The man reaches out with his finger and touches the corner of my lips. “You left some behind.”
Heat flickers out from that whisper of a touch, down to my core, and I stiffen. Every muscle in my body tenses.
The man brings his finger to his lips and sucks on it.
The sight of those gorgeous lips closing around his digit sends a shiver of anticipation down my spine. My belly quivers. My heart stutters. More moisture slicks my core.
What the bloody hell?
Who is this man? And why am I reacting like he is the last male I’ll ever see? Probably because it is true? Because I am about to embark on the most dangerous part of my mission, and I don’t want to die a virgin? Because I want to know how it is to be taken, possessed…by him? No way am I letting that happen, not by a complete stranger.
I sidle off the barstool, still holding the bottle in my hand, then duck under his arm. He lets me go and my breath comes out in a rush.
Don't turn around. Don't look at him. I stumble up the corridor. When I reach the ladies' room I lunge for the door and fling it open. I cross the floor of the restroom and lurch to a stop in front of the sink.
Close call. At least I escaped.
I plop the bottle on the counter and grip the edge of the sink.
So why does it feel like I am missing out? That I’ll never know how it feels to trace those biceps with my fingers, to rub my face against the rough whiskers of his chin, to have him bend me over and slam into me, and… My belly twists, my pussy clenches, and the moisture flows from between my thighs.
Heat sweeps over my skin chased by chills. Sweat beads my forehead. I don’t have a choice. Looking around to make sure the space is empty, I swoop under my skirt, push aside my panties, and thrust my finger into myself.
“Ah.” My groan fills the space; the sugary sweet scent of my arousal spikes the air.
I plunge the finger in and out of my dripping channel, then add another. “It’s not enough. It’s still not enough.” I grit my teeth.
“Maybe I can help?”
My eyes fly open, and I see his blue eyes in the mirror.
2
Dante
It was my presence that aroused her, so it’s up to me to help her, right?
Silver eyes meet mine in the mirror. She stares at me as if she can see into my soul. Maybe she can see who I really am and why I am here?
And now I am getting fanciful.
She’s only a human I happened to spot while on this mission to Moscow. Except as I passed this bar at the edge of Red Square, I caught the scent of orange blossoms and pepper, a spoor so irresistible that I stepped into the bar. One look at her, and I had to have her. Just the kind of man I am. I want something, I take it. Especially curvy sprites with soft skin, and an arousal that bleeds into the air, seducing me to get closer, closer.
“Starlight.” I suck in a breath. My voice echoes in that enclosed space.
“Umm…what?” The heat in the space turns up a notch. A bead of sweat trickles down her temple.
I grip the ends of the basin, blocking her in. “You have stars in your eyes, and yet when I touch you”—I place my cheek next to hers— “you flinch, wanting to draw into yourself; even as every part of you blooms for me, aches for me, wants me to scoop you up and lick you all over. Everywhere, in every secret nook of yours.” My heart thuds. “I want to destroy your every hole. Fulfill your every fantasy. Fill you to the brim and make you come over and over again.”
Her pupils dilate.
Her cheeks flush.
I am sure she is going to run out of here screaming, or perhaps turn and slap me, either of which will only add to the pleasure. For when I have her, she will forget everything, except me. My touch, my fingers, my lips as I make her scream with pleasure. As I break her.
The witch pulls her hand out from under her skirt. She straightens, then brings her fingers to her lips and sucks on them.
Desire roars in my blood. I feel the suction of that rosebud mouth, as if it isn’t her fingers but my cock that she sucks.
My pulse thuds.
My shaft goes rock-hard.
Whaddya know? This one is feisty. One who’d dare to go toe to toe with me. She has no idea what’s in store for her. No woman has tamed me yet. And it’s certainly not going to be her.
The things I want to do to her, to bring her to her knees, literally; just the thought of fucking that mouth of hers makes my balls draw up.
Only when the touch of her skin filters into my blood do I realize that I have wrapped my fingers around her wrist.
I tug on her hand, and she doesn’t resist. I bring her glistening fingers to my lips and ease her forefinger inside my mouth.
The taste of her infuses my veins.
I bite down on her finger lightly, and she shivers. She wriggles her hand in my grasp, and I tighten my grip.
Coercing her hand to the side, I slap her palm down on the sink in front of her.
Her breath hitches, but she stays where she is. Impressive.
Still holding her gaze, I reach for her other palm and place it flush on the surface as well.
She gulps but doesn’t say anything, just holds on to the edge of the basin with her hands. The skin stretched over her knuckles is white.
I take a step back, hold my hands up to show her I am not forcing her. I tilt my head.
She raises her chin and her lower lip quivers.
I want to tell her that if she wants to leave then now is her chance. If she doesn’t want this, doesn’t want the pleasure I can give her, then she should get out of here. But something warns me not to speak. If I do, it will break this strange trance that holds the two of us. This communication that we have established on the unspoken level.
So I jerk my chin toward the exit, all without breaking contact with her gaze in the mirror.
Her eyes follow the direction I’ve indicated. She frowns, her muscles go solid, then her eyes skitter back to hold mine in the mirror.
In a very deliberate gesture, she widens her stance. She pushes back from the sink, so her butt is poised in the air. Without breaking the connection, she circles her hips, and again.
Each move of hers is meant to seduce. Her skirt rides up just enough so I can make out the edge of her panties. White seams, simple cotton underwear. She hadn’t come here to pick up a male. She hadn’t intended to part her legs like this and invite someone to glide their fingers inside her and… What the hell is this? An attack of consciousness?
“Last chance.” My voice comes out on a growl. "If you want to leave, then now is the time."
Yeah, okay, so I know it’s a mistake to speak, but I can’t help myself. I need to share what I have in mind; and in a fashion, that leaves no room for misinterpretation.
Blame my chivalry on pure greed.
I want her to remember me with unadulterated lust. I need her to understand that she yearns for this as much as me.
Her eyes sparkle. “Who said anything about leaving?” She darts out her tongue and runs it over her upper lip.
Heat flushes my skin and sweat breaks out on my forehead.
What is it about this woman that I have such a visceral reaction to her? I’ve never felt this turned on, this needy for a female before. And I won’t again; not for anyone else. The thought sends a skitter of awareness prickling at my nerve endings. I hesitate.