.” Answer me. The words were soft and coarse but a command nonetheless.
I didn’t have the breath to tell him he was speaking Russian. All I knew was, if he kept fingering me, he could have anything he wanted: my heart, my soul, anal—whatever. So I hoped he sought a “yes” response, and I nodded.
He abruptly pulled his fingers away. The budding release crashed, and desperation seared through me in waves.
“No. Please,” I begged, my eyes flicking open. “Please—”
He covered my mouth with a hand and pushed into me with one hard thrust that tore a cry of pain from my throat. It felt like a lance of fire, burning so intensely tears pooled in my eyes. I gripped his forearm for something to hold onto, my blunt nails digging through his shirtsleeve. Reflexively, my back arched in an effort to shove him out, but he was too heavy to remove.
Ronan’s heart pounded against my chest, every inch of his body tense. “Kotyonok . . . yesli ya—” He clenched his teeth and tried again in English. “If I pull out, will I have blood on my cock?”
I didn’t know how he expected me to answer with his palm still covering my mouth, so I only shook my head in a hopeful lie. It was the perfect timing for a tear to run down my cheek and over his hand.
He watched the tear’s descent like it was acid, then pulled his palm away and braced both of them on the couch beside my head. “Fuck,” he growled before closing his eyes and exhaling. “Please tell me you’re just a really tight and emotional fuck, Mila.”
Clearly, I just gave my virginity to the most charming man in Europe.
Ronan already knew the answer, but it seemed he was grasping at straws. A tightness spread in my stomach with the feeling he would end this if I confirmed I was a virgin. Even though the foreign fullness inside of me burned, the walls of my chest threatened to fall apart if he pulled out. I wasn’t sure whether it was pain or something else that convinced another tear to run down my cheek.
“I think I just have some dust in my eyes,” I said shakily, throat thick.
He stared at me for a beat before releasing a frustrated noise between his teeth. I winced at the sting when he leaned back so he could watch his thick length slide out an inch. As a drop of wetness slid down my thigh, I realized he’d probably find evidence he thoroughly popped my cherry.
“Malen’kaya lgunishka . . .” he rasped, confirming I bled.
I forced a swallow when he ran a hand across his mouth, his gaze still between my legs. I didn’t know if he was fascinated by the sight of the blood or if he thought it would give him some kind of allergic reaction that would ruin his entire night.
Apparently, he was willing to risk it because, with a rough breath, he gripped my hips and eased back in. Inhaling, I slowly adjusted to the fullness of him inside of me before he pulled out a little bit again. He watched himself fuck me an inch at a time, the look in his eyes clouded thunder. His grasp threatened to bruise, but with every slow slide, the throbbing in my core began to warm and tingle. I shifted, which pushed him inside so deep he hit a pleasurable spot that drew a small hum from my lips.
“Fuck.” Ronan pushed away from me like I was on fire, releasing an angry, tortured growl as if I was the villain in the room who just stole his innocence. He left me lying there naked, a shaky coldness in my veins and an emptiness swelling between my legs. Confusion ran rampant as I felt him walk to the other side of the room.
“I don’t fuck virgins, kotyonok.” It was an icy, uncompromising statement.
I flinched as if he’d slapped me. The words were a blow considering he just took something I couldn’t give to anyone else and then threw it away like it inconvenienced him. My heart clenched. I hadn’t felt so vulnerable in my entire life. A hot and heavy mass invaded my throat.
With shaky hands, I closed my ripped romper as best I could and sat up, feeling so sick and naïve. I didn’t know why I did this to myself; why I cared so much tears burned the backs of my eyes; why I couldn’t hate him even now. If anything, I despised myself for serving Ronan the vulnerability on a silver platter, only for him to reject me like cheap vodka.