“Tonight, hopefully,” he says with a gleam in his eyes.
The knowledge seems to excite him, but it only stresses me more.
“Hey, relax,” he says, dropping his hand to my shoulder and massaging the tense muscle. “I’ll take care of everything.” Lowering his head, he adds in a soft voice, “I’ll take care of you.”
He sweeps his mouth over mine, barely brushing our lips together. He’s testing the waters, gauging my reaction. We didn’t make love last night, and it wasn’t because he thought I was tired and he was being considerate. It was because of the way he took me in the car—with dominance and possession. It was meant to prove that he owns me. It wasn’t an exchange of mutual desire or an expression of affection. It was a punishment. A lesson. He wanted the message to sink in. He wanted me to remember that leaving isn’t an option. Not today, not ever.
I bend backward, putting distance between us before he can deepen the kiss. I still feel bruised inside about last night, not only because of how he treated me in the car but also because of what transpired at the party. I’m feeling all kinds of confused. I’m a mess, and burying my head in a fog of lust won’t help me find clarity.
Alex locks his fingers around the back of my head, keeping me in place as he homes in on his target and claims my lips, not taking no for an answer. When I push on his shoulders, he grips my wrist and walks me back to the sofa.
Turning my face sideways, I whisper in protest, “Alex.”
“Tell me you want me,” he says, releasing my wrist to splay a large hand over my lower back. He presses our bodies together, letting me feel the hardness between his legs. “Because I sure as hell want you.”
The words shouldn’t ignite a spark in my belly. They shouldn’t heat my body and make me wet, but I can’t help my reaction to him. In a carnal way, the physical affection is a balm for my bruised feelings. I do need some kind of care. Despite my mind telling me this isn’t wise, my heart wants him to hold me. Especially now. Especially after last night.
“Katyusha,” he murmurs, nuzzling my temple. “I’m not going to force this if you don’t want it, but you’re torturing me.”
I let last night happen because some battles aren’t worth fighting. This time, it’s not about choosing my battles wisely but about needing a substitute for love. When he touches me, he not only makes me forget. He makes me believe that what’s between us goes deeper than purely physical need. That’s why I don’t object when he pulls down the zipper of my skirt and pushes it over my hips. When he reaches for the hem of my sweater, I lift my arms obediently. Item by item, he strips me until I stand naked in front of him.
Even though the room isn’t cold, I shiver a little. He must’ve stoked the fire when he covered me with a blanket. The flames are burning high. The warmth leaves a pleasant glow on my skin. He trails a gaze over me, taking me in from top to bottom. The heat in his eyes warms me more than the fire, the desire he shows openly making electric sparks run through me. With a single step, he closes the distance between us, grabbing me so suddenly that a gasp escapes my lips.
Framing my face, he kisses me savagely. Abstaining last night has made him even hungrier than usual. He peels out of his jacket without breaking the kiss, devouring my mouth as he unbuttons his shirt and yanks the hem from his pants. His buckle makes a clinking sound, and then his belt is undone. He’s already toeing off his shoes while he’s unzipping.
A moment later, he’s naked too, towering over me with his perfect body and masculine strength. There aren’t any barriers left between us, at least not of the physical kind. On an emotional level, there are plenty, but he doesn’t give me time to ponder them. He goes straight for the kill, dipping one hand between my legs while cupping a breast with the other as he resumes kissing me.
I expect him to be impatient, but the man consuming me with practiced skill is someone who’s always in control. Parting my folds with a finger, he tests my arousal and groans when he finds me wet. My nipple hardens against his palm as he gently kneads the curve and starts moving his finger with leisurely strokes.
Lifting his hand from my breast, he closes his fingers around my neck and uses the leverage to pull me flush against him. The stance presses my breasts flat against his chest. Letting my lips go with a nip, he searches my eyes to study the havoc he’s wreaking when he sinks two fingers deep inside.
My inner muscles clench around the intrusion. A spark of nervous excitement ignites in my belly when he tightens his fingers marginally around my neck.
“Skazhi mne trakhnut’ tebya,” he says against my lips, a phrase he’s taught me in bed. Tell me to fuck you.
“Ya khochu chtoby ty trakhnul menya,” I say in my broken Russian. I want you to fuck me.
A predatory look mixes with male satisfaction in his eyes. When he pulls his hand from between my legs and applies gentle pressure on my shoulder, I go down on my knees willingly.
His cock is jutting out proudly, heavy and hard. Gripping the base, he says in a lust-roughened voice, “Lubricate it well, kiska.”
I understand the warning. I know what he wants.
He stands stoically when I wet my lips and stretch them wide to accommodate his thick girth. Relaxing my jaw, I take him into my mouth. He watches with unwavering attention as I trace the crest of his cock with my tongue before sucking him deeper. Supporting the back of my head with one large hand, he holds the root of his cock in the other and pushes toward the back of my throat.
I breathe through my nose as he slides in and out. He’s not going deep enough to make me gag. He pivots his hips with an easy pace, taking my mouth with slow, shallow thrusts. When I’m moving to his rhythm, he lets go of his cock to caress my cheek. The touch is soft and appraising, encouraging me to swallow.
He never forces me to take more than I can handle. He’s not suffocating me or stretching my throat painfully, but my eyes nevertheless water from the effort. Sucking him off is a turn-on, making me even wetter. He’s showing the utmost constraint, not losing an ounce of control, yet the earthy taste of his precum on my tongue tells me he’s not unaffected by my performance.
Gripping his thigh for balance, I caress the heavy sac between his legs. A slick drop of salty liquid squirts onto my tongue. His expression remains stoic, but the line of his jaw hardens as he grits his teeth.
I double my speed, taking him faster. I want him to give me his power. I want him to lose this round and come in my mouth, but he has other ideas. He twists my long hair around his fist and carefully pulls back my head until his cock slips from my lips with a pop.
He looks down at the result of my work. His cock is slick and wet. Taking a cushion from the sofa, he dumps it on the rug in front of the fireplace.
When he catches my gaze again, his eyes are ablaze and his voice thick with lust. “Get on your hands and knees for me.”
He grips my elbows and pulls me to my feet to facilitate my compliance. Not that I need any coaxing to do as he says. Facing the roaring fire, I kneel on the cushion and brace my palms on the rug.
“Keep your knees pressed together,” he says behind me.
I follow that order too.
He smooths a hand over my spine, starting at my lower back and ending between my shoulder blades. “Now place your elbows on the floor.”